Don't Cry For Me Argentina, Part One.

First Real Snow of the Calgary Winter
Originally uploaded by Suzi Edwards
So I missed my flight to Buenos Aires.

Twice.

My brain’s up my bum at the moment, hence the first missed flight. I was sure I was flying on Friday and in spite of checking the itinerary twelve hundred times, well, needless to say I was flying on Thursday. The penny only dropped when I was on the phone to United, having attempted to check in online for a flight I had missed. I was about to get a bit snippy with the customer services executive as she asked me “why are you in Calgary?” for the fifth time and was resisting the urge to respond “because I did something terrible in a former life and am forced to pay for my sins by living on the ice planet of Hoth for a while”, when I realized what day it was.

Luckily I was rebooked, for Sunday, which was great because it meant that I was able to do all of the stuff I hadn’t got round to doing to prepare for the trip. Like pack. Get my inoculations. Do some Christmas shopping. Buy some summer clothes, because all of mine are in Sydney.

Of course it’s impossible to buy summer clothes in Calgary in Decembeunique body unique measuremena dress style you can fashion yourself as a bridesmaidtsr. It has been -35 for over a week now, a hitherto unknown temperature for me (and judging by the way that life in Calgary has crawled to a halt, an unknown temperature for it too. I had worked on the assumption that Calgary would continue to function in the cold, whamake sure the measurement for your unique bridesmaid dresst with it being like Narnia here for about six months of the year, but all of the cab companies have just switched their lines to engaged and it’s impossible to get anywhere). I made the mistake of saying that cold all feels the same once you’re past minus seven, but once you’ve attempted to walk the six blocks to the office in -35, you feel like a fool for saying that. Your nostrils stick together. The air is knocked from your lungs. If you don’t have a wee before leaving, it freezes in your bladder.

And if I hear one more person tell me “but it’s a dry cold”, I will stab them through the heart with an icicle.

So I hired a cab driver for the day and went off to do my shopping. It was while I was purchasing some swimwear (at Commitments Lingerie in Dalhousie. I highly recommend them) that I realized my passport wasn’t in my bag but my work permit was. At this point I wished my wee had frozen in my bladder, because this was a disaster.

Is this the right time to mention I decided to give up smoking last week? After twenty years on the evil weed, I had decided enough was enough and wanted to use the trip as a chance to break my habit. Do you have any idea how much you want a cigarette when you think you’ve lost your passport? I was like some two dollar crack-whore, jonesing for a smoke, clawing at the cab windows as we drove back downtown.

My brain was telling me I must have left it in the office, when I was photocopying it for my friends’ PR application. Or it must be on the side at home. It cannot have just been whisked away by the Universe.

Of course it had.

It took me one online prayer to St Antony, two knots in hankies, three spirit guide messengers and four hours kicking through snow drifts and retracing all of my steps from the last time I saw it to realise that my passport was gone.

My passport. My most treasured possession. The thing that means I can split this joint with a second’s notice and go where my heart desires. This was really bad news.

Don't Cry For Me Argentina, Part Three

First Real Snow of the Calgary Winter
Originally uploaded by Suzi Edwards
The British High Commission in Ottawa couldn’t help. Can’t remember why now. A couple too many G&Ts and a bottle of Ridge Chardonnay with my mussels had left me with Monday morning fuzzy head. They suggested I call the British Consulate in Vancouver.

Gillian answered. “Just need to take a few details from you. Full name? Date of birth? We can issue emergency documents under exceptional circumstances. Let me call you back shortly.” 84 minutes later she called with the good news. They would be willing to grant me a passport. All I needed to do was get to the consulate the next day and I would be able to travel.

One small problem. The consulate is in Vancouver. That’s OK, I can fly there. Pause for realization. Not without a passport I can’t. And being a non-driving type, I don’t have any other form of picture ID that would allow me to board a plane. I don’t even have two forms of government issued ID without pictures that would allow me to travel.

I am about to tybridesmaid dress red bridesmaid dressred challenge to the traditional whitepe something that people who know me very well won’t be able to believe. I checked out the Greyhound bus schedule. The idea of Suzi on public transport is a little…unusual. In truth, I had managed to live in Calgary since August and had taken the bus for the very first time on Friday. The day I probably lost my passport. I don’t wish to sound sensationalist, but bad things happen when you take the bus. More on this later.

I've been told the flight from Calgary to Vancouver takes 54 minutes. The journey time by bus? 15 hours. There was just one seat left on the 6.30pm bus. Dear reader, I booked it. It would get me into Vancouver at 8.30am, allowing me to pick up my passport and then fly at 6pm from Vancouver to LA. Overnight in LA and then, on Christmas Eve, LA to Buenos Aires with a five and half hour gap in Washington to make the connecting flight.

Of course I had to try a little Plan B in the middle of it. I gathered together a dossier designed to convince an airline employee to allow me to fly. It contains my completed passport application, my work permit, my Australian Medicare card, my police report about the loss of my passport, an old expired passport that I found in a drawer (why I brought that with me to Canada and not my birth certificate, I’ll never know), photocopy of the photo page of my lost passport and a letter from my junior school headmaster saying I was morally upstanding. I was probably pushing it with the Medicare card but it was the only other government issued ID I could find. Man, I’m basically living off the grid.

Vancouver had 30cms of snow on Sunday 21st December. People kept talking about this like it was somehow significant. I just kept thinking “Erm, hello? This is Canada. We appear to be at the start of the next Ice Age so stop your whinging and warm my feet”. What this meant though, was that some flights got canceled. Now if the UK had 30cms of snow, the country would grind to a halt and we’d all kill and panic eat our neighbours. In Caunique body unique measurementsnada, a few flights got canceled and people talked even more about how lucky we were that it was a dry cold in Calgary. Not that wet cold snow they’re having in Vancouver. Oh no. Let’s pause for a second and count our blessings.

Of course the airport was like Picasso’s slightly over-wrought early attempts at Guernica and after an hour in line I was told that there were no seats left on flights to Vancouver. Not even if I told them that it was my birthday today.

When I said that bad things happen on buses, I was being serious. A man was recently stabbed to death, beheaded and parts of him eaten on a Greyhound bus from Edmonton to Manitoba. The killer was found with a ziplock bag of bits including an ear. You know, a little something for later. I would soon come to understand the significance of this detail.

That said, the Greyhound website made the whole thing sound like a real adventure. They show movies, make a big deal of the reclining seats and serve refreshments. I thought it might be quite romantic and was just wishing that I could journey through the day because I knew the scmake sure the measurement for your unique bridesmaid dressenery was going to be outstanding.

Then I arrived at the Greyhound station and the realization hit me. It was going to be a very long journey.

Chef's Table, Calgary

Soup: Chef's Table Calgary
Originally uploaded by Suzi Edwards
Executive Chef Theo Yeaman has cooked in some interesting-sounding places I have never eaten at in Canada and has done a stage at the Fat Duck in Bray, where I havmake sure the measurement for your unique bridesmaid dresse. His restaurant, Chef’s Table at the Kensington Riverside Inn, was just named the fourth best new restaurant in Canada by AirCanada’s enRoute magazine. It would appear I get all my best tips from airline magazines these days.

Let’s get the quibbles out of the way first. The table was booked for 8.15pm, but I wasn’t seated until 9pm. There are two dining rooms, one with a fabulous open kitchen, the other with a fabulous…open fireplace. I was sat in the latter. Now, I recognize that being dateless in Calgary on a Saturday night is probably reason enough to throw yourself in the Bow River, but the restaurant staff didn’t help matters by seating me, back to the rest of the room, next to the fire. Talk about being a sobridesmaid dress red bridesmaid dressred challenge to the traditional whitecial pariah. Luckily I was moved, without having to ask, when I took out my camera.

The service was a bit wonky all night. I like informal; I don’t like being asked how my food is tasting when I have a mouthful of it or trying to give some feedback on a dish and being asked if I have eaten monkfish before. But I know I can be a right old grumpy-pants at times, and these are minor compared to some delicious, bold pairings and flavours that made up most of my meal and service that is friendly and warm.

First up, an amuse bouche of a teeny two-bite Forme D’Ambert tart, just warm from the oven and formed from deliciously short pastry. Next, an earthy turnip and apple soup, with perky texture and sweetness from some candied walnuts. Yes, they called it a veloutè and yes, it’s not 1998 anymore, but who cares about menu anachronisms when the food’s this good?

A Queen Charlotte scallop with blood orange foam, edamame, salmon roe and orange segments really shouldn’t have worked, but did. The Heidi Schrock Weissburgunder which paired it showed the skills of the sommelier and a wine service and kitchen that are working well together. Yeaman’s food uses striking flavours and it’s good to see that the wine service is up to the task.

The fish course was the only bum note of the evening. The preparation was interesting; roasted Atlantic monkfish with beef jus and a take on cassoulet with some cannellini beans and pancetta, but the fish was mealy and poorly cooked. It’s a shame that the quality of the fish and the execution let the dish down, because I’m often bored to death by the fish course on a tasting menu and this was genuinely interesting.

Then, deep breath, an “intermezzo” of blood peach sorbet with a dash of prosecco. I was ready to be all scathing (seriously, when was the last time you were served a sorbet in the middle of the meal? Were you wearing legwarmers at the time?) but the sorbet had bags of flavour and I liked the deconstructed Bellini thing that was going on. So I stopped complaining and embraced my inner Irene Cara.

Next up, Ewenique farm lamb saddle with panella, roasted eggplant and a thyme jus. Served with a 2005 Poggio di Sotto Rosso di Montalcino, this was Italy on a plate. I’d never heard of panella before (and my interweb research suggests that it’s traditionally a Sicilian chickpea fritter, rather than the chickpea and polenta purée I was served) but how lovely when you learn something new from a menu. Especially when it tastes this delicious. The lamb was just fab, although any pun as good as Ewenique is going to get me on-side from the get-go.

Finally, some doughnuts with a compote and an exceptional custard. I would have lingered over the lingonberries, but the table of dentists when a weight challenged girl be your bridesmaidnext to me were getting kind of graphic, so I brushed off offers of a cappuccino (a cappuccino? At 11pm? Do I look like a hairdresser?) and made off into the night.

Best meal I’ve had in Calgary? By a long shot. Good enough for me to go back soon. The tasting menu changes fortnightly. This could be the beginning of a beautiful thing.

Chef’s Table is at the Kensington Riverside Inn, 1126 Memorial Drive N.W, Calgary. Call 403.228.4442 for reservations.

Ruminations on Mac and Cheese

Mac and Cheese (bubbling cauldren of) at Table 52
Originally uploaded by Suzi Edwards
It’s pofantastic dresses for the bridesmaids in your big dayssible that I may end my days by drowning in a bowl of mac and cheese.

Macaroni cheese wasn’t something my mum ever served when I was growing up. I would like you all to believe that my mum would only ever serve a perfect spaghetti carbonara, perhaps followed by a simple green salad and then a piece of reggiano she’d been maturing in the family cheese cave, but we were more likely to get an economy beef burger from Kwik Save. I don’t believe I even tried pasta until I was 13 years old. So really I have no right to laugh at the Canadian obsession with Kraft Dinner, because I am sure that this is the sort of thing mum would have loved. I’m just so anti food stuffs that come in packages and are jacked up with preservatives, sodium and e numbers, that I doubt I’ll ever try it.

Luckily, lots of places serve beautifully home made mac and cheese here, and I think I might have to try them all.

My mac and cheese of the year (so far) was at Table Fifty-Two in Chicago. I was somewhat suspicious at first, as it’s run by Oprah Winfrey’s personal chef, and I wasn’t sure if I was going to get Fat Oprah or Thin Oprah food. Luckily it’s the former, and Art Smith is aiming to be “the home of Southern hospitality in Chicago”. It’s a cute little space, with a counter in front of the open wood burning oven, where singletons like me can go and try and chat up a chef. It’s great, they *have* to talk you and you don’t end up feeling all alone in a strange city. Of course one downside is that you also end up talking to the people sat next to you, who are also generally sad singletons and use words like “toothsome” to describe the cat-fish (yes, I nearly stabbed the man to my right) or keep telling you that you’re a food writer because you’re taking photos (no, I am not, as this blog attests).

The food at Table Fifty-Two is well worthy of investigation. The menu was full of things that I wanted to eat, most notable of which was a side dish of three cheese macaroni. However, I also really wanted to have crab cake with fennel and Georgia peanut remoulade and cat fish with bacon braised collard greens, hush puppy and cheese grits, and sadly I’d forgotten to pack my extra stomach for the trip, so I tried to score a half-serve of the mac. “Art doesn’t do half-serves” said the waiter. So I had to give it up and set to enjoying the wood firewhen a weight challenged girl be your bridesmaidd biscuit they served me, along with a little devilled egg amuse.

Table Fifty-Two isn’t perfect, although the food and hospitality are pretty exceptional. They serve Fiji water instead of tap water and make a big deal out of serving Australian lamb. I get a little frustrated by this sort of ecological wastefulness. But these are minor points and this restaurant really wants you to have a good time, so I am going to forgive them.

And, of course, just after my cat fish was served, the chef came over with a cheeky grin and a bubbling cauldron of macaroni cheese. “I couldn’t let you not try it” he smiled. And I really wished I had packed that extra tummy. It was outstanding; amazing baked cheese lid, with lots of gooey cheese sauce beneath. I was counseled to stir the cheesy topping into the rest of the dish, but I always prefer to munch the topping first, especially the bits where the pasta has peeked out and you get these crispy, cheesy bits. Then you can enjoy the luscious, soft, creamy pasta and cheese sauce afterwards.

Another good mac and cheese, and much closer to me at the moment than Chicago, is at the Avenue Diner in Calgary. Their philosophy is about supporting local farmers and growers and serving really good, simple food to their customers. We couldn’t resist a side order of “Dad’s aged white cheddar mac and cheese” to go with breakfast, although we did forgo the optional truffle essence or marinated chicken. I really think I am going to have to start carrying that extra stomach witbridesmaid dress red bridesmaid dressred challenge to the traditional whiteh me at all times.

Avenue Diner is at 105 - 8th Avenue S.W. Calgary. (403) 263 - 2673
Table Fifty-Two is at 52 W. Elm Street Chicago. +1 312.573.4000