Cravings

I didn't discover Chrissy Teigen the "classic" way; through her Sports Illustrated swimsuit modelling, Spike TV hosting duties or appearances in music videos. I discovered her through Eric Ripert, my favourite French chef.  

When I got sick with pneumonia last year and had to spend a month alone in bed, I went on the hunt for online entertainment to keep my mind occupied. I love watching food shows and since I had zero appetite I thought I'd get my gastric (as opposed to creative) juices flowing by watching him prepare a variety of meals - in his home kitchen - with celebrity guests like Stanley Tucci, Drew Barrymore, Roger Waters and, of course, Chrissy Teigen on On the Table with Eric Ripert.

Other than her beauty, I was immediately struck by Teigen's voice (which I love), her personality and her passion for cooking - not to mention her wicked sense of humour.

Teigen and Ripert prepared two dishes on the episode that featured her and I immediately decided to try one of them: Thai Jok Moo, a Thai rice porridge with pork meatballs.

I made the dish for the beau a few weeks later and he loved it, even though it was really, really different from anything he'd ever tried before. In the interim, I had explored Teigen's food blog (she has a blog too... gasp!), So Delushious, and tried a few of her personal favourites, including Spicy Sesame Noodles with Chicken, Herb Stuffed Branzino and Super Bowl Chili Frito Pie Bar.

YUM!      

Since then, I've delved into the rabbit hole that is Chrissy Teigen's life (that sounded a little ew!) and am proud to say that I've permanently added her to my list of celebrity crushes (hi there, Cameron Diaz, Chelsea Handler and ALL of the Kardashians!). 

And now, Teigen has her very own cookbook; Cravings. 

Featuring "recipes for all the food you want to eat," Cravings is perfect for a girl like me, who is always craving something (like sushi, tortilla soup, pho, hot dogs, cheeseburgers and... a whole lot more!).

I hope you enjoy Cravings, and Chrissy Teigen, as much as I do. Her Twitter feuds are pretty epic as well.

Hellz to the yeah!

I think of Rodriguez

About a year and a half ago my mom, pictured below, got all hot and bothered over this "new" artist that she and my aunt had discovered: Sixto Rodriguez. Born in 1972 in Detroit, Rodriguez is an old-time folk singer who, at first listen, can be described as somewhat Dylanesque. 

But, if given the chance, you'll quickly realize he's so much more.  

My aunt was not the only person on the path to discovery, it seems, when it comes to Rodriguez. He went "missing" shortly after the release of his second album in the early seventies and, unbeknownst to him, a search party had been looking for him ever since. And then there were rumours... that he had shot or burned himself on stage, for example. 

The reason people were looking for Rodriguez, or Searching for Sugar Man, is because he was famous (more famous than the Rolling Stones) on the other side of the world; in South Africa.

A group of music lovers/journalists had gotten together there to try and track him down. They had nothing to go on other than the two records he had released. They studied the pictures. They studied the lyrics. They put his face on a milk carton. They created a website: SugarMan.org.

In the end, they found Rodriguez. He was still living in Detroit, had spent most of his life working as a heavy labourer and had three daughters.

And he had no idea that anybody was still listening to his music. Never mind the fact that he was literally the most popular artist in South Africa with millions of albums sold there.

I discovered Rodriguez through my mom as well as the Academy Award winning documentary I watched with the beau about him last week; Searching for Sugar Man. Though I enjoyed his music previously, it wasn't until I saw the documentary and realized what kind of man Rodriguez was that I came to adore both him and his music.

An angel if there ever was one. 

And what a lyricist! 

I Think of You

Cause

I'll Slip Away

Cause

Cause I lost my job two weeks before Christmas

And I talked to Jesus at the Sewer

And the pope said it was none of his god-damned business

While the rain drank champagne 

My Estonian archangel came and got me wasted

Cause the sweetest kiss I ever got is the one I've never tasted

Oh but they'll take their bonus pay to Molly McDonald

Neon ladies, beauty is that which obeys, is bought or borrowed

Here's to the queen of comedy!

Yesterday afternoon I received a text. 

It was from the beau and it simply said "your joan rivers died." 

While Joan Rivers was far from being solely mine, the news of her death did, in fact, hit me hard.

I never met her but I felt like I knew her. 

Thanks to her trailblazing stand-up comedy routines, her outrageous red carpet antics (she made the red carpet what it is today - before her, it was literally just a carpet), her hilarious (and touching) reality series Joan & Melissa: Joan Knows Best?, the insightful documentary about her life fittingly dubbed a Piece of Work, her biting Fashion Police quips and, of course, her salacious In Bed with Joan web chat show, I came to know one of the funniest, and hardest-working, women in showbiz.

And if the most important thing to be able to laugh at is yourself, then she was definitely a pro at that as well:

   comedy central roast of joan rivers

Interestingly enough, I came to "know" Joan through one of her greatest critics: my gal Chelsea Handler. While the two had a well-publicized feud due to the fact that Joan accused Chelsea of sleeping her way to the top and being a "drunk whore," it is thanks to one biatch that I got to know the other biatch.

who is wendy williams and why is she drinking tea through a straw?

Like most comedians, Joan did not have an easy life. A crippling sense of insecurity (hello plastic surgery!), a marriage that ended when her husband committed suicide after their television show got cancelled and a fraught mother-daughter relationship all contributed to what made Joan who, and how funny, she was.

Watching her documentary was a real eye-opener for me. 

In it, she talks about being fearful of being unemployed and deemed "irrelevant." This from a woman who won wrote 10 books, appeared in nine films and over 60 television shows and sold "$750 million worth of jewellery on the TV shopping channel QVC," according to The Telegraph.  

 miley's tongue thrusting inspiration?

She also unleashes "the card catalog," a catalog of every joke she has ever written.

 the serious business of comedy

If Joan, the woman who "just wanted to be liked" was here today, she would see that she was more than just liked. 

She was loved. 

And she will be missed.   

Oh, and also, this explains a lot:

may the lady with the peace pipe rest in peace!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Fiesta for one

As yesterday was a Monday, and thus the beginning of another long no-carb (read: no-cheeseburger) week, I decided to recreate a particularly tasty taco salad I had the pleasure of trying at a baby shower last week. 

I substituted ground meat for chicken breast and, sadly, left out the tortilla chips entirely. Despite the lack of carbs it made for a surprisingly delicious, and filling, Monday meal for one.

The beau and I visited the Jean-Talon Market last week and thanks to a quick visit to El Rey del Taco (the taco king, I'm assuming) I had a couple of authentic ingredients, like Mexican crema, which made the salad even more tasty than I had imagined.

Lucky me!

I started by seasoning the chicken breasts with salt, pepper, cumin, ground coriander and ancho chilli pepper. After quickly browning them in olive oil I baked them in the oven for 20 minutes at 350 degrees, turning them over once mid-way.

While the chicken was in the oven, I started building my salad. I started with arugula lettuce, added diced tomatoes, avocados and cheddar cheese, and finished with coarsely chopped fresh coriander.

Once the chicken was fully cooked, I removed it from the oven, cut it into bite-size pieces and let it cool. 

While it was cooling, I made a quick dressing composed of Mexican crema, olive oil, lime juice, salt and pepper.

I tossed it all together and wished I was enjoying it on a beach in Playa del Carmen rather than on a sofa in Cote-St-Luc. One can dream... of carbs and beaches.

this salad is on fire

Oddly enough, the overall flavouring of the salad, and evening, reminded me of Girl on Fire by Alicia Keyes... and so, here it is:

 


  

Orange you glad I didn't say banana!

Knock-knock jokes aside (please), the Orange Julep really is one of the most, shall we say, interesting landmarks the city of Montreal has to offer. 

Shaped like, well, a giant orange, and visible as far as the eye can see, it is the purveyor of many an earthly delight, including the aptly named Orange Julep drink.

Fresh, frosty and refreshing, the "julep" tastes like a mix of milk, or ice cream, and orange juice. 

Its exact ingredients, though, are unknown.

my very fresh, very strong, friend

When an equally fresh, though decidedly less frosty, friend asked our waitress (who, unfortunately, was not on roller skates as used to be the case during the Orange Julep's heyday) what - exactly - the julep was made of, she replied "it's a secret."

And she wasn't kidding.

Built by Hermas Gibeau in 1932 to serve his trademark drink, the Orange Julep's tasty elixir is a faithfully-guarded family recipe.

Aside from mysterious juleps, the Orange Julep also serves delicious hot dogs, burgers, french fries and poutine. Since Mondays to Fridays are now carb-free (for me), weekends are best enjoyed with a hefty side of cheeseburger.  

three cheers for cheeseburgers!

Interesting side note: The beau has been staying with me for the past few months. When asked where he lives, he usually replies something like "five minutes from the Big Orange." This is interesting because the beau is a pilot, and the Big Orange once served as a landmark for a pilot whose radar system had failed. 

The reason for my recent visit to the Orange Julep, other than it being carbfest the weekend, was that it was on the way home from a nursery where I bought my first ever black flower, in honour of Kat Von D. 

i swear it's black

I guess orange really is the new black! 

Dear Jack Kerouac... and JG

I can't remember when I started working at the Concordia University libraries. 

I had probably already started university, which made me at least 18 years old/young. I wasn't looking for what Oprah describes as an Aha! moment, but I sure as shit found one.

I found him...

I found Jack Kerouac.

I was shelving books and  suddenly, somehow, everything changed.

My job was to take carts of books that had been returned by students and replace them on the shelves according to Library of Congress classification. 

As I entered the PS section, dedicated to American literature, the air changed and something in me shifted.  

I opened a book called On the Road. 

I didn't know who Jack Kerouac was, and I sure as shit didn't know what a hipster was, but I did know that for the first time in my life, I read something that described almost exactly how I felt.

I was floored. 

Like, literally, on the floor. 

Reading, reading and reading.

And then, reading some more.

Everyday, I would sneak into the PS section, find Kerouac and read. 

When one book was done, I would start another. When they were all done, I read them all over again.

I was in heaven.

I was in love.

In love with words. 

In love with the truth.

Since then, a lot has happened. 

Some good. 

Some bad.

No matter what happens though, I can always count on Kerouac for pointing my soul in the right direction.

I'm not one for talking about my emotions, and maybe it sounds cheesy, but I literally cannot read one of his lines without shedding a tear.

A big, fat, long, juicy one.
 

Even though I graduated in Journalism (and Political Science) and live for words (metaphorically, of course), I'm not great at saying them. 

Thinking them, sure.

Writing them, maybe. 

Saying them, definitely not.

 So here's to my hero, the great thinker, speaker and writer of words.

Jack Kerouac. 

Born in Lowell, Massachusetts to French Canadian parents in 1922. Started writing On the road in French. Died in 1969, at the age of 47, while drinking whiskey.

You stole my heart at the age of 18. 

And again at the age of 34 (35?) in the DR.

And over and over again.

Until the end, and forever.

The Russians are coming, the Russians are coming

What is popular in Iran, Japan and the United States, is sometimes served with egg noodles and was first created in Russia by Elena Molokhovet in 1861?

Beef Stroganoff! 

Traditionally made with cubes of beef, onion and sour cream, the version I recently tried included carrots, peas and vermouth and was baked in individual pie cups with the help of a muffin pan (or two).

The name Stroganoff likely derives from the Stroganovs, a family of rich, Russian merchants, industrialists, landowners and statesmen. The richest family in the Tsardom of Russia since the reign of Ivan the Terrible, the beef Stroganoff pie cups I made in honour of a recent visit from the beau were anything but! 

Instead of trying a traditional, Russian recipe I went with a version made famous by the woman with "the best a$$ in Hollywood," as a (slightly inebriated) friend of mine once famously said.

Ye old Betty Crocker.

The trick to getting the pie cups out properly, and in one piece, is to wait for them to cool completely (which I unfortunately didn't do the first night we ate them).

I hope you enjoy them as much as we did!

It is interesting to note that the first lady of food never actually existed (and thus also likely never had the best a$$ in Hollywood). 

The name Betty Crocker was created by General Mills' predecessor, the Washburn Crosby Company, to personalize responses to customer inquiries. The name Crocker comes from William G. Crocker, a recently retired company executive. The name Betty was chosen because it sounded "warm and friendly."