Doktor Weingolb

Indian Summer is beginning in Montreal. Temperatures went up to 18 degrees yesterday and promise to hit 23 degrees today. The weekend and Monday should reach 20 degrees - 10 degrees above normal. When the temps climb so abnormally this late in the year, it's called Indian Summer.

Indian Summers makes me want to drink white wine and I've actually got a more notes on them than the reds lately. I clearly need to clear out from the passing season. First though, another look at San Quirico Vernaccia di San Gimignano 2005 which was my favourite drink of summer.

It's no wonder I wanted to take a long summer Vernaccia when there's wine as refreshing and regenerative as this. In fact, this bottle I got while on vacation in New York over July and August, which explains the label being different from the previous one. It's the same vintage and still is the same wine inside -- that magic combination of fennel and flat ginger ale with a citrus twist.

This wine is usually low in alcohol with a bitterness that only acts to further mask any kind of heat. Very minerally, very wet stone, which I love, but really not vinous at all, which a lot of winos might not like much. It's practically a lemon lime seltzer, but it'd be the most exquisite soda you've had -- something that only New York City seltzer can seem to offer. (How appropriate the NYC connection is because Quebec only sells one single bottle of Vernaccia -- the more inhibited Rocca Delle Macie... I think I've come to associate this wine with New York for its supply as well as the seltzer standpoint.)

In revisiting this wine I deciphered another one of its interesting elements, a characteristic I can only link to quinine, that essential bitter ingredient in tonic water. (I called this wine regenerative -- it's no wonder it's like a tonic!) It kind of makes the sides of your mouth get all dry and pucker in the same way a bitter tannin would. Yet there's no tannins in this wine, and it's not even barreled in wood. So does this wine contain quinine? I can only think of quinine having a similar effect when there's no tannin or wood involved.

But wait! Quinine, it turns out, is actually a little bit of both. But first a bit of history...

Quinine was part of a refreshing beverage that was born of another kind of Indian summer -- summers in India at a time when fighting malaria had a enjoyable treatment and prevention method. Of course I'm talking about gin and tonics. It was the quinine in tonic water that was the effective medicine against malaria then and the story goes that the British and the Indians added gin to their quinine-filled water to reduce quinine's bitterness, hence the birth of the gin and tonic.

Even after other anti-malaria medicine were developed in the 1920s, India kept drinking, becoming the first place where people enjoyed the unique properties of quinine in a non-medicinal way.

So what's the tannic/wood connection to quinine, and perhaps to this wine? Well, although the Indian summer might have been where perfect quinine refreshment was discovered, it was during an Incan summer way back in Peru of 1817 when French scientists harvested bark of the Cinchoa tree in Peru to discover the alkaline organic substance which was known as Quina-Quina by locals. It came to be called quinine, taking the name from what the Incans named the bark -- "holy bark" -- and rightly so because the stuff was a medicinal wonder, though very bitter-tasting. Quinine is tannin. Quinine is wood! Or least a part thereof.

And I find it every bit the perfect coincidence that before quinine was successfully harvested from trees in South America it was originally used as a tonic. This was way back in 1600s where it was found in the swamps around Rome -- not far from San Gimignano, the indigenous home and virtually sole growing area for the vernaccia grape. Hmmm... is this how vernaccia gets its quinine-like profile? In Italy today quinine is known as "Chinino" (and if I want to stretch the connection, this wine is known as "Quirico," a placename that quite similar-sounding, though I have almost zero knowledge of Italian).

But back to the real Quirico here: There's something about the quinine-like edge and lack of vinousness in this wine that makes it special, whatever the chemistry might be.

For instance, this wine is the perfect -- scratch that -- the only wine that can be paired with a salad dressed in vinaigrette. Try Vernaccia with a salad like this and you'll be amazed as I was. It's a match! (Most wine isn't supposed to be paired with any vinegar-based accompaniments, ever.)

recipe for vinaigrette

four teaspoons olive oil
three teaspoons rice vinegar
one teaspoon amontillado sherry or other dry sherry
salt and pepper to taste

Combine ingredients in a small bowl and stir rapidly until emulsified. Pour on washed, spun-dry lettuce or mustard greens in a large salad bowl. Mix to coat thoroughtly using your hands (also washed, but not spun-dry).

Leftovers part 2: Lunch at my desk

Those leftovers from that soup begat leftovers themselves -- in the form of one of the nicest brought lunches I've put together for myself. I'm sure they are to go down in the annals my cubicle.

Today is the last lunch at my desk I'll be having for a while (actually forever). Tomorrow is Friday and marks my final day on the job. I'm vacating my current position and before my new assignment I'm taking a bit of a vacation from work entirely. (I may even be taking a little bit of a vacation from this blog too.)

Pretty vacant!

Leftovers part 1: The soup that eats like a meal

How often do you end up making a soup when you find leftovers in your midst? Extra chicken bits, unused gravy and remaining veggies make a logical progression into a hearty and flavourful soup. As I posted on Thursday, I get a hearty and tasty Carrot and Fennel Soup that recalls the best leftover soups because the flavours have built up over time and left to linger. But surprisingly, it's the dish you see above, not that soup from last week, that is the "leftover" meal.

That's right. When I get my hands on a fennel bulb, the first thing I do is start chopping it up for soup. Everything else comes second. When I bought a bulb that had spectacular frond action, I knew I had way too much for a soup garnish. So I kept the what I had leftover. Then when I came across some cute chicken cutlets the idea struck me. Create fennel-stuffed chicken breasts!

This worked really well for something that I made up as I went along. Because I had some small stalky parts mixed in with the fronds, the anise scent quickly permeated the scalloped chicken pieces while I pan-fried them, first on high heat for searing and then slow-cooked on low. I made a simple breading for the chicken and didn't do anything at all to my leftover fennel except chop it coarsely. Delicious!

Pretty impressive for leftovers.

I wouldn't serve this soup with wine -- it practically is wine. Aged for a week in your fridge, the flavours have a chance to develop into a bouquet not unlike the ones on some of my favourite cuvées: with anise and sweet earthy tones.

This is an Amanda Hesser recipe and it's dead simple. Just make sure you exaggerate the step where Amanda says this soup is best the next day. It's actually best the next week. Freezing it is also an idea worth trying though I've never done it myself. Whatever you do, don't call it leftover soup; it's "coming-into-own" and a dish that requires some time.

Saute a chopped fennel bulb (reserve fronds for garnish) in a couple tablespoons butter until they start to soften. Add several carrots, peeled and chopped, to fennel and continue softening and stirring for another 5 minutes or so. Salt and pepper, and throw in some sliced garlic. Add about six cups of water and bring to a boil. After 20 minutes squeeze in some orange juice and a half-cup of sour cream. Optionally mash up the carrot chunks. Refrigerate or store in your wine cellar for several days before reheating and serving.

This is one of my standby meals when pork filets go on sale. It's from Jacques Pépin's Table, which I think was my first cookbook. Pépin does it all in this book, not only supplying heaps of great recipes but combining the individual dishes into menus to which he suits specific wines. If you can't find a copy in print, here's the webpage with the recipe for Filet of Pork Charcutière.

(In my experience, the flavours are so forward in this dish that chasing after some of the specific ingredients he lists is unnecessary. Use any onion, though red onion is a treat, and frankly, the white wine is not essential. Pickles, tomatoes and Tabasco are the integral components.)

I doubt Pépin makes even one suggestion for a Douro, a Dão or an Alentejo in the entire cookbook, but that's what I've got decanted in the pitcher above. After reading over his notes, a red from Portugal makes even more sense now than when I served it. The deli-style sauce is acidic so you need wine that won't turn to flab by comparison. I hate to say it, but no effing Merlot. A Barbera, or another rustic Italian red might work nicely but I think a lusty red from Portugal is ideal.

Good leekage: For helpful tips, recipe ideas and some very cool leek preparation techniques, check out Brooklynguy's post. He's clever and handy and he's got an anonymous leek-savvy commenter who ain't nothing to sneeze at either.

The feast of Saint David is exactly five weeks away! So start choppin'.

If you want a good recipe for squash, common sense dictates that you should turn to the cook who dislikes this autumn vegetable. Alright, sometimes even common sense needs an explanation.

This may sound weird, but as a someone who usually shuns all types of squash, I find that I can really do these vegetables justice. I know from experience -- all those times I'm stuck with a buttercup or a hubbard -- how one can make these super-sweet gourds really sing. So if a squash non-believer like me can build a meal around it, surely all you squash-lovers out there could try my recipe.

Before I get to this dead-easy dish, a word on what inspires me to prepare squash since I don't exactly love the stuff. Basically, two things: the seasonality of squash is quite enjoyable, and so is making a wine pairing for it. In fact, the bottle pictured above was inspirational enough to get me to fix my acorn squash two ways. Coated and roasted (see recipe below) as well as in a shallot and herb omelette.

The wine was Clos Bagatelle Veillée d'Automne Saint-Chinian 2002. Something about its spicy/earthy character -- perhaps the Mourvèdre, perhaps the Syrah -- really accentuates the spice mixture I make for the squash.

In general, Saint-Chinian reds are majority Syrah blended with Grenache and Mourvèdre -- a common formula for grape blends throughout the Midi region of France. Yet Saint-Chinian wine always seems to be stamped with its own very unique profile, or at least I find it to be. Just last night I had the Clos Bagatelle Cuvée Tradition 2005 which conveyed what the réserve bottle did but with brighter tones, full of cassis and red fruit. For more on the various products from Clos Bagatelle, a forerunner of the Saint-Chinian A.O.C., including their Donnadieu brand, consult this online order form.

SAQ stocks so many Saint-Chinian wines, I'm sure that it must be the biggest carrier outside of France. So many bottles are bargains though Bagatelle may be the most trusted name. Give them a try, with or without the following food pairing. (Sometimes I like my little spice mixture so much with Saint-Chinians, I can't wait to bake -- this stuff goes great on slapped on rice crackers or crusty French bread... just open a bottle and see.)

Coated and Roasted Squash

1 acorn squash, cleaned and cut into eighths (any in-season squash will work, except maybe spaghetti squash; though butternut is probably the best type, acorn is what I had on hand)
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon dried thyme
1/2 teaspoon cumin
dash of garlic powder
a few chili flakes
freshly ground pepper

Preheat oven to 425F. Lay a sheet of aluminum foil onto a cookie sheet. Lay out the squash sections.

In a small bowl combine the ingredients of the spice mixture. Coat the sections, rubbing the mixture into the concave surface and sides. Bake until desired tenderness. About 25 minutes.

I wish to dine and have wine with my dish. Even though it's Oktoberfest season, beer is not a mandatory drink should you feel like getting festive. It's especially not required when serving a francisized regional recipe for sauerkraut, known as choucroute, which calls for a nice northern white wine for simmering.

That's what got me to uncork the 2003 J & S Selbach Kabinett Riesling. It opens with white flowers and honeydew on nose. There's melon and apple on palate with interesting smoky notes, perhaps flint-based. Very delicate overall with some depth and a smidge of effervescence. It's a balanced and enjoyable wine and only 10% alcohol, which is quite traditional for a German Riesling.

For such a stately representative, try making an equally alluring artefact from the region. Like I said, it not only pairs well, it also calls for the wine in the recipe.

Choucroute recipe

8 slices bacon, roughly diced
3 onions
3 garlic cloves, peeled and sliced thin
2 apples, cored and sliced
1 head cabbage, shredded as finely as you can
3/4 cup Riesling
1 1/2 cups vegetable stock, approximate
1/4 cup gin
12 peppercorns
3 bay leaves
6 cloves

Heat a six-to-eight-quart enameled cast-iron casserole (do not use aluminum or black iron) and sauté the bacon until clear.

Add the onions and garlic and lightly brown them. Add the apples, sauerkraut, vegetable stock and wine. Also add the juniper berries (I've substituted this traditional ingredient with just gin as you can see from the list above), peppercorns, and bay leaves into the pot. Optionally, add a some cloves.

Cook for 2 hours on medium-low heat, keeping the pot just at a simmer.

Serve with a local Riesling or a white Alsatian wine, perhaps a Gewurztraminer or Pinot Gris.

Weingut Tyrell Karthauserhof, Zeltinger, Himmelreich, Deutschland. 10%.

When Eric went away for a week, he left me in charge of his farm-fresh organic food basket. It was filled with peppers, tomatoes, cabbage, leeks, and many other vegetables, as well as some fresh-cut herbs and fruit.

It was a plethora of delicious local produce so I wasted no time in organizing a vegetable-themed dinner with as many friends as I could find. The food and wine menu was:

Aperatif: Château Bonnet 2004 (Sauvignon Blanc)
Poached yellow and red tomatoes with oregano and savoury in olive oil
Sunflower seed and squash sourdough bread, served with soft cheese

Cauliflower and caper gravlax in dill and shallots

Choucroute Alsacienne
(simmered in and paired with Hugel Riesling 2004)

Zucchini Flan served with sweet hot peppers and cherry tomatoes
Sparr Réserve Pinot Gris 2004

Wawel cheesecake served with fresh cantalope and ground cherries

When we weren't savouring every morsel, we managed to take a few pictures...





Oh yes, those ground cherries are quite a trip. They come with their own paper-skinned packaging. That's what we call sustainable. Thanks Eric!

Zucchini Flan from Meg

Meg says this recipe originally appeared in an old copy of the New York Times food section (that's where I first saw a great recipe for my choucroute, but more on that in a later post). So I got the flan details from her site and then made sure I added the optional nutmeg as well as the leek I had on hand. These two additions add extra depth to the dish. Here's how I adapted the rest of the recipe.

3-4 medium zucchini
a leek, chopped into discs
3 cloves garlic
5 eggs
¼ cup sour cream, thinned with whole milk
salt, pepper
dash of nutmeg
sense of humour (just kidding)

You will need: a sauté pan, mixing bowls, a loaf pan, a baking dish large enough to put the loaf pan in, and a kettle of boiling water.

Slice the zucchini thinly. Heat some olive oil in a pan and sauté it over medium-high heat. Sprinkle with salt. When zucchini releases some liquid, add the leek and the garlic, also sliced thinly, and reduce heat. Continue to toss until all the zucchini has softened and the bottom of the pan is covered with liquid. Take off heat and let cool. Cover it if you have half an hour to let it rest and reabsorb its juices.

When you’re ready to assemble the flan (about an hour and a half before you want to serve it) pre-heat oven to 350F and set a kettle of water to boil. Beat the eggs and sour cream/milk mixture lightly in a bowl with some salt and coarse pepper. Add a generous dash of nutmeg. Stir in and thoroughly coat the cooled vegetables (must be cool or else it will cook the eggs prematurely).

Set up the Bain Marie. Pour the mixture into a lightly buttered loaf pan. Place the loaf pan in the baking dish and place in oven. Carefully pour boiling water into the baking dish so that water reaches at least half way up the sides of the loaf pan. Bake for about 30-40 minutes.

The flan is done when the whole thing is set but still slightly jiggly but not runny in the very middle (check by gently shaking the loaf pan -- carefully, mind you, so as not to scald yourself with the hot water).

Remove the loaf pan from the Bain Marie when set and let the flan cool. When you are ready to serve, run a knife or spatula gently around the sides of the pan. Then put a serving plate on top of it and invert forcefully to un-mold the flan. Serve cut in thick slices.

Nothing against Chianti. I love those lusty Sangiovese-based wines, especially when it complements rich Italian sauces or other wonderful regional dishes that are centred around the tomato. It's just that no one ever seems to think it's desirable to serve other wines with tomato sauces. I'm here to say you can. In fact, sometimes you should.

Especially when you've got local superfresh tomatoes to work with -- like now, in September. Then you get the urge to make a cruda-inspired tomato sauce. Cruda style means minimal oil gets integrated into your farm-fresh vegetables. The veg cooks in its own natural juices and intensifies itself while it cooks (see my recipe at bottom). Naturally, cruda makes me think of a lighter-bodied, less opulent wine than the Sangiovese that a fine Chianti often features. Also, I think cruda sauces are less acidic than others. To be enjoyable, wine always has to have at least as much acid as your food. Since the acid in the sauce is going down, you can also scale down the acid content and choose a less acidic wine. Being low in acid is not something Chiantis are known for.

So I dropped the Chianti Classico and instead served my fresh tomato sauce with a Cabernet Franc varietal from Saumur-Champigny and the regional Dão grapes of Portugal's Casa de Santar, which in 2003 produced a surprisingly sauve and smooth cuvée, made to order for a tomato sauce topped on a fresh white fish like tilapia. In the end, that's exactly how I decided to serve my sauce.

THAT'S ITALIAN?

Here's how my homemade tomato sauce paired up with these two decidedly un-Italian wines. The 2003 Domaine du Ruault from the Loire was light but it still had very full flavour profile. I opened it first, so we drank it next to the appetizer course: homegrown orange cherry tomatoes (yes, more tomatoes!) on a garden salad. The Cabernet Franc lended the starter notes of licorice with vegetal and herbal underpinnings. It had some sharp edges, which made this wine coarser than the Chiantis I often drink. Nevertheless, with its tannic punch, it went on to measure up against the tomato sauce.

It was not long at that point until we opened the Dão. Casa de Santar Tinto 2003 had more body and was welcome as we continued on our main course. This Portuguese wine harmonized with the sauce well, supplying rounder fruit than the first and a lot more spice too. To me, this wine approximated a Chianti in an interesting way. Nice acidity. Definitely showing the rustic charm of Portugal yet conveying an Italian savouriness and an earthiness. Stewed prune notes harmonized with the tomato-bathed fish, which I served with a side of leeks and long-grain rice medley.

These two wines were prezzies from Ontario. The LCBO stocks them both and you cannot get either one in Quebec. Neither is in the general repertory section of the LCBO so you may need to research their availability a bit before you come across one. Locate Casa de Santar Tinto 2003 or Domaine du Ruault Saumur-Champigny 2003 before they sell out.

If you are successful, why not try them, especially the Dão, with my sauce. Here's the recipe, as promised.

Fresh tomato sauce

a half dozen large locally-grown tomatoes, the more bumps and surface blemishes the better
several sprigs of fresh garden basil, roughly chopped
an onion, in fine dice
three bay leaves
one tablespoon olive oil
sea salt and fresh pepper to taste
capers (optional)
chopped kalamata olives (optional)

Fill a very large sauce pan, deep pot or dutch oven two-thirds full with salted water and bring it to a boil. Reduce heat to medium-low and immediately blanch the tomatoes: Over a period of no longer than thirty seconds, submerge the tomatoes one-by-one and then fish each back out again.

Set aside the tomatoes, green stem side down while you discard the water from your pot and return it to the stove. Add the tablespoon of olive oil to the pot and then begin to soften the diced onion. Sprinkle with some salt and pepper. Reduce temperature further and stir if onions start to brown.

Using a sharp blade, score a small cross at the blossom dimple. Peel back the skin at each of the four corners you've created (While your tomatoes will already be in position to do this easily, you will find they are not too hot when handled carefully -- many cookbooks instruct that a bowl of ice cubes and water are necessary but I do not do this. As a result, you may get a bit more of the tomatoes on your fingers in peeling off the skins. This is because the internal cooking of the tomato was not halted by dunking it in cold water; however maintaining internal tomato structure is not important since we're making a sauce. And you'll love licking the delicious -- magenta, you'll notice -- and suddenly heightened-in-colour tomato goo off your fingers once you're done peeling anyway.)

Over a bowl or the pot, halve or quarter your peeled tomatoes so that they are easier to hold. Then pick up and thinly slice each tomato directly into the pot. Add any juices you've accumulated in your bowl to the pot. Bring it to a low boil and simmer for about 30 minutes.

After simmering the sauce, taste it to see how naturally sweet it is. Add the chopped basil, along with salt and pepper to taste. Optionally, add capers or kalamata olives to inject some savour and enhance the complexity of your sauce. Stir. (At this point, many cooks taste the sauce and then add more oil or red wine vinegar to give greater balance to a sweet sauce. Since fresh tomatoes we used give out more liquid -- and since we have plainly refused to waste the jelly, seeds and ribs that are often scooped out from the tomato and discarded...why? -- adding more liquid ingredients at this stage will create the need for further reduction and dull the fresh basil flavour. As a result, I opt here for olives, instead of olive oil and capers instead of wine vinegar.)

Pour the sauce atop pasta, fish filets (tilapia, halibut, cod, wall-eye, etc), or grilled eggplant slices and serve.

QUICK FIX: If ever the sauce is still too liquid.
Sometimes presentation is important to the dish you are serving your tomato sauce with. Sometimes you just can't wait for thickened sauce. Don't use a slotted spoon to let the runny juices behind. Strain the entire pot through a fine mesh. Then use the remaining bright rust-coloured juice instead of a water bath to cook your fish filets. Or reserve it for boiling pasta on another night when don't feel like making a sauce but still would like a treat.

The current wave of high heat and humidity peaked yesterday in Montreal. When it gets so insufferably hot, I require new strategies to continue to eat and drink in a civilized manner.

Plan B is always flee to an air-conditioned restaurant, but since I am currently paying for two balconies which by the grace of God are shaded from the sun, dining outside where you can catch an occasional breeze is the best plan of attack. (Especially during those prolonged heat waves when night after night of eating out is not financially viable.)

So as a result, I have practically perfected the following tricks.

I hope they work as well for you as they have for me.


HOW TO COOK AND EAT WELL IN THE SUMMERTIME HEAT

1. Follow the forecasts: This is not to strike fear in your heart but to find the silver lining. Forecasts may feature temperatures well into the 30s, but every forecasted high has its low. Even if a forecasted low only dips down to the mid twenties, chances are it's going to happen in moments after dawn, when the air temperature routinely dips due to some scientific phenomenon that I can't explain. But knowledge and wisdom are two separate things so it is the wise cook who heads into the kitchen early. Be like the baker. Sanely turn on the oven when your kitchen doesn't already feel like one. (Yes, this means that dinner will be ready a bit early than usual but you don't have to eat it hot out of the kitchen, which brings me step 2...)


2. Prepare cold dishes: This is a no-brainer. Not only does no one want to eat hot food during a heatwave, cold dinners are part and parcel of cooking ahead. So refrigerate your dinner. Let it cool on the counter for about half an hour and then wrap it up for cold storage. Some food works better than others chilled but you can't go wrong when all you want is a meal that helps to cool you down. I made this bean mash recipe, and a dish called Aubergine Continental, and marinated grilled chicken (just throw on the oil, mustard powder, dried onion, red pepper flakes, soy sauce, and whatever else for however long you want -- I don't subscribe to the idea of a perfect marinade -- and then slap it on the stove). Just before we sat down I served it all on local lettuce leaves, making the prepared meals look even fresher and more appetizing.


3. Place chillable reds in the freezer: This step is even easier when you have savvy guests like Gordon, who always show up with just the right chillable selection. Though my prepared dinners were from the southern French school of cooking, and despite the fact that a light and spicy Rhône red is always a good candidate for chilling, we ended up opening a Loire red called Château Gaillard (Touraine-Mesland 2004) -- you can click on the image for more on currently available vintages -- and then followed it with the Dominio del Arenal Utiel-Requena 2005, a red from western Spain whose D.O. (Denomination of Origin) takes its name from regional towns located near Valencia. It had equally elegant fruit as the Touraine-Mesland did and joined in perfectly mid-way through dinner. Perhaps at first it was a bit cold from its time in the freezer but on this particular day it got up to a suitable 16 degrees before you could finish your first glass.

I missed my friend Alex's birthday on the weekend. I was out of town. I was out of town last year during this period too. So this year I thought I would pick up something nice while away and make sure that I made Alex and a couple of our friends dinner before I left.

Then I thought I would publish an entry about it all on her birthday. If I couldn't be at her party in person, Doktor Weingolb could at least manage a shout-out during the festivities.

Well, two out of three ain't bad. This post is belated. Happy birthday Alex!

For you Alex, a souvenir of my travels to the Ontario Fruit Belt is on its way: delicious and pure black currant preserves (well what do you expect from a foodie?) harvested from the Moss Berry Farm in Embro, Ontario (which, being near Woodstock, is a bit farflung from the fruit belt -- the beginning of June is still too early for good Niagara tenderfruit).

I hope you will enjoy it and this retrospective of our Italian-themed meal in your honour...

(Because Alex is Greek, Northern Italy was the mode of the evening, both in terms of food and wine: A Venetian Maculan Pino & Toi to get our juices flowing and then Barbera-based Piemonte wine for an authentic match to the main course, which was a scrumptiously easy meatloaf, seasoned with fennel and nutmeg.)

A Meatloaf, dressed to impress (even its leftovers!)

So as to not insult your guests by serving them ground meat shaped into a log by your bare hands, insert hard-boiled eggs into the centre of the meat mixture before baking. Meatloaf is such an imprecise and forgiving dish that adding the eggs lifts the low standards of the creation and makes for a nice visual feast too. When you slice into it later, your guests will have "I can't believe my eyes" looks on their faces and then follow it up by blurting out questions like "How did you do that?" and "Where did the eggshells go?"

In another twist on the standard, cook the loaf as per tradition on the stovetop in a Dutch oven or other large, heavy, covered pan, which should already be lined with browned onions and carrots -- a kind of Italian mirepoix. Slow-cooking your meatloaf over low heat helps generate a nice gravy that you can serve with it. To determine doneness, use a meat thermometer after you've turned the loaf a few times while it is simmering.

Grilled zucchini and tomatoes are nice garnishes to this dish because they ooze Italiano. While they may be a nice pairing, they're not nearly as essential as celery root (celeriac or céleri rave). When mashed with a little butter and some cream, this celery side will want to cozy right up to the meatloaf.

Except for the zucchini, I served these dishes hot, but they do not need to be. In fact, at room temperature this food really sings. Which means that you should make big batches while you're in the kitchen to ensure you have leftovers when you are done. It's a great idea for summer since it offers a respite from the heat.

WHAT'S "THE ALEXANDRA"?

An even better reason to let your Italian creations cool a bit is so you can make what I call the "Alexandra" -- an incredibly fantastic meatloaf sandwich. What's great about an Alexandra is its meatiness -- the meatloaf is sliced like bread to go on either side of your leftover celery root mash, which, playing the usual role of the meat, is on the inside of the sandwich you've formed. Who says the best part of a sandwich has to go in the middle? It ain't called meatloaf for nothing. Take out your best bread knife and slice away. If you do it right the finished sandwich almost looks like egg salad on rye. Though the taste is entirely something else!

Yet another good reason for leftovers is better gravy. Meat juices, when they sit around refrigerated for a few days, intensify in flavour and thicken in consistency. The extra time also builds up your appetite, or at least I find it does. Then when you are desperate, sprinkle in a little more nutmeg to taste and some sherry. Boil it down to reduce the sauce further. The result is like liquid gold.

CANNOT LEAVE THE CANOLI ALONE

To cap off Alex and the gang's Italian menu, we had ricotta-filled canolis. Summer comfort food is best followed by more comfort food and these fine pastries, when done right, are a perfect way to end the meal. I'm not sure whether these Italian canoli delicacies originate in the north of Italy or not. I can say for sure where they are going though. To the stomach, via my mouth.

WHAT ABOUT BARBERA?

Some tasting notes on the wines that went the dinner. Like Monica, Barbera is a lovely red Italian grape named for a woman. Also like Monica, Barbera, especially Barbera D'Asti, makes for a tremendously food-friendly, fruit-filled wine. Barberas are usually more elegant and less rustic than other regional Italian grapes. Notes of chocolate can bolster fruit flavours and strong acidity punctuates every mouthful. I found that it married particularly well with our rich and flavourful dinner.

Two expressions of Barbera, both from the same strong 2003 vintage in the Asti region of Piemonte are affordable and recommendable:

La Luna E I Faló from Terre da Vino is an oaked and dense red with noticeable chocolate notes. Le Orme by Michele Chiarlo is zestier, lighter, and more simple in style.

Nizza Monferrato, Barolo, Italia, 14%. Calamandrana, Italia. 13%

Six days before the unveiling of the 2004 Rézin cuvées, there was another highly anticipated release: the 2005 vins nouveaux. Unlike the Cuvée Rézin Blanc - P St-Vincent 2004, which is sold out, and will remain unavailable for least a couple of months, the 2005 vins nouveaux continue to languish on store shelves. And these "wines of the latest vintage" were out the earliest!

I'm not a big fan of the whole vin nouveau thing. It was conceived in the 1950s as a marketing ploy. If knowing that is not enough to turn me off, then tasting the stuff seals the deal. Yet the phenomenon has its followers as well as its detractors.

Taking a clever stance somewhere in the middle is the Première Moisson bakery chain: Not really a "Nay" or an "Aye" but more like a "We'll boil the stuff and make it good." With that idea in mind, and perhaps a little marketing ploy of their own, Première Moisson has been baking a little vin nouveau into their delicious loaves, which I think is a tremendous idea. Darn tasty too, so if you find this distinctive red loaf, get it. It's not surprising that the French have recognized this Quebec bakery as world-class. They can take plonk and make it fit for a king. Unfortunately, I have not seen any more pain au vin nouveau in their shops. I suppose it was a limited-time offering that coincided with the wine's sudden annual appearance, which is always a Thursday late in the month of November. If some of these Beaujolais keep hanging around the SAQ through the holidays, then I would encourage the bakers at Première Moisson to nip out for some more and put their magic recipe back in action.

Backwash
I let the Loire provenance of the Cuvée réZin rouge - E. Excoffier 2004 fool me. There's no Cabernet Franc in this table wine at all. The Loire grape that makes strong showing is actually Gamay. Syrah, Cinsault and Grenache from the Rhône get blended into the cuvée too. My apologies and another thumb's-up to Thierry Puzelat and the fine folk at réZin.

Yesterday I may have done readers another disservice by not listing the coordinates of Daylight Factory -- it's officially listed as Café Daylight Factory, just so you know. On top of that omission, I may have also done the café an injustice (Disservice + Injustice = Bad first day on the blog). I called it swanky when it's actually a grand-prize winner in the Commerce Design Montréal contest. This bar was remarkably transformed from loading dock. That explains the interesting two-tiered topography. I think I called it swanky because the levels reminded me of a Hollywood sound stage. Not that swanky is bad anyway. Check out the little panorama movie on the link above for a look.