L'Abbatoir Lunch

Best lunch in the city. Period. 

Mommy-Blogging and Macarons

So the best part about being a mom is having another nose to pick. So many tiny boogers! Also mat leave. You can spend your day cross-stitching or napping or learning Spanish or whatever. During some of my free time I checked out Sweet Bake Shop in Yaletown. My friend Elena gave me one of their meringues and since meringues taste like sugar-flavoured air I decided to see what else they had. Okay. I have a giant boner for macarons, so I grabbed a party pack and took them home to enjoy el solo. While I will give the Sweet Bake shop points for creativity with their flavours (Neapolitan, strawberry cheesecake, key lime pie, chocolate milkshake), they are no Thierry. As in one and a half thumbs down. As in all the expensive marble and over-done pink girly shit will not make the macaroons taste amazing; and if you are two years late on a trend, you have to be amazing. 

chop it up and make some guaca-MOLE

Coming soon to Burrard & Davie...

molli molli molli molli molli molli

Phnom Penh

Apparently when you are pregnant you make more saliva. What the deuce this is for no one will ever know. It's not like you happen to be stepping up your bj game during this time, you simply blame it on the "hormones". and suffer through waking up with your pillow case crusted to your face. It's like the time I flew to Thailand and took a sleeping pill, a muscle relaxant, and three white wines and woke up 13 hours later with a waterfall of dried drool down the side of my face, a la CVA. These days things are a lot less exciting and the best places to find me drooling are on my RMT's massage table and Phnom Penh.

The first rule about Phnom Penh is that you don't talk about Phnom Penh.

The second rule about Phnom Penh is that the lady at the door will choose your fate, so don't piss her off. You won't be seated unless your whole party is there. Expect waits on weekends. Only parties of 6 or more can make resos. And you are only allowed to stay for an hour and a half, then they cut you off. So stuff your face.

The third rule about Phnom Penh is the chicken wings. I know, that doesn't even make sense, I do not care. They are delicious. I am sure there is a generous sprinkle of crack cocaine in the sweet and salty batter but I don't give any fucks.

These are my favourite dishes. 

The fried rice with the little bits of Chinese sausage. 

Chicken wings. 

Deep fried squid.

These days...

I ate the fish tacos from the Tacofino truck on Burrand and I realized that it's really hard not to be happy when the sun is shining like it has been. Like rainbow lasers shooting out of my butt happy. Like I just had sex with a unicorn happy. Like cuddling a pet sloth happy. There is no stopping me. 

Man Hands!

I got me some big mitts. And really, the lack of bracelet options isn't keeping me up at night. The list of pros much longer: better for punching people in the face, more surface area for handies, better handling for chopping and paring, and the obvious - better grip for mowing down on A DELICIOUS IN AND OUT BURGER.

Fuck You Thomas

In anticipation of a recent trip to Napa and an amazing opportunity to eat at the French Laundry, the day before we left I made a chicken pot pie from Thomas Keller's ad hoc cookbook. Also I had roasted two chickens and needed to do something with them before we left. Not that I have ever held back when tooting my own horn, but I can whip together a tasty chicken pot pie on my own fairly easily, it's really just leftovers, gravy, and some crust. But Cord is always giving me shtick about not sticking to a recipe so I thought that since the ad hoc cookbook hasn't let us down yet (try the fried chicken) I would follow the recipe exactly (sort-of). I even used Thomas's pie dough recipe. And yes, we are now on a first name basis. The dough came together nice enough and I tossed it in the freezer to cool while I worked on the pie guts. None of it was all that difficult until I got to the béchamel sauce. Fucking béchamel. It's not complicated, it just takes way to damn long, who's got 40 minutes to stir some sauce? Granted it tasted delicious, but I made it even better by adding my own leftover gravy which I made by pureeing the drippings with some of the shallots, garlic, potatoes, and garlic the chicken had cooked on top of. Bazinga! 

The most frustrating part was rolling out the dough. Thomas is a bit of a purist so his recipe is the simplest kind, calling for cold water as the binding agent of the flour and butter. But in my go-to recipe I use milk, which gives the dough a bit more grace for rolling out. I had flour all over my belly now that it gets in the way, maybe some low blood sugar levels, and probably some anger at my own inadequacy, which quickly led to cursing ol' Thomas Keller. 

Fuck. You. Thomas. 

Needless to say it wasn't pretty but I eventually got the job done. I put it all together and after baking the pie for an hour, I had pretty much used up a whole afternoon. 

In conclusion it was the best chicken pot pie that I have ever made. THE most delicious ever. And the best part about the whole thing was when we got to the French Laundry there was a card on our table. From THOMAS KELLER. I'm sure he writes them for all of his guests but I still took back all the nasty things that I said and all of the curses. 

I love you Thomas. 

Writing a Trailer Trash Cookbook

I have been kicking around the idea of writing a trailer trash cookbook for a while. It would be a compilation of my favourite recipes that evolved from comfort foods growing up, to recipes that I have perfected. It still needs a little tweaking, but this is my perogie casserole; one of the many non heart-healthy but fucking delicious meals to look forward to. 

Get! In! My! Belly!

I've been pretty lucky during this pregnancy. Hilariously, my two biggest complaints have been acid reflux and sciatic pain, thanks for the great genes Dad. No crazy cravings, no 4am corn dog runs, just the occasional bout of Hanger. And today I was on the verge of being a total spaz, so it was necessary to make a stop at Dinesty on Robson for some fried rice, spicy beans, and shrimp and pork pot stickers. Delicious!

FYI: Dinesty > Peaceful Noodle

Zakkushi

Zakkushi is another example of why I am a terrible blogger. I don't like to take photos of my food, I like to stuff my face. I have been there at least a dozen times and I couldn't quite put into words my affinity with the Japanese meat-on-a-stick variety. I couldn't fit it into the proper boxes of [Words][Photos][Description]. Something always came up: I forgot to take photos. I accidentally got drunk. I mistakenly left Albert in charge of taking photos (cuz he's Asian). I went there on date night and was more interested in making out. More often than not I just lul'd myself into an izakaya carb coma and didn't give a flying fuck about blogging (cuz it's lame). Needless to say, all I have to show for all those fun times are some blurry photos of meat on a stick. More specifically blurry photos of sticky rice, wrapped in BACON, and covered with MELTED CHEESE.

$2.85

Let's be honest, there is nothing that is going to perfectly fill the In & Out Burger shaped hole in my heart. Nimby Burger was as close as I came to shoving my gullet with happiness. But since they have closed the position has remained vacant. Not Five Guys, not Splitz, nothing has created the guttural craving that wakes me up at night. Now the $2.85 food truck has piqued my interest. In name alone, I like their style. So yesterday I was conveniently both cold and hungry which got me really excited about the idea of warming my hands on a tasty cheeseburger. I got it sans teriyaki sauce because that's just unnecessary. $2.85 for the hamburger. $3.50 for the cheeseburger. I ate it and I was warm and satiated.

Avoiding Dine Out

Last week my friend Laura was in town from Ottawa, so we met up with two other girls for dinner at Good Wolfe in Yaletown. We were intentionally trying to avoid the craziness of Dine Out and feeling nostalgic for the La Brasserie of old. Getting knocked up has left me with limited space in my abdominal cavity; I'm actually not quite sure how I'm supposed to get even bigger in the next four months, so stuffing my pie hole isn't as fun as it used to be. Also, I can't get nearly as sauced up as I used to. And really, a generous helping of wine is the only thing that makes the Yaletown crowd tolerable.

Oh yeah, the food was good. The best thing I tasted was this, mashed potato poutine. Heck. Yes.

Burrata vs Sex

I've been busy, getting married and shit. And do you know what marriage is the perfect excuse for? Eating burrata. For breakfast. You spend your wedding night at the Georgia Hotel and the next morning you wake up in marital bliss, roll out of bed, and slum your way down to Hawksworth for brunch.

This one was the fancy shit, with prosciutto, balsamic reduction, fresh figs, walnuts, and olive oil marshmallows. I'd say it's better than sex but I'd be lying.

Burrata Bitches!

See previous entry.

Sometimes a really awesome friend will take you out for dinner at Nook and you will each have to get your own burrata because neither of you are willing to share. Then you make the mistake of trying to add up the 1000+ calories in this dish. Sidenote: you will not find "Creamy Cheese Soaked in Cream" listed as an option in one of those calorie counting apps. 

Ps. If you die before eating one of these your life is not worth living. 

Chicken Crack and Ikea

I am lazy. I generally don't like to leave downtown. I work, box, and eat all within the 20-ish square blocks of land that awkwardly juts out towards the Burrard Inlet. To leave downtown I need a decent reason. The driving range. Tattoos. Horseback rides. Etcetera. What is close is comfortable and what is comfortable is routine.

Thus today's hunt for a new bed was a great opportunity to alleviate the depths of ikea hell with something tasty from the heart of Richmond. Surprisingly, fried chicken! Not just any fried chicken. but the best god-damned fried chicken in the GVRD.

L A Chicken

I am pretty sure the chicken is battered in crispy cocaine flakes. So delicious it is almost worth the trip.

Zucchini Flowers

When my fiancé told my Memérè that zucchini flowers are served in fancy restaurants she nearly fell off her chair, laughing in disbelief. Gesturing to her giant zucchini patch she said in her gentle French Canadian lilt, "Well, I've got a gold mine then eh?".

That first batch of delicate flowers was hand picked and carefully packed into our carry-on for the trip back to Vancouver. Now it's an occasional treat that still reminds me of home.

We found some young blossoms at the West End Farmers Market and learned that the secret is to wrap them in paper to protect them and keep them fresh. We stuffed them with lemon and herb goat cheese (fancy piping bag = ziploc bag with a corner cut off). The batter is simple: flour, salt, and a carbonated liquid (we used what we had on hand, cider). Fried in oil and paired with a summery salad of asparagus, sautéed kale, avocado and shallots on butter lettuce.

Buckstop

It doesn't have to make sense. Sometimes you put a couple of shorty forty's of caramel vodka in your rootbeer and you go watch This is the End. Then you go for barbecue at your local shitty joint. It's not awesome, but at least they're not d-bags like down the street at a vomit-boring, pseudo-UK Donnelly gig. This city needs less of that and more of awesome. Turn down the suck knob Vancouver.

How To Do Date Night

Step 1. Shave your legs. This can be assisted by pre-drinking in the shower to save time.
Step 2. Put on shoes that say, "I'm wearing fancy panties".
Step 3. Eat an amazing meal, like the kind available at Andrea Carlson's Burdock & Co. on Main Street.
Step 4. Have a couple shots of tequila when you get home. The good kind.
Step 5. Makeout times.