mimolette… a cheese of cannonballic proportions

Cheese is the food that I crave on a daily basis. Even if it’s just a nanosecond of the day, the desire for the luscious milky goodness of cheese is intense.

My foray into the world of cheese did not begin at an early age. I grew up on Mini Baby Bels and Kraft Singles donuts – a slice of Kraft Singles folded neatly in half, a bite taken out of the middle of the fold, and unfolded to get a toothy hole in the middle of the orange square. It wasn’t until my early teens that I experienced anything other than mozzarella, cheddar and the occasional piece of edam. A small wedge of camembert at a monastery lunch and I’ve been hooked every since.


Mimolette (or “Boule de Lille”) caught my eye during Tuesday’s lunchtime trip to the market. Frankly put, it looks like a cantaloupe. The outside rind is a textured, pockmarked beige-brown while the hard cheese on the inside is a bright carrot orange. I asked for a taste and then… WOW. Blown away.

It is a cheese that crumbles and melts away slowly in your mouth. There is a buttery, salty nuttiness to the flavour but also a hint of something fruity or perfumey; maybe even a touch of caramel if you think about it hard enough. The finish is clean with no lingering cheesy memories on your breath (note to self: good date cheese!).

where: chris’ cheesemongers (st. lawrence market)
caveat: $$ at $63/kg, it's not cheap! yikes!

la maquette

wild mushroom strudel in a spinach and leek cream sauce



La Maquette is supposedly the city's most romantic restaurant. I can see how one might think that if one was sitting on the patio on a warm summer day watching freshly married people walk out of St. James Cathedral, but the inside decor is heavy and stuffy and feels somewhat like a slightly dated Woodbridge fine dining establishment.

chilean sea bass on basmati rice



The food is french influenced and surprisingly inconsistent for such a highly touted restaurant. The highlight of the meal (and the only thing really worth talking about) is the wild mushroom strudel appetizer. Surprisingly rich in texture and flavour, the strudel pastry was tender, flakey and melted quickly on the tongue. The wild mushrooms were well seasoned (no bland mushrooms here) with a depth that was enhanced by the slight sweetness of the spinach and leek sauce.

While I can't see myself making a special trip to King East for any of the entrees that we ordered(chilean sea bass, duet of organic chicken and foie gras terrine, and duck confit), I look forward to a pre-theater or people watching afternoon with the musroom strudel and a glass of wine (or two).

where: 111 king st. east

rhymes with orange

2 weeks of tangerine obsession... culminates in... failure...

Some things are better when you dream about them, and not when you try to bring it into reality.

bar burrito... the one that almost did me in

I suppose I've been lucky thus far. Everyone has had a bad burrito adventure, but I've remained relatively unscathed. Until today - Bar Burrito. On Yonge, just north of Sheppard. It's big, it's clean, it's just not too good.

I should have clued in when I ordered. The fish would take 10 - 15 minutes, the steak and chicken mixes were already ready. The dog was tied up outside, I didn't want to wait, so a chicken and steak mix it would have to be.

My whole wheat tortilla went into the warmer, came out of the warmer, and the girl began slopping on random spoonfuls. My toppings came next - everything no green peppers, jalapenos are ok. Sauces good.

My next clue should have been when she wrapped the tortilla a little too hard and mushy rice and beans started showing through. She looked at it for a split second longer than she should have while deciding whether or not she should start the process over, decided not to, and plopped the monstrosity onto the grill. Great. Nice work ethic there, chick.

But I was feeling a little passive agressive. It was my first time at Bar Burrito, and I kinda knew that there would be a high possibility that I'd be blogging about it, and hey, it's the total experience that matters and not just the food itself. I grabbed my haphazardly wrapped up burrito and left expecting to return home with a pocketful of leaky burrito juice.

Up until that point, I hadn't been particularly impressed. The concept was a ripoff of another well known, established burrito joint downtown. At home, when I unwrapped my burrito, I thought the tides had turned. My meal hadn't leaked, the integrity of the tortilla was still intact, and minimal amounts of rice and beans had fallen out. Good sign.

Two bites in, I changed my mind again. Suddenly, my tongue was going to swell up in my mouth and death was imminently possible. I can take a lot of spice, but this was ridiculous. Maybe I had been slightly over ambitious when I asked her for hot sauce, but then again, who would have expected that they slice their jalapenos into half inch slices. Half inch slices... more than a centimeter of jalapeno in one bite. What the hell was the lazy ass dude with a knife thinking? Maybe I should go after them for attempted murder.

Things never got better beyond that point. The steak and the chicken were virtually indistinguishable from each other. Both were tough and tasted exactly the same to my pepper seared palate. And somehow, when I dissected the burrito to remove the offending jalapenos, I found three random corn kernels that didn't reappear anywhere else in my meal. Scary, but interesting... my Bar Burrito experience ended there.

I had been curious about this place for a while. Some people had raved about it, saying that they were going for twice-weekly burrito fixes. I have absolutely no idea what they were thinking - Burrito Boyz of the north, this is definitely not.

in search of the perfect poutine...

Poutine is the quintessential Canadian comfort food. French fries topped with cheese curds, covered with hot gravy, it satisfies like nothing else after a long, cold day on snow covered slopes or a happily sloppy night of bar hopping.

For many, the classic version of cheese curds and chicken gravy is holy, and should not be messed with. Bah humbug to the purist. Insisting on only a classic poutine and no other is like insisting on a cheese pizza only, or only sleeping on white cotton sheets. BORING. But for others (myself included), it is the lure of the satin sheets and the temptation of the variations that draws us out to the latest and greatest roadside truck, fry stand or wayside diner.

Everyone these days has a version of poutine - fast food chains and even four star restaurants - but what is it that makes a good poutine? It's a simple combination. Fries. Cheese. Gravy. In that order. Nothing special just an ooey gooey mess. Right? Wrong.

It's like saying that all pizza is the same - that the crust doesn't matter, the acidity and sweetness of the sauce doesn't matter, nor does the quality of the toppings, or even what kind of toppings are used. Fries are not just fries. Cheese is not just cheese and gravy is not just brown sauce that has been reheated in the microwave.

The key to a good poutine is the fries. Fries must be crispy and not soggy, medium cut - not thin like shoestrings, and not thick like homefries - and heaven forbid if there is a coating or flavouring of any kind except for salt. Oh, and they should be twice fried, if possible, so the gravy does not soak through as quickly and render the dish into a soggy mess.

Then bring on everything else - the squeaky fresh cheese curds, foie gras, the horse fat fries, the twice fried fries, the chicken gravy, the pasta sauce (for the Italian version), the Montreal smoked meat, feta cheese, American cheese, etc etc. Combinations are endless, but all worth a try.

personal rave: "dirty fries" - greek fry poutine with meat
where: alexandro at the food of qq & yonge