Simply Complex Curry

I love preparing curries - to me, it is comfort food and whether I make it with beef, chicken or seafood, it is always a dish I prepare in quantity and share with friends. My curries are never the same each time, and that is part of the beauty of the exercise. The concept is to savour each moment, the process as much as the end result unpredictable but a pleasure at every stage.

Curry days are never hurried days. I start early in the morning, checking my store of spices for freshness, in itself a pleasurable chore. As I open up my jars and containers, scooping up a handful of cardamom pods, a pinch of fenugreek, some coriander and cumin seeds, the scents surround and envelop me. I prepare my dry ingredients first, mixing the spices in proportion, grinding them with a mortar and pestle. I will use ready ground chilli powder, turmeric and cayenne or paprika, and extract from my carefully hoarded store a dried cinnamon stick, cloves and star anise. Garlic, shallots and ginger are always ground fresh and if I'm lucky enough to have found some fresh chile peppers the day before, I will use some of those too.

I find cooking very therapeutic and I love making dishes from scratch, feeling the ingredients beneath my fingers, the freshness of food under my hands, coming together, disintegrating to form new shapes, new textures, the sensations between my lips, and on my tongue as I lick, bite, sample, swallow. The sense of touch, of smell and of taste is highly enhanced and it reconnects me with the earth and with nature in a very fundamental way.

Having sautéd the spices until fragrant, I sear the cubes of boneless beef quickly in the almost-dry paste, coating each chunky morsel evenly before adding the stock, and putting a heavy lid on the pot to let the concoction simmer for a few hours. Before long, the smells coming from the kitchen could almost convince you that you were wandering down the streets of Zanzibar, an old Delhi market or a meandering neighbourhood in rustic Malacca. An hour before the dish is done, I add some young potatoes and season to taste. To thicken, I will add coconut milk, yogurt or even evaporated milk on occasion, depending on the consistency and piquancy I am striving for.

I usually prepare a batch of piping hot basmati rice or oven-baked naan (Indian flat bread which I confess I generally buy frozen) to accompany the curry. Although not traditional, a South Australian Shiraz does complement the flavours nicely - the meat is achingly tender and melts on contact with the tongue, the potatoes flake at the touch of a fork, the sauce is a molten river of scarlet and gold, tantalizing in its complexity. It fills the body with heat, quickening the pulse, before leaving a lethargic warmth behind. An experience to remember but surely nothing to compare to Anthony Burgess who had one so sublime that he declared, "This curry was like a performance of Beethoven's Ninth Symphony that I'd once heard.....especially the last movement, with everything screaming and banging 'Joy.' It stunned, it made one fear great art. My father could say nothing after the meal."

A Silken Touch

Alluring, caressing, deceptively delicate, silk's natural charms have been seducing emperors and commoners alike for more than 5000 years. Silk has shaped history, created dynasties, destroyed empires, spurred innovation, inspired military conquests and left an indelible imprint on political, economic and religious powerhousing across two continents.

In 139 BC, the world's longest road, stretching from Eastern China to the Mediterranean Sea, was opened. In addition to tangible commodities such as gold and jade, new ideas, cultures and religions also passed along this route. This was the historically famous "Silk Road," the world's oldest distribution system, a treacherous route described by the monk, Faxian in the fourth century as one where "the only road-signs are the skeletons of the dead. Wherever they lie, there lies the road to India." (For one of the most memorable short stories of the Silk Road, read Ted Chiang's "Stories of Your Life.")

Endlessly fascinating, the story of silk and the Silk Road is also a story of human journeys, human desires, human longings and ultimately human endeavour. Explore the Silk Road's historical contribution to the diffusion of art and culture through the continuing Silk Road project and be part of the ancient tradition that continues to influence life all over the world.

Didier Delights

The colours immediately leap out at you - the primary reds, blues and yellows. The intense skies, the deep seas, the warm earth, the sun-baked walls, the splashes of scarlet - alive, vital, vivid. His people are robust, often full-bodied, they are enjoying life by the beach, under the stars, in a restaurant, at a jazz club. Didier Lourenco, born in 1968, and one of Spain's most celebrated contemporary artists, depicts ordinary life with an extraordinary edge. Although his style is surrealist, there is a whimsy and cheerfulness to his work, so different from the darker themes of Munch and Dali. Lourenco has his mellow moments, where he uses a wide range of moody blues and soft browns. Overall, there is a great sense of place and time in his pictures, and we too wish that we were in Lourenco's world, sipping a long, cool drink on a terrace with balmy breezes and gently swaying palm trees; tapping our feet in time to the beat of the band in a dark, smoky jazz club; cycling with the wind in our hair on a sunny beach, the sea at our back. A beautiful life, a wonderful indulgence indeed.

Note: A big thanks to TW for introducing me to Lourenco's works and for making my world a more colourful place.

Hamburgers with Jimmy

What a weekend! All I want right now is to stroll into a cool, dark bar somewhere and down margaritas by the gallon.

Chaos reigns in the living-room where I have boxes piled up six-deep. Bags are strewn about, waiting to be organized and labeled. Mysterious objects roll around, waiting to be discerned as a missing part of some recognizable instrument. Books keep appearing out of nowhere - books that I thought I'd packed days ago, books that I didn't know I had, books that creep up on me from behind cushions, under the bed, in kitchen drawers and why the hell do I have so many books anyway? Loose papers taunt me with their utter disinterest to be categorized and pigeonholed; and I still have three loads of laundry to get through.

Jimmy Buffett and a Lick's burger work quickly to preserve my sanity.

An ubiquitous summer fare - the hamburger - is given royal treatment at Lick's. 8 oz. of pure lean beef, seasoned with the right blend of spices to accentuate the meat, a generous scoop of (real!) shredded cheddar, two thick slices of back bacon and your choice of toppings. With a great piece of meat, simpler is better - I opt for some onions, hot peppers and just a squirt of mustard. (It's one hefty sandwich when all's said and done but if you feel that you'd like to flirt more intimately with cardiac arrest, Lick's will offer to "hulk it up" for you.) A side order of hand-cut fries and a root beer and I'm ready to go.

As Jimmy Buffett belts out reasons to laugh and slow down, I reconnect with my burger and stop worrying about movers, packing, laundry, the lack of air conditioning, sleepless nights and what Batman ever saw in Robin. I'll be fighting enough battles tomorrow and in the grand scheme of things,

"For a cheeseburger in paradise
Makin' the best of every virtue and vice
Worth every damn bit of sacrifice
To get a cheeseburger in paradise"

Cilantro in the City

With the massive power outage on Thursday, and the unpredictable on/off again power on Friday, I was in a mood for anything that would get me out of the stuffy apartment (currently a very chaotic, stuffy apartment in preparation for Monday's move). I needed food! No dinner on Thursday, cereal for brunch on Friday - when Friday night rolled around, I told JK I was ready to eat a cow all by myself - raw! The power was still off and every store we passed had a dark, unwelcoming interior. Then....salvation! A single, solitary restaurant window on Eglinton East was lit up. Could it be? Was it too much to hope for? We hotfooted it across the street, visions of fresh food dancing crazily before our eyes.

Against all expectations, Cilantro was open. They were running on a generator and only a couple of lights glowed in the wide-open, orange-purple space but it was enough to see by. We had enjoyed our only visit to the Italian/Mediterranean restaurant months before when it first opened its doors but had never found the opportunity to return. In contrast to most new restaurants in the city, the tables were placed generously apart, with plenty of elbow and leg room, and we had our choice of seats.

The server was friendly and there was an air of camaraderie about the place. We were warned that the food would take at least half an hour to get to the table since the kitchen was only running on one stove so we settled in for the long haul.

About 20 minutes into our vigil, a warm bread basket appeared. We peeled the pristine white linen back, expecting to find the slightly stale, run-of-the-mill bread we had been offered the first visit. It was more than a pleasant surprise to find fresh wedges of the most fantastic flat bread I've ever had in the city. The dough was springy and full, with just enough fresh rosemary and salt to excite the taste buds. We tried dipping it into the accompanying olive oil with a dash of blasamic, which mellowed the taste slightly. I found (as I find most of the time) that I much preferred it a la natural.

The first time we'd come to Cilantro, JK and I had feasted well. I'd had the rack of lamb, succulent and immensely flavourful; and JK had had the stuffed chicken breast with shrimp, a tender, moist offering that was a huge success. The lamb had gone from being the best bargain in Toronto to a slightly more competitive price so I elected to go for the seafood linguini this time round and JK opted for the calf liver.

The linguini came bathed in a rich tomato broth that bore as much resemblance to pasta sauce as truffles do to button mushrooms. Chunks of slowly simmered tomatoes were interlaced with red and green peppers and slivers of calamari. There were tantalizing hints of garlic, oregano and thyme but nothing worked to overpower the seafood. The mussels were a little on the small side, but fresh and flavourful while the shrimps were plump, juicy and had that incredible crunch that indicated they hadn't been sitting around developing freezer burn.

JK's calf liver was served with a generous helping of sour cherry sauce and waxy new potatoes. Who would have thought cherries and liver could go so well together? The sauce had many dimensions - sour, sweet, smooth, chunky, with a slightly spicy aftertaste that left a slow burn (my kind of feeling). The liver was grilled a perfect medium-rare, dusky brown on the outside, velvety smooth and pink on the inside. Coupled with the cherry sauce, it was a sensual match made in kitchen heaven. The side of potatoes were rich and buttery although nothing extraordinary.

To close the meal, we split a chocolate mousse cake - again, executed to perfection but without the inspiration that propels a dish to greatness. All in all, it was a satisfying evening and we walked away with very little damage to our wallets and a warm afterglow. We decided that Cilantro was definitely worth a return visit, even if only for a bigger helping of the incredible flat bread!

A Dip In the Honeypot

Honey. A potent word with powerful associations. It is golden ambrosia, a god's sustenance. It is hydromel, honey wine, foamy mead, Beowulf's cheer. It brings to mind fields of summer flowers, lazy picnics, a child's sticky fingers. Honey and lemon, a soothing comfort; honey cakes, a satisfying treat. It is the sun-kissed glow of a woman's skin and the sweet endearment for a familiar love.

Man's relationship with honey goes back to pre-history. We know that bees have been producing honey for at least 150 million years, and the practice of beekeeping dates back to the early Egyptians - as far back as 2400 BC. References to honey can be found in Sumerian and Babylonian cuneiform writing, in the Hittite code, in the sacred texts of India and in ancient hieroglyphs. The Bible mentions the words honey or honeycomb over 40 times.

Of all food products, honey has the greatest mythological significance. It is mentioned in Greek, Roman and Egyptian mythology as food and gifts for both kings and gods. Honey was also used as an embalming fluid for Egyptian burials. Honey bees were considered to have special powers - a bee was the symbol for the goddess Artemis and was used to signify royalty throughout much of history. Its healing and magical properties are legendary and it was often used as medicine and in sacred rites.

Having survived ancient civilizations to thrive in modern metropolises, honey continues to intrigue and capture new generations with both its physical and metaphysical benefits. When you next pick up a spoonful of this spun sugary light that has existed since the dawn of man, think of Winnie the Pooh who declared, "Although Eating Honey is a very good thing to do, there is a moment just before you begin to eat it which is better than when you are."

Surrealist Fantasies

"Every morning when I wake up, I experience an exquisite joy — the joy of being Salvador Dalí — and I ask myself in rapture, "What wonderful things this Salvador Dalí is going to accomplish today?"
— Salvador Felipe Jacinto Dalí

A notorious self-publicist, self-styled mad genius, eccentric and often dramatically theatrical, Salvador Dali is considered by many to be one of the greatest painters of the 20th century, although he was also a sculptor, graphic artist, designer and film maker.

Born on May 11, 1904 in Catalonia, Spain into a middle-class family, he first discovered painting on a summer vacation to Cadeques. His great muse and inspiration was his wife Gala, eleven years his senior, whom he met when he was 25.

Known mostly for his work as a surrealist painter (surrealism has been described as art that is not real but above real), Dali's paintings depicted bizarre dreamlike states. He described his pictures as "hand-painted dream photographs" and he had many favourite recurring images, among them burning giraffes! One of Dali's trademarks was the melting clock, which symbolized his feeling that time was irrelevant and he often incorporated himself in his paintings, in the same bent and flowing style.

Dali's work is often exuberant and vigorous, with strong, vivid colours applied in a painterly manner. There are also Dali paintings with an intense, brooding quality - darkened landscapes, ominous skies, abstract figures often huddled together against the external world. Classically trained and a superb draftsman, he was strongly influenced by Picasso and Cubism in his early works, developing his own surrealist style in the 1930s, a different way of perceiving reality and one which he called "paranoic critical."

After Gala's death in 1982, he lapsed into morbid depression and there were rumours of attempted suicides. He was finally taken into the care of friends and died on January 23, 1989, in Figueras.

Full-bodied Love

The smell of brewing coffee is an unashamed assault of the senses. The heady and fragrant scent tantalizes and teases, provoking a primal response from the passionate admirers of its many-layered charms.

According to legend, coffee was first discovered in 600 AD by a shepherd named Kaldi who noticed that his goats were more frisky than usual after grazing on a coffee shrub. It wasn't until 950 AD however, that the Arabs first soaked the green coffee beans in cold water to make the first coffee beverage. Since then, mankind has not looked back, with over 400 billion cups of coffee consumed globally each year. Next to oil, coffee is the most valuable commodity in the world.

For the true coffee connoisseur, there is nothing more satisfying that the pure, unadulterated taste of a fresh cup of java. When paired with a suitable companion - be it cream, chocolate, caramel, brandy, whisky, rum - coffee can be a luxurious and deadly decadence.

Whether you like your coffee bold, iced, in the mornings, after dinner, as a creative energizer or a sinful indulgence, coffee's influence on our everyday lives is unmistakable. For two great reads on coffee and the role it plays in history and the economy, try Mark Pendergrast's "Uncommon Grounds" and Stewart Lee Allen's "The Devil's Cup."

A Passion for Curves

Voluptuous, inviting, accessible. Flat curves, round lines, and a picture on a two-dimensional plane. Basic imagery, yet Al Hirschfeld's line drawings stun with their vibrant aliveness. They compel and propel you inwards, into the subject's presence. You gaze at these incorrigible images with Hirschfeld's eyes, created almost as if by sleight of hand. A caricaturist and an illustrator, he had a sense of style, beauty and design uniquely his own. You cannot see a Hirschfeld drawing and not smile a little smile. You cannot look at a Hirschfeld drawing and not be amazed and yes, even a little humbled at how the simplest of forms can evoke such a strong sense of being.

8 decades - long by any human standard - and yet, you wish there was time for one more drawing, one more smile, no curtain calls, just a last encore that never has to end. Bob Staake writes a worthy tribute to a man who really did make make-believe more real.

Sultry Southern Comfort...Food

Hot summer nights on Bourbon Street. Early sounds of jazz thread their way from behind wooden window slats, blues caress from cool, dark rooms with satisfyingly mysterious depths. The beat picks up. The rhythm gets hotter and steamier as the night goes on - the notes more complicated, the music more soulful, a sound that moves in time with your heart. Like the music of New Orleans, the food is rich, textured, sometimes mellow, more often surprising you with bite. It's food that makes your blood sing, that seduces with charm before it delivers the knockout punch. How do you improve on perfection?

Gene Bourg makes a case in Don't Call It "Cajun" where the real Acadian cooking of South Louisiana makes blackened redfish look pale.