Pillow Blog: Some Things I'll Miss About Tim's

Tim Horton's and Burger King might join forces. And though it's kind of like when Tim's and Wendy's did the same a few years ago, that doesn't stop it from being big news. For Canadian news, that is. The "man on the street" interviews seem mostly concerned with one thing: Would that mean Burger King takes over food operations at Tim's? Could extra large sodas and salty fries replace our double doubles and sugary donuts? Eh, probably not. Tim Horton's has its finger on the sluggish, cholesterol-choked pulse of Canada's food tastes. Still, if the worst did happen, here's what I would miss about our national coffee chain:

• Bagel BELTs. But only when hungover. And with some sort of cheese-covered specialty bagel. God, you're gross, but also suddenly sober. 
• Sour Cream Glazed Doughnuts. Here's the secret about Tim Horton's. They may put the date on the coffee pot, but you don't really know how long the doughnuts have been there. I once saw pumpkin spice 'nuts for sale at a Tim's. In March. However, the sour cream glazed doughnut is a reliable choice. The dough is already moister thanks to the sour cream, and the glaze seals it from even the most punishing rest stop air. These are the things you learn on many family trips along Canada's highways! 
• Timbits at work. With nearly any other work treat, you're limited by shame and social graces to one piece. Not so with Timbits. As long as no one is looking, who's to say if you had one Timbit or six?
• Related: the work Tim's run. Social bonding at its finest.
• The Honey Crueller doughnut. If I'm feeling lucky, I pass over the reliable sour cream glazed for the treacherous, yet occasionally rewarding, territory of the crueller. What mysteries are contained in its many folds and crevices? What fairy magic renders its insides so spongy and delicious? Perhaps a second one will unlock its secrets. 
• Oh heck, the Iced Capp. But only once a summer, because it's the adult Slurpee. 

Finding Cake Again

I can't remember where I read it, or when, but I do remember reading that the moment you realize you will never read in Remembrance of Time Past is the moment you realize you are no longer young. So I set it to read it a few years ago in a bid to LIVE FOREVER. Now that I'm two years older, I realize that literature doesn't work that way. But in spite of my time-ravaged face and (presumably) worsening eyesight, I've rounded the corner on the final book of Proust's work.

So, I asked for madeleine pans for Christmas. Cheated out of eternal life, I wanted at least to be able to dunk a fresh-baked madeleine into a cup of tea the moment I hit the final period. And thanks to that timely gift and Julia Child's recipe for Madeleines de Commercy (reproduced on hungry sofia ) I think I will be able to.

French recipes for baked goods are, of course, fussy as fuck, but these are worth it. They "humped" perfectly in the oven, and once cooled had a slightly crunchy exterior that was perfect for soaking up tea. Or forcing you onto a journey of remembrance, as the case may be.

Even Smitty approved.

This Is Why I'm "Curvy"

In spite of my better judgment, the online dating profile persists. At the very least, it's been an interesting sociological experiment, from confusing mating rituals - God bless the man who worked KFC into a pick up line - to what an algorithm thinks is my type. Which is somebody who loves food. More than they could ever love me. Every time OKCupid barfs up another potential suitor, it's inevitably a white dude, with a beard, who mentions kimchi in his profile.

Now, I like to eat. And I really like to eat kimchi. But as excited as I am to try out good restaurants, I secretly love bad food almost as much as well-done ramen. A recent article on the AV Club reminded me of this - and now I'm sharing it with you all, in case you want to forward it to OKCupid's algorithm robot.

1. Wine gums. I once ate a pound of wine gums in what was probably, if I'm being generous with myself, an hour. I tried to undo the effects of this decision by then eating one slice of pizza, a case of food calculus that only made sense in my head, and never to my digestive system.

2. Popeye's Chicken Dinner. Everybody loves Popeye's biscuits, but I'm all about the coleslaw. Fuck the biscuit. Just give me two styrofoam bowls of coleslaw and some friend chicken bits, and I'm a happy, lipid-high lady.

3. Chicken McNuggets. I don't know why McDonald's felt compelled to proudly announce to the world that the McNuggets were "now" made with white meat. What the hell was I eating before? Oh well, even if it was ground-up donkey, it's still delicious when dipped in honey. Side note: you can't get honey for dipping in the UK. I now understand why my American friends fought to free themselves from British tyranny.

4. Kraft Dinner: Anyone who follows the box and divides it into four servings is a liar. Each box feeds 1.5 people, or 1 person who's depressed post-breakup.

5. Tim Horton's Bostom Cream Donuts: The crappiness of my workday can be gauged by which donut I've ordered. Sour cream plain? I'm on the ball! Honey crueller? Things are getting dangerous. Boston cream? I can probably be found crying in the bathroom.

Food For Forest Critters

I hope the defining aspect of my generation is not its dedication to theme parties, but it's beginning to look that way. And so here is my theoretical contribution to the age's great body of work:

A Dinner Party Featuring Food A Hedgehog Would Make If A Hedgehog Could Make Food.

Drinks would be Forever Nuts tea from Davids Tea, and dessert would be this, a Scandinavian Dried Fruit Soup. God, doesn't the name alone make you think you're living in a burrow? And that's not whipped cream on top. Oh no, there are no whipped cream cartons in the forest. Only yogurt for this one (although I'm not sure why I've decided there are plastic yogurt tubs in the wood either, but I'm the hostess of this theme party, and so my word is law.)

It's from the Moosewood Daily Special Cookbook, and although I was expecting something that tasted like dates floating in spruce beer (don't ask,) it's rather sweet thanks to the four cups of peach juice you pour into this. Those hedgehogs might be on to something yet.

Book Covers I Have Loved: What To Cook And How To Cook It

Thanks to my new job, I've learned that designing a cookbook is hard. Each page has a dozen bits of information, from ingredients to cooking times, that must be communicated clearly to a reader who is similarly doing a dozen things at once trying to make that page into a meal.

However, I don't much care whether the inside of What To Cook and How To Cook It is easy to use, because the outside is certainly nice to look at. There's no creepy, branded photo of a celebrity chef with their signature scrawled across their own face, like you would get with your David Ramsays. Or a bunch of boring text that marks kitchen classics like The Joy of Cooking and How To Cook Everything.

There's just a few illustrations, including a fish who is so cute, I could eat him up. Literally. Like, with tartar sauce.

Stuck On Pause, With Pasta

Oh mon dieu. I wish I had momentous news from my absence to report, but not so much. For a while there, my life felt like it was stuck on pause. I was waiting to hear back about one job, but thinking about moving back to Ontario. I was going off to volunteer, but coming home to play endless rounds of solitaire. I was on a unicycle, pedaling endlessly in space.

Ok, scratch the unicycle part, although it makes for a fun mental image. No wait, I want to continue with the metaphor. Eventually, though, I decided to stop pedaling and descend gracelessly from the unicycle. Now I am back on my own two feet, I have a plan and I begin to feel semi-competent again.

To celebrate, here's a quick recipe, sans photos, for a dish I've been making a lot recently. I bought ingredients for a pasta salad since there was a picnic on the horizon. The picnic went swimmingly, even though it became an indoor thing thanks to rain, but I still have orphaned artichoke hearts. Hence this pasta dish. Make it when you're lazy, poor and have nuttin' but jars in the fridge and a basil plant on the windowsill.

The Fridge Is Bare And Your Life Is Overwhelming Pasta, or Carbs, Yay.
-enough spaghetti for one person
-a handful of oil-packed, sun-dried tomatoes, chopped
-two artichoke hearts, drained, sliced and separated
-one shot of olive oil
-a handful of finely-grated parmesan cheese
-two generous pinches of fresh basil, chopped
-salt and pepper to taste

1. Make spaghetti. Refer to the box instructions if you must. Drain.
2. Toss with sun-dried tomatoes, artichoke heart slices, and olive oil. Throw in basil, parmesan, and salt and pepper, then toss until the cheese begins to melt.
3. That's it, you're done. Serve with depanneur beer and a side of quarter-life crisis, but finish off with hope.

It Came From 1962: Chicken Breasts With Seedless Grapes and Marie's Crusty Peach Dessert

As promised, I made a whole meal. Well, I skipped the salad, because I think I had reached my monthly, if not annual, jello intake. However, making a main course and a dessert is a meal by my standards, which are the standards of an unemployed 22-year-old who hates to wash up.

So appreciate what you get, damn it.


Even if it's this. Again, this is supposed to be "Chicken Breasts With Seedless Grapes." Now, I spy plenty of seedless grapes (green instead of the white ones called for - apologies, Zada), but where's the chicken breast? Let's go to an oh-so-appetizing closeup to find out.

Hint: It's to the left.

Yes, it's there in the middle, gasping for air under a wine-infused cream sauce, ham, mushrooms and bushels of grapes. They should have just called this recipe "Sauce For Closeted Alcoholics" and let all the desperate housewives finish off the rest of the "dry white wine." It would have made more sense. Then again, there's a lot about the sixties that doesn't make sense to me, but I'll just drink up, be merry and learn to love the cigarette smoke.

In spite of its alarming colour scheme, which reminds me of '80s prom dresses, it's surprisingly edible. Or maybe that's just the wine talking. And here's dessert:


Fortunately, Crusty Peach Dessert is just another name for a peach crumble or crisp or whatever, so it is DELICIOUS. However, I do think the name would make for one hell of an STD euphemism.

It Came From 1962: Alice's Ginger-Citrus Mold

I decided to wade bravely back into the jiggly fields of Jello-dom this week. And I'm glad I did, because this gelatinous mass is DELICIOUS. Sure, it might look like some kind of deep sea dweller, but it's good.

Probably because it doesn't have any meat, cheese, or other foodstuffs that belong out of my gelatin.

Anyway, this is Alice's Ginger-Citrus Mold. Yes, it's still from the salad section, but since it has two -TWO - different kind of fruits in it, I'm prepared to accept it as the fruit variety. And because the addition of grated candied ginger makes it delicious, I'm feeling a little generous. I ate this thing for breakfast. Willingly.

If I might digress though, the fact that both the grapefruit segments and the mandarin oranges have to be canned is such a sign of the times. This cookbook is proud to boast its "California flavor", but they'll eagerly bypass citrus trees that were probably growing in their backyward to grab a can opener. And I, for one, don't blame them. Little Todd has Scouts tonight and my 60s husband (Art McKenzie, FYI) has to go to the lodge. So I can't be assed to peel a grapefruit's worth of segments.

It Came From 1962: Old Family Beef And Noodles

Since I needed something in my diet that would provide me with more nutrition that the goodness of gelatin, I turned to the casserole portion of the book. There's no more painful sign of the fact that this book dates to 1962 than the fact that there is no "Main Course" section. Only Casseroles. Even wraps are somehow casseroles. And pork chops. And stuffed zucchini.

Since I was still recovering from the green-tinged madness of last week, I landed on a recipe that was pointedly unadventurous. There's mostly ground beef and noodles in this thing, along with canned tomatoes and mushrooms. That led to this conversation with my Mom:
Me: At least this one has honest-to-god vegetables in it. Even if they are canned.
Mom: Well, couldn't you use fresh mushrooms instead?
Me: Pardon me? St. Zada accepts NO SUBSTITUTIONS. Nutrition be damned!

However, a scant 1/8 of a teaspoon of basil and 1/4 a teaspoon of pepper are all the flavorings you'll get in a large-sized casserole. Even by 1962 standards, when having more than two spices was to be suspiciously continental and perhaps a little light in the loafers, that's sad. So, I played the rebel and - hold on to your pillbox hats, ladies - doubled the amounts! Just don't tell Zada, or her vengeful spirit.

Verdict: Edible.

It Came From 1962: Ginger's Pineapple And Roquefort Cheese Salad

It's only the second week of cooking and partying like it's 1962 and already I've hit a wall. A wall labeled PEOPLE IN 1962 ATE CRAP.

Okay, not literally, but almost. Which brings us to the second recipe from A Time For Cooking, Ginger's Pineapple And Roquefort Cheese Salad. A few weeks ago, I decided just to pick a number at random and make whatever happened to fall on that page. I realized the folly of that plan when the page happened to contain this... "salad."

I like pineapple. I LOVE Roquefort cheese. I even enjoy stuffed olives, celery and lime jello, the other major constituents in this recipe. However, I've decided that I like them when they're kept far, far apart from each other. Just imagining the flavour sensation of pineapple and blue cheese together was bad enough, without even factoring in the strong tastes of the other ingredients. I shuddered just reading the recipe. But I soldiered on.


Then, I slipped the salad out from its mold. And I felt nauseous. Quivering on a plate sat a big... pile... of bloody mucus. The sour smell of the lime coupled with the earthier scent of the cheese even smelled like vomit. The recipe wanted me to put this thing on lettuce leaves and serve with mayonnaise, but I just couldn't bring myself to do that. I had created my own little torture porn movie with nothing more than a grocery list.

But reader, I ate it. Or at least no more than one slice, the flavor of which I can barely describe. I told someone it tasted like mothballs, not because I've ever tried one, but because that was the worst thing I could think of someone eating at the time. It starts off citrusy and sweet, before suddenly turning salty and sour and, I swear to Christ, MOLDY because of the frigging blue cheese. I couldn't even finish my bit before throwing out the whole thing.

So, from now on I am going to pick randomly, unless it looks like cold molded ass in which case I will move on the next thing that could be passingly edible.

And if I ever meet this Ginger character, I am punching her right in the goddamned face.

It Came From 1962: Molded Feminine Fare

This requires cream cheese, a cup of sour cream, sugar, salt, canned apricots, canned pineapple, cherries and miniature marshmallows. As you might expect from those ingredients, it is filed under "salads."

There's hardly any prep to this thing at all. You just beat the cream cheese, add the sour cream, the sugar and the salt, then mix in the fruit and marshmallows. Put it in a loaf pan and freeze over night and you should be more than ready for your Cribbage Society's meeting in the morning.
Sure, it's a little alarming-looking. And it's worse when you slice it, when it looks like it probably got it's name 'cause it looks exactly like a woodland fairy's menstrual pad. Although that might be my fault for going with the coloured marshmallows.

In any case, it doesn't taste entirely awful. However, it produces enough Feminine Fare to turn even Clint Eastwood femme, so I've been eating it for dinner every single one of that past three days. And now I kind of want to take three Valiums, have an affair with the lawn boy and drunkenly ask my husband for a divorce in the middle of Thanksgiving dinner.

It Came From 1962: The Beginning

Last weekend, there was a $1.00 Used Book Sale at one of my favorite bookstores in the city – S.W. Welch. Actually, I didn’t care all that much that it was at one of my favorite places. The fact that somewhere books could be had for $1.00 was enough. I would have probably shown up if it was run by the Church of Latter Day Saints.

Among the 10 prizes scored that day was this little cookbook. It looks unassuming enough on the outside, but inside this book shares pages with the Necronomicon. Alright, I’ve never read the latter, but I’m sure it would have just as many recipes for gelatin and canned crap salad as this.

The brain trust behind this book is comprised of Zada Taylor, “well known among California librarians” and Betty Herman, “the daughter of the late, beloved Lloyd C. Douglas.” I’m not sure about Mr. Douglas, but I think Ms. Taylor was more well feared than well known, since she starts off the book with a salvo like “A time for cooking is cooking when it is convenient” (But what are your thoughts on fucking, Zada?) and later follows it up with “A good cook never takes the chance of upsetting the balance by subtracting from or adding to the required amounts.”

The shaggy-haired Beats and their bongos may have already started to turn her California topsy turvy by 1962, but by God, their rebellious ilk would be kept out of the kitchen.

Anyway, I’m in love with and terrified by this thing, from the “Idiot’s Delight” on page 14 involving dry onion soup mix, goose liver sausage and sour cream to the “Steamed Salmon Loaf” on page 132. Basically, it’s as if Mary Worth had written a cookbook. And, since I’m about to be bored and unemployed, what better way to pass the time than attempting to cook from it? So, for the next 52 weeks – or until my death from gelatin overdose, whichever comes first – prepare yourself for It Came From 1962.

Tomorrow: I tell you what it’s like to spend three days eating Molded Feminine Fare (page 58.) Here’s a hint: I’m off to my Ladies Bridge Club meeting.

Cupcaking It Up At Petits Gateaux

About two years ago, I talked about the cupcakes from Itsi Bitsi. At some point, I thought about trying all the cupcake places in Montreal and blogging about it. Sadly, that idea was resigned to the dustbin of my mind, to make time with my many knitting pattern ideas and dreams of opening a shop.

By this point though, I think I have actually tried them all by accident. I've had chocolate, vanilla and red velvet. I've eaten them at craft fairs, I've feasted on them with milk, I've carried them home in tiny little boxes. The last is the hardest thing to do, as I found out yesterday.

I happened to be by Petits Gateaux, a place I've tried before, buying tea. Since the day couldn't reach maximum twee-ness without a cup of cake or two, I decided to stop in and see how they were holding up.The Choco-something avec Fruits de la Passion caught my eye and I got it to go, figuring I could snap a photo and post it here. I realized what a terrible idea that was five minutes into my 55-minute walk back home. With each painful step, I mourned the fact that the cupcake was in its really cute little box and not my mouth. About 25 minutes in, and I started hallucinating that the street signs were shaped like cupcakes.

Somehow, I had the willpower to make it home though.

The Review: This one offered a macaroon-like base topped with simple chocolate cake. I thought the cake part was a little on the dry side, but the icing was divine. That's where the passion fruit came in and it's an inspired idea. It was so bright and smooth I attempted to nibble all the cake away so I could just focus on the icing.
Conclusion: A solid B for the cupcake, but an A+ for that beyond-adorable box. I felt like I produced twice as much estrogen just carrying the damn thing.

It's Cake to be Square

I started a new project last month. I always had a weird half hour before work. My brain wasn't functional enough to read a book, but it was too functional to keep itself busy with the asinine CTV morning show. When they did a segment on a giant lobster being moved to an aquarium, I knew I needed to do something, before I drowned myself in my morning coffee. So, I started crocheting. I had hoarded all of my scraps of worsted, heavy worsted, and chunky yarn for no reason, and the collection was reaching absurd, Howard Hughesian levels. I needed a project to use them all up, and the logistics of planning a whole knit blanket were just too imposing at the time. My brain was still struggling with the semantics of why the tupperware collection still needed a box. And if it would be meta to put them in one of those big tupperware storage containers. Oh, and the mysterious crust in the fridge of incredible adhesive powers was bothersome as well. So, I turned to that classic, the granny square. With little to no thought, and a couple of segments of the Daily Show, you have another square. And another, and another, until you have a nice little pile. It's also nostalgic to remember which project each yarn came from, or when it was added to my stash.

I'm running out of scraps though, so I might have to go off and finish some projects in order to liberate some yarn. Or else buy more yarn, which won't be any help at all.

I think I have my priorities all mixed up. At least in baked goods, I know it's cupcakes first, now and forever. Just yesterday I mentioned Les Glaceurs, and today on a walk to Atwater Market, I found a place on Notre-Dame that's also in the teeny cake shilling business. This place is called Itsi Bitsi, and the cakes come with their own handy box. I tried the coconut cupcake, a tasty option. They certainly don't skimp on the coconut for garnishing the icing. I don't think it beats the Red Velvet cupcake, but that's just the addictive power of FD&C Red No. 40 talking. However, I don't see any peanut or nut-related cakes on their menu, which might just make it K-friendly. I shall have to find out. Right now, I'm going to call the cupcake race a tie. A delicious, delicious tie.