As we strolled in with our party of 6, the DJ was spinning remixes of old Eazy-E tracks as if to announce our arrival. We'd been waiting for this for seemingly an eternity, and the stars had finally aligned to bring us all together in this unique time and place, a cause in itself for celebration. An everyday celebration, but one that quickly came to strike me with new, heartfelt significance. First came our bottle of wine, followed by a plate of artisinally crafted cheeses, and then the beautiful, locally produced charcuterie. Here I sat with a group of my new friends, sharing my interest not only in gastronomy but also in the soundtrack of my adolescence... could it be? I felt as if my generation, the most aimless and hopeless, yet most impassioned generation of all, was starting to find its place at the dinner table. At our last after-work cooldown, over goblets of the obscure Belgian ales that the North Shore pub is home to, Robin and I noticed the unexpectedly generous list of cheeses and cured meats chalked on the blackboard above our table at The District. We knew we'd have to return to lay down $17/plate for tastes of these savory treats, and this is what we so happily did last night.
We started with a bottle of Joie Noble Blend, also offered by the glass. This is a Naramata homage to the grapes of Alsace, a masterful menage of Pinot Gris and Blanc, Gewurtztraminer, Ehrenfelser, and Kerner. Drinking a glass of this crisp delight is like meeting a refreshing character with a unique and effervescent personality, knowing that you'll need to spend the evening in conversation before you begin to scratch his surface. This is one of the best wines in BC. Next we picked our cheeses, in round-robin fashion. As I was quick to call "second captain first pick," I leapt at the Abbotsgold, a medium cheddar incorporated with caramelized onions. Kevin chose the parmesan-like Piave, and Robin's best for last choice was Huntsman, a double Gloucester layered with Stilton. These were served with balsamic reduction and a homemade sundried fig compote.
For our charcuterie, all provided by Granville Island's Oyama Sausage Company, we had no choice but to elect a trio of game – elk prosciutto, smoked bison, and wild boar salami. Served with grainy dijon mustard (my favorite condiment EVER) and house-prepared pink peppercorn shallot relish. Each of these plates came with a soft, crusty baguette doused in extra virgin olive oil and black pepper. In the worlds of Lil' Jon... WHAT?!?! OKAY!!!!
First, I have to remind myself to take a picture. Then, I have to show some restraint and solo taste each one of these 6 sexy sedeuceurs, for the sake of science.
Piave: slightly sweet & nutty, earthy, like a young parmesan, a little bit softer. Would be bomb with some cabernet.
Huntsman: smooth & mild, punctuated with sharp crumbly stilton. As soon as this hit my toungue, I braced myself for the Kool-Aid guy to bust through the wall saying, "Oh yeah!"
Abbotsgold: nice creamy medium cheddar flavor, with sweet caramelized onions. Carry on.
Elk prosciutto: actually not very distinct. Salty, savory, chewy, like thinly sliced jerky.
Smoked bison: more character than the previous, with a more distinctly gamey bison flavor, well balanced by the smokiness.
Wild boar salami: like good, sour salami but with stronger flavor. Garlic, mustard, black pepper.
Next, I try to assemble the most likely suspects on slices of bread. Bison , shallot relish, huntsman. Piave, sundried figs, elk. Boar, abbotsgold, dijon. They're all... divine. Perfection. And here is where I start to lose touch with words, losing touch with my more precise faculties, losing touch with articulable reason. Apparently my creative capacity is insufficiently developed to pay due respect to such gastronomic ecstasies, and my animal instincts begin to get the best of me. Logic and reason pay no mind to my ensuing combinations. I'm just putting anything with anything else onto a piece of bread, and washing it down with healthy quaffs of the noble wine. My pupils dilate. My skin grows gooseberries, my hairs stand on end, and I start to grunt like a pig rooting for truffles. For a moment, I swear my soul hangs in the rafters, watching my body greedily construct tiny sandwich after tiny sandwich, bobbing my head to funky house beats. This is Foodist Mysticism.
I should feel like a glutton for my carelessness. I should feel wasteful for dropping $45 on a bottle of wine and $34 on two tiny plates of bites. How selfish! How spoiled! How wasteful!
But as much as I might have many years ago, I feel no remorse for the extravagance of this fleeting experience.
I have met the woman who makes this wine... and she did so with great love and passion. I saw it on her smile, and read it in her eyes as they glowed while she told me about pressing the grapes. This was not flown around the world at the cost of tonnes of carbon emissions. She is practically my neighbor. I believe in a society that supports its neighbors. She deserves to be well paid for her work, and I know that the proceeds are well deserved by her and her family (and she happens to be expecting its newest addition).
These meats were cured from locally harvested game by a family business just across town. I've been in his tiny shop. I've shaken his hand as he passed me my duck rillette. He is a craftsman, and I believe in a society where craftsman can make a living. I will support him by reveling in the products of his passion. And these cheeses, though imported, are not mass-produced blocks of processed “cheddar” produced in a factory, but are the product of years of local tradition developed by European dairy farmers. I believe in a society that supports and celebrates global tradition. It is priceless to preserve them.
This is Foodism in practice. At its best, our Church is the Dining Room, and the cheque is merely the collections plate. To be nourished by my daily bread (and wine, and cheese, and meat) not only physically but spiritually, by knowing that we are also nourishing our planet, and our neighbors, and our cultures, I will gladly pay my tithe. For when I leave with my full belly and full heart, I know that my wallet may be a little bit lighter, but I have done well, for we have helped to create the change that we need to see in the world. One meal at a time.
BOOOMMMBACLAT!!!!
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