Weeds Are Food Too!

Years ago, a farmer told me about purslane, a weed I had likened to aloe vera, which was in fact not aloe vera; I had only called it aloe vera growing up not knowing what it was. Today, I noticed the weed rearing its assumed ugly head in the popular discourse of foodie-ism. Otherwise it is bitter, flat in flavour and nothing more. Some say it can be salty and have a mild citrus taste. this, I do not know. It is always bitter to me and always has been since I was told I could eat it and reckoned, during my naive years of gardening that I may as well since it took the initiative to root its way through my vegetables. I don't need to tell you about purslane's popularity today, and how, I'm sure, it'll probably be put on the haute menu somewhere. Until then, it remains almost secret, placed in Chinese stir-fries and old womens' Greek salads. Nonetheless I am grateful it is there offering a little bit of serendipity. 

I recall the day I picked it out of the basil patch growing by the back door of my uncle's restaurant; he met it with an unrelenting confusion, as he did with most of the things his youngest nephew showed him. Why not pick the basil? Why bother with a weed? Alas, my uncle's from a time of classically trained, haute eating- which certainly had an affect of leaving people out of the dining room and creating anxious- social eaters. Oh I wonder: why bother labeling it a weed if it only keeps people away? Purslane's an example when labels really do damage. If there's anything the relic of purslane does, it's remind people to be grateful for the food that is at the end of our forks; again, another little bit of serendipity. And though my uncle may still refuse to eat it, like he does ramps (claiming they have no taste), I will be forever grateful for the oddest bit of food in my city's otherwise urbane gardens. It beats dandelion (something super bitter) and certainly garlic mustard, a weed with limited use as far as I'm concerned. Purslane may seem like the glorification of a staunch foodie or proletariat eater, but I take it always as a reminder to be forever grateful for all the food around me, because it reminds me that there is always food around me, there to be eaten, there to tell me that duck confit can seem a little ridiculous if it somehow convinces you to leave other food out simply because of some label that denies it access to the table. Yes, purslane's a weed, but it also contains more omega-3 fatty acids than any other leaf vegetable (or fish)- and that may be the most health conscious I get on this blog. And if that's the case, is there not merit in all food? Is all food not worth eating?

Love,

Weezee

Yes, comrades, this familiar looking clover is the thing.

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Poisson Not Up to Par

The city has once more privileged us eaters with access to yet another dizzying sushi restaurant, auspiciously named Dake, as if the ‘only’ one worth visiting. And, at the request of my dear culinary brother, Daryl, and a little bit of my own contention, I wearily agreed to check it out.

We were ready and assuming we’d do nothing more than stuff ourselves, Dake being a big restaurant from the outside, and therefore an assumed all-you-can-eat sushi restaurant on the inside. So, stepping through the doors, and feeling a little out of place, our garbs juxtaposed by a space of ambient blue and purple lighting, gaudy chandeliers, wooden frames with paper membranes, a sushi bar, booths and hearths, we managed a quick perspective, remembering the city we live in, and that any cosmopolitanism seems like nothing more than a jeunesse ruse to be culturally superior, especially in another Japanese place that is nothing more than another Japanese place; an aesthetic monster under our culinary beds. Nothing more.

 
Boothed and ready to write on whatever little piece of paper laid before us, we were both surprised, wondering instead if we should have both been confused at our waitress’s assertion that Dake is not another all-you-can-eat sushi place. It’s just a sushi place. However, that little bit of news did nothing to dismay the very necessary skepticism that rained over us like a sudden shower at Atake. The menu is big, the choices typical and underwhelming, and any combo platters patronized with something as trivial as a free pop (which I never received) with meals that run, at their least expensive, just under eleven dollars. There are, of course, things with some artifice, like a Tuna appetizer seared with ponzu sauce, but which warrants purchase for only the wealthiest of connoisseurs as far as I’m concerned. But don’t let me stop you. That may be enough.

I asked for a bowl of vegetable udon soup, seeing if my own skepticism could be smashed with a simple dish that floats its way around every Japanese restaurant in the city, and with that, a combination plate of what the restaurant named the Waterloo roll: a sushi roll of shrimp, crab, avocado, and cucumber skin made into cheap matchsticks. Rolled in tempura crumbs it was dry fare, with pieces that required large mouthfuls, but nothing I couldn’t forgive, if only because I didn’t really care to. Accompanying that was a spicy salmon roll: salmon chuck rolled in crab and sauce with a good layer of chewy rice. Texturally pleasing, it was nothing out of the ordinary, so familiar to these parts that my only problem with the thing might have been its banality. But don’t worry, there are tons of other rolls to entice you, or at least have you giggling- like the love love roll, strawberry roll, or, of all patriating things: the Cambridge roll. Y’know? In case you feel a little homesick and want to be reminded of a place with factories, sprawl, and cheap developments. Oh, and a downtown with coffee shops that serve cigarette ash in water. To each his own.

 
Bathing in a steaming stoneware bowl, my udon was a savoury combination, albeit a little salty. Topped with tempura crumbs, seaweed strips, and bitter greens, the dish did its best to uphold any veritableness as an udon bowl, but fell short with vegetable ingredients like broccoli, cauliflower, and button mushrooms floating in the soup. In a city that openly offers ingredients available to a true bowl of udon, I’d at least expect mushrooms on the level of shitake, or at least portobello. Although, I did spot a few enochi in the batch.

It’s only been three weeks since Dake’s Grand Opening, and though my own skepticism was solidified with familiar food and average taste, it’ll be up to its patrons to decide if familiarity is all Dake needs. 
 

Dake Japanese Fusion Restaurant

519-744-7557

607 King Street West, Unit 1
Kitchener, Ontario. N2G 1C7   
 

Fri-Sat: 11am-11pm

Sun-Thurs: 11am-1030pm

ANY PAYMENT

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Ch-Ch-Changes

Everyone who’s anyone knows about the Huether Hotel, an ambiguous grab-bag for all the restaurants that actually make up its space, the Barley Works being one such assemblage. Now, my eating there may even be old hat for all you eaters, and I’d be apt to let you all assume that as the students, you all are becoming the masters of places to eat, but let me assure you, this is not yet the case. So, why the visit to a place so well known in the city’s conscious? To the point, the menu has changed and separated itself from humble pub familiars to food with a more cosmopolitan tone. Yes, things are changing. The only way to see it may be by reading the bankable menu, rewritten to seduce you with urbane imagery and sellable artisanal rituals which, for some reason, make us all think the food tastes so much better. That and, of course, trying the food. You certainly won’t know by stepping in the place. The atmosphere hasn’t changed, so I won’t bore you culinary confidants with the details. But, if you are a little inexperienced, here’s a brief blow by blow: sports bar, tvs, exposed brick, lions’ heads, plaques, red pipes, popular patio, always filled in the summer. Good.  If it pleases you, you can spend a little, or you can spend a lot. A satisfying meal will run you between 10 and 20 dollars, though the appetizers seem as expensive as entree meal options. The menu runs the gamut, not necessarily specialized, but not sabotaging either: from soups to salads to hamburgers, pasta, schnitzel, and steak, you can have it all. I may have very well ate more, but I spent all of my personal allowance on bottomless hot pot for an expatriated Taiwanese news anchor turned self-effacing business man, bless his hardworking heart. Thus, I settled for an unabashed bison burger, a meat that seems unsuited to the wilds of Waterloo, but a good test of the Barley Works potential. For dessert, I stuck with an old menu favourite, although new to me: a stout float. A pint filled with brownie, vanilla ice cream, and the house’s choice beer; maybe a familiarity to you, but a total surprise to me. Yes, young masters, I’m still learning.   My burger came to me settled snuggly beside a house salad made of iceberg lettuce, spinach and veiny red chard, with typical toppings like carrots, peppers, and croutons. Now, as far as I’m concerned, a salad’s a hard thing to do, and as a side a mere display to make you seem like you’re getting some money’s worth. Not the case here.  My burger, a charred round hugged by lettuce, tomato, caramelized onions, a sun dried tomato mayo, unfortunately lost, and jalapeno havarti cheese on a Kaiser with a soft character, was an avid eat. Not perfect, but nowhere near a failure. If I had any qualms with the thing they were nothing more than mere textural trivialities: a bun too big for a paddy that slid back and forth and eventually fell apart, caramelized onions too stringy and stubborn to easily break, and too little avocado spread. But aside from that, I couldn’t resist the paddy’s charred exterior, its maroon flesh, reminiscent of a medium well steak, and the rich primal urge I had devouring the thing. I felt like a brute, but nothing short of satisfied. My stout dessert had the potential to be something great, if not for the hoppy beer it was paired with, not complimenting the sweetness of the ice cream, but only getting in the way of enjoying any contrast between sweet and heady. Fear not, if you are as gastronomically inclined as me, you could very well argue a choicer brew. And as for the brownie? Well, it’s a brownie; who would complain? Huether Hotel Lion Brewery Restaurant 59 King Street North, Waterloo, ON N2J 2X2 Phone: (519) 886-3350 Everyday 1130 am -1 am CASH CREDIT NO DEBIT

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