Fried Chicken

Just in case you want to try fried chicken that is made from real chicken, not the Colonel's patented doppel-poultry. I used Thomas Reid cornish hen.

There are many delicious variations on this idea: this recipe may not take the gold medal, but its definitely the simplest, which certainly puts it on the podium.

You'll need:

chicken (breasts, thighs, drumsticks; wings require a different procedure to be both crispy and juicy)

egg
milk
flour
salt and pepper

sunflower oil (I prefer it to corn or canola, since these crops are very often GMOs. Sunflower crops... a bit less often.)

do this:

Put 1L of the oil into an 8” pot, set to medium heat. This is enough oil for a shallow fry, which just means that you'll have to flip the chicken a couple of times. If you want to deep fry, use 2L. Not much difference. Set the stove to medium.

Beat the egg in a bowl and add some milk. I used 1 egg to about ½ cup milk. The more milk you use, the less flour will stick and the lighter the batter will be.

Add some salt and pepper to the flour, in a bowl, until it tastes a little salty and peppery. This is just to season the chicken, so this is where you'd want to add your own secret blend of herbs and spices. I think good quality chicken is its own secret blend of herbs and spices – the ones they ate in the pasture.

Dredge your rinsed and dried chicken breast into the flour bowl, then coat it in the egg-milk, then back into the flour. Here, you'll be well advised to press the flour into the chicken skin and make sure it is 100% coated. You want to create a starchy shell that entirely encapsulates the meat, to keep the juices inside (and out of the oil, where juices cause spits and pops). The shake-n-bake, toss-it-in-a-ziploc-bag, Rachel Ray method of easy fried chicken makes shitty fried chicken. Take your time on the little things.

(this is golden... breasts may be done now)

Once your chicken is coated, test the oil with a small piece (I use a tender, the muscle group that is loosely attached to the breast). You want to see the oil bubbling rapidly, but not violently. If it is bubbling violently, take the pot off the heat and add a few pieces to the pot, filling it but not crowding it. This will cool it down, and when they are frying happily, you can return it to the heat. You might have to turn down the stove. Conversely, if it bubbles too slowly, you might just have to wait for the stove to heat up, or your stove's thermostat might be running cold, so you'll have to kick your heat up one or two notches. The goal is to achieve the kind of happy bubbles I've captured photographically.

(this is amber... extra crispy legs and thighs!)

Every few minutes, if you're shallow-frying, turn the chicken over. How long this will take depends on how big the chicken is, but when the batter starts to turn a deep golden colour, pushing on amber, take a piece out and slice into it to see if it's done. No more blood = done (although, I do like my thighs and drumsticks a little on the overcooked side – extra crispy!). Keep in mind: drumsticks and thighs will take longer than breasts.

Once you've pulled your cooked chicken out of the oil, sprinkle just a little bit more salt on it. Maybe some pepper. Essentially, season it one last time: straight out of the fryer is the very best time to season anything, the oil just soaks up flavor as it stops bubbling outward and retreats into the pores of the crispy batter, bringing any seasoning with it.

Voila: Home-Fried Chicken!

p.s. - save the oil for your next frying: after its cooled, just let it drip through a coffee filter, and it comes out crystal clear.

Tiny Chickens!

After work on Saturday night, I immediately took my fresh, tiny, Thomas Reid-raised hens to task. I was up all night butchering a dozen birds and roasting their bones for stock... I put the caramelized carcasses under water with mirepoix just after 5am, and left the heat on low while I napped.
Up at the crack of noon, I immediately put on a cup of coffee, drained the stock, and spent the day cooking with Destiny.
We chopped potatoes and mushrooms for hash, celery and leeks for soup, and she julienned and caramelized a bag of organic onions. We made a light chicken stock with the remaining little bones, for use as a soup base. I crashed the large pot of dark stock down to a half litre of chicken demi, and made creme anglaise with free range eggs and Surrey honey, to be cooled and churned for dessert. As the clock wound down, I trayed the chicken quarters, seasoned and seared.
When Tristan and Kaitlin arrived, I put bread in the oven and Tristan harvested chives and arugula sprouts from the garden. Robin and Mia arrived with Rob and Alex just as I sliced bread, finished the soup and ladeled out creamy bowls. Vichyssoise!

(avec ciboulettes des jardin)

After soup, Robin rendered a tray of Dawson Creek double-smoked bacon, with Delta cherry tomatoes and thyme. We tossed pans of mushroom and pea hash in foaming butter while the chicken quarters finished in the oven. The chicken demi was added to reduced red wine and mounted with butter... Robin cut makeshift ring-molds for us to plate the pedestal for our
perfect poultry, crowned with caramelized onion and micro-arugula. Wines: Garnacha del Fuego (old vines Granache from Spain - plummy, peppery purple velvet, $17). La Buxynoise Reserve Bourgogne (classic French Pinot - light, brisk and woody, but driven by fresh red cherry), Cedar Creek Merlot/Cabernet 2006 (amazing $19 Kelowna bottle - so very currant, plum and chocolate, decadent and well balanced). The stage is set for: Local, Organic, Cornish Hen!

(I can't believe how horrible the best of my photos of this chicken turned out. I'm sorry, tiny chickens.)

Finally, with the help of Tristan's amazing white chocolate anise biscotti and clean, crisp Columbian from Moja Roasters, I was ready to finish this locally-driven meal with 100% locally produced honey ice cream (forgive me the organic Hawaiian ginger and Indian baking spices). As a delightful treat, Tristan produced a chilled bottle of Prospect Winery's "The Lost Bars" Vidal Icewine! Such a likely partner to fresh, homemade honey and spice ice cream! Echoes of wildflower honey and dried apricot sweetness, followed by pleasantly prominent acidity (a foil!), to balance and fill the palate. Bliss.

Such auspicious eating can only be followed by similarly momentous merrymaking, and more wine was drank as the clock's embrace widened. As those with other engagements made their way, I remembered tray of cornish chicken wings that I had earlier floured and par-baked!! And the sunflower oil I'd brought in specifically to fry them in!! I put 2L of oil on medium heat and tested it with small pieces of chicken until they bubbled just a little too fast, and then put in 2 dozen tiny chicken wings to crispy. Quick sauce: honey, Destiny's raspberry vinegar, salt, pepper, cayenne... and micro-arugula! Cornish munchies!

Thomas Reid Chicken

Driven by the duty to deliver, seduced by the deal of the century, I loaded up the Time Machine early Saturday morning in preparation for a veritably epic trek.
Destination: Thomas Reid Farms in Langley. I'd only seen their website, where they offer boxes of cornish hen for $50. I'd done some loose math and worked it out to about $2.50/lb... for certified organic, free range, locally family-farmed chickens! This kind of deal demands a pilgrimage.
Arriving at King George Station, via Skytrain, avec bicyclette, I donned my Viking suit and ventured into the unknown in pursuit of pillaged poultry (at $2.50/lb, I almost feel guilty about taking so much chicken).
I cycled under persistent Fraser Highway rainfall, through the Green Timbers Urban Forest. I cycled down the steep hill past Fleetwood Centre, up the gentle slope beyond the Surrey Golf Course... into the trough of Surrey's farmland, back up the hill to old Langley City. Turning left at the new Casino, I turned onto 56 ave, past the Langley Bypass, past the Langley Airport, into the Agricultural Land Reserve, into the land of the Lord.
I was taken into a lush, idyllic shire... a land of meadows and mist, of cow patties and gravel lanes, and gently rolling hills. These did not feel so gentle on my return, with 30lbs of tiny chickens hanging on my back wheel.
Just over the creek, past Clovermeadow and Wagonwheel Crescents, I saw the sign: Certified Organic Thomas Reid Farm, turned the corner, and found no storefront. I found chicken houses and pastures, for sure, but nothing but sheds and farmhouses otherwise. I called the number on the website, and was answered with simply, "Hello?"
"I'm trying to get to Thomas Reid Farm. I made an appointment with Brad earlier in the week - I'm looking for organic cornish hens."
"Brad will be home in a few minutes, just come on up the driveway."
I cycled into the basketball court of a family home with teenage boys, and their mother greeted me at the door. "Hi, I'm Karen..." she saw my bike in the driveway and the bicycle helmet on my head... "you want a whole case?"
She led me inside to sit me down to a fantastic cup of tea, and hear about my trek from North Vancouver. Her eldest son David soon entered the room, apparently still a little worse for wear from Friday night. "You came all the way from North Van?? You're crazy, man. Next time you want some chicken just let me know, I'm out there alot diving and climbing." Maybe we can work something out -- but I'd definitely tip a man generously, who would bring me this much great poultry for $50. Brad finally came in, with a bluetooth on his ear and a large box of chicken held by zapstraps in his hand. "I heard you biked in all the way from North Van, so I brought you the biggest box I have. 13.9kg."
My jaw drops at the sight of 17 individually wrapped and cleaned, healthy little chickens. After a moment's awe and reverence, I pull a single red bill out of my wallet, and incredulously hand it to Brad. Thanks were exchanged, and I had to fight the urge to tell him how much more he could charge. $50 for 17 hens... less than $3/hen... just under $4/kg, about $2/lb. Significantly more weight than I'd budgeted for... I couldn't believe that the primary protein for up to 17 meals would only cost me $50. Produced by a local family in a natural, ethical way... and all guests would agree, delicious. The real star of this meal was Thomas Reid Farm. Thank you.

East End Food Co-op

In need of culinary inspiration and an entry-level epic ride, I strapped my panniers on The Time Machine and hauled ass over the Second Narrows. I cruised suburban neighborhoods, admiring lush Mediterranean gardens but too pressed for time to whip out the Nikon for each green thumbs up. I finally made it to Broadway & Commercial, only to discover from friendly neighborhood information officers that my quarry was well down the hill, beyond 1^st. Commercial is a very colorful neighborhood to cycle past... 'nuff cute alternative girls. But I digress.

Parking my panniers near the entrance with all the others (2 other pairs!), I cruised the store for a couple of minutes before commencing photodocumentation, which I figure is the best way of displaying the variety and prices you can expect of the produce. Mostly organic, location of production made note of, prices better than Capers etc. but nothing amazing. A few standouts: wide selection of organic meats and sausages, noteably local, organic (which in terms of poultry, always means they are pastured or “free range”) chicken breasts for $6/lb – boneless and skinless. I like the skins and bones so I'd rather go for a whole roaster or fryer, but I know a lot of you like your chicken fatless and easy. This is the deal for you.

So after a couple of minutes of shooting, I was approached by a woman who asked brusquely, “Can I help you?” I explained to her my intentions of photodocumenting her store for my little blog, and she was very helpful. I've heard that grocery stores don't like you photographing their shelves, but Roisin was entirely cool with it, and explained to me how the labels work on the bulk bins. Green labels mean organically grown, and blue labels mean conventionally grown. I noticed that they said “naturally grown” and she explained that some suppliers, though not strictly organic, nevertheless reduce their reliance on chemicals by engaging in simply natural practices like crop rotation, or like the aboriginal “three sisters” approach – plant crops closely together that benefit each other, rather than vast monocultures that require chemical crutches. Makes sense. Cool.

Some other cool stuff: bulk organic maple syrup (in a huge jug with a tap!), good deals on wholesome bread (check next time you shop: everything has “mono- and di-glycerides” and at least a few other dough conditioners and preservatives in them... these Uprising Breads ingredients would each be recognized by my great-grandmother, for $3/loaf), and 5kg sacks of organic flour. Restaurants should always use organic flour – it's almost the same price as chemically-treated flour, and obviously a better choice holistically. Walk behind a wall into the bulk corner – bulk organic sugar, sea salt, himalayan salt, nuts, dried fruits, and of course... granola.

As I prepared to pay for my bread, produce, and chicken, I expected to be encouraged to purchase two shares in the coop ($20) to become a member... but one of the staffers let me use their membership number, since it was my first time. Thanks, EEFC. I'll for sure be back to stock up on hard-to-find items like organic garlic and ginger, and scan the sales.

Fiddleheads and Shellfish

It didn't take me long to discover this week's theme - walking to work at the Fish House, I discovered a sprouting fern patch: FIDDLEHEADS! The fiddlehead season is only about 2-3 weeks long around here, so I knew I had to take advantage of them immediately. I went out as soon as work was over and harvested about 3lbs of the natural Fibbonacci fronds, one at a time. I wish I had my camera then.

I had some egg whites left over from making ice cream last weekend, so it was either Pavlova or pasta. I had to make pasta, because everybody looked at me weird when I suggested making egg-white pasta. Trust me, it works. Once I decided on pasta, clams seemed like a natural pair with fiddleheads. Vongolaise!

Local organic apples are SO easy to find and SO cheap (about $1/lb year round), and I've never made a Tarte Tatin, so I thought I'd give that a shot. I had some leftover Avalon organic butter, and found organic Canadian flour at the Food Warehouse (1st & Lonsdale) for $3.50/kg. Mmm, 100% organic, local gala apple Tarte Tatin. I also stopped by Cinnamon's Chocolates on 2nd and picked up a half dozen handmade caramels for petit fours - I saw the Avalon organic milk delivery truck pull up there a couple of days ago, so I knew I had to take a chance on their chocolate.
And I felt like having oysters... but I can't stand being fleeced by those hosers at Lonsdale Quay: $18.69/dozen! Unshucked! No thanks... even if I have to buy 5 dozen at a time to get wholesale prices, that's what I'll do to keep my hard-earned dollars out of yuppie market profiteers. Needless to say, I spent the next morning picking oyster shells out of my couch cushions.
A small group of dedicated diners arrived in time for oysters and freshly baked Island City filoncini, and the rest was history - Karen brought a Muscadet from Loire (honeysuckle, melon, floral bouquet, with crisp dry finish - NICE) and Tristan brought a single-origin Ethiopian Harrar coffee for a little intermezzo (tropical fruit driven by acidity, to open the eyes and the palate). We tasted a bottle of El Bulli's new beer, the Estrella Dam Inedit (very light, unfiltered wheat beer - gorgeous and crisp!) Finally, in the 11th hour, Destinee rolled in with some watermelon sheesha. Another successful Knight at the Corner Table.

The Foodist Mangia-festo - A Call to Farms! (The Pork Fatwa)

I believe it was Voltaire who said that every philosophy contains the seeds of its own destruction. Today is a sad day, my friends, for I am beginning to feel this way about the state of dining in general. I've just about had enough.
As a cook, I felt like a slave. As a server, I feel like a servant begging for scraps. Yet, I cry tears of joy for the most reverently and fearfully created dishes, and experience some of my greatest peak experiences in the midst of a busy dinner service. I cannot seem to reconcile these experiences!
With my increasing interest in food ethics and food security, my philosophical inclination predisposes me to believe that having a plate of food and, if one is lucky, a glass of wine to enjoy it with, is the only thing of any importance in this life -- save for the company of loved ones.
Yet, restaurants are invariably concerned with profits above ethics. Even the best and most ethical of restaurants that are popping up in this town, on the cutting edge of dining responsibility as it is, charge exorbitant prices. It seems that dining in the best interest of society as a whole is reserved for the upper class. And more often than not, from my experience in the dining room, these people are barely aware of the importance of food ethics, let alone even actually care about the future of food security. As much as dining is the shrine of the moment, and the dining room is a place to put all of one's worries out of one's mind and enjoy the beauty of this one meal, this is no excuse for the ignorance of the rich.
What's even worse, are the attitudes of the people who work in this industry. So many of us are indifferent to what we put in our sautee pans or carry in our own two hands on the way to the table. We're more concerned about our careers, or our tips, or the hostess we're trying to shag. Even of the cooks and servers who are informed about the pressing issues surrounding our food system, there is a big shrug and a "what can you do?" about the fact that every single restaurant pushes countless litres a day of GM corn in the form of cans or boxes of soda. The best you can do as a frontline worker in this battle is to keep doing what you're told until, some day, you too can make a tiny difference in our evolution toward gastronomic awareness - also accepting the golden handcuffs of profiteering as your master.
Well, we don't have time to fuck around with our tiny lives and self-interests. I don't care if you become a celebrity chef. I don't care if your restaurant makes money. I don't care if your ethical eatery gets 28 in the Zagat guide, because 70%* of food consumers in this city will never spend $30 on an entree. The 30% of us who will are just as likely to waste our money on an unethical alternative, because we only do eat out "once in a while," or because we simply don't care. The only reason any of us have enough money to eat your $30 entree is because, somewhere along the line, we've sacrificed our ideals and mortgaged the future of our species in some way. Those of us who can afford to eat ethically at $30/plate are merely outsourcing our pollution and karma to those who can't afford boutique ingredients at a four-star restaurant. Everybody needs to make a living, we tell ourselves, and overlook our daily overconsumption and reckless disregard for the stewardship of this planet.
Fuck that! I say. We need to wake the fuck up. And our restaurants aren't doing anybody any good, we're only getting better at being wasteful. Everybody needs to be able to eat locally, organically, and ethically. Everybody needs access to an affordable meal, and good company. And even the poorest of us deserve to experience the beauty of gastronomy, once in a while.
I will never become your chef. I will never become your bar manager, your maitre'd. I will never actually care about any arm of the unquestioned profiteering restauranteer agenda. I care about the future of our food... I care about where it comes from, and what it does to our bodies and our producers... I care about the taste, the love, and the passion. But we don't have much time left to cast our votes for our future... and we can only do it one meal at a time.
*Every single one of these numbers is completely anecdotal and improvised. Statistics and polls these days aren't a far cry from opinion anyways, so fuck it.

Review Biased by Good Company

Halfway through my tiramisu, cupping my last slurp of creamy espresso, it seems the warm lighting and velveteen sabayon are going straight to my head. Maybe it was the flight of local wines, or maybe it was the attention of the doe-eyed English major next to me, but somewhere in between good food and good company, I've long since filed this 3-course prix-fixe at Quattro on Fourth a glorious success of an evening.

I arrived too late for a coveted seat at the round table under the ornate, iron-leafed romantic chandelier in the corner, but from my banquet table seat with the rest of the candle-lit class, I heard my name whispered loudly from its other end. I could swear I saw the leather-bound lips of the hefty wine list move in time. Obligingly, I leaf through to find a delightful list of local wines by the glass, from the crisp and aromatic $11 Joie Noble Blend to the legendary Black Hills Nota Bene. For $24.50/glass, I'm happy that they offer this, but I'm not going to pay that much for a glass of wine and I don't know how they sell enough of it to keep it lively night in and night out. Fat bordeaux blends are not often agreeable with the menu's vegetarian options, either.

Primi: three little balls of bocconcini wrapped in grilled raddichio, balsamic reduction. Joie Noble Blend seemed an easy friend of this light vegetarian dish, but I don't know many dishes that wouldn't get along with this glass. Firm, yet lightly melted mild cheese was made all the more substantial and savory by the charred, pleasantly bitter flavor of fire-kissed raddichio. This mild textural affair found its counterpart in the intense sweetness and acidity of balsamic reduction, and even the garnish of frisee in lightly sweet cherry vinaigrette provided a nice break from everything that was going on in each of these subtle yet luxurious vegetarian bites. I chased each one with a leaf of the undressed endive garnish, like a glass of water shaped like a tulip petal.

Secondi: mushroom fettucine. Quail's Gate Pinot Noir. How could I not have pasta at an Italian ristorante? Besides, I just like saying its name – fettucine tartufate. Perfectly al dente fettucine dressed in a porcini gravy with plump wild mushroms and liberally shaved parmesan cheese. Light fruit and acidity in the local pinot pairs perfectly with the rich savor of this fantastic pasta. A hack restaurant would have served this fettucine in a cream sauce more like an alfredo, but this was clearly a highly reduced porcini jus, delicately mounted with dairy. So simple: just pasta, mushrooms, and cheese. I haven't had pasta this good since last time I made pasta myself.

As I considered risking an after-dinner cocktail, I was happy to hear that we also had a dessert option – cherry cheesecake or tiramisu. Of course! Why would I ever have an Italian meal without a final course of tiramisu and espresso? My anticipation of this denouement sends me into a blissful stratosphere. I've already decided that this will be good. At this point of the meal, they would have to work pretty hard to screw up this tiramisu.

Somewhere there is a break in our final course conversation of University Gastronomica, local fish stocks, and Foodism in general, and I find myself reveling in the whole of this dining experience. As a food-centric individual, I will often judge a restaurant rather harshly based solely on its food and drink service, pulling no punches and offering no quarter. But at this moment I realise, as if for the first time, that the experience of dining is often affected by things beyond the restaurant's control. It is up to the establishment to set the correct lighting, select music at appropriate volumes and tempos, and serve my wine in a clean glass, but can the restaurant control the music of happily chatting diners? A restaurant cannot control the good company I keep, nor the intensity and intelligence of conversation that comes to life over the table. These things are up to us, the diners, and our companions. So, as for my review of Quattro: impressively simple food, extensive local wine list, effortless service with few flaws. Quattro has done the job that it has been paid to do.

My dining companions, however, are those who have truly made my evening memorable. And I didn't even have to pay them to do so. Thanks.