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Issue No. 1
Note from the Editor
This first issue of Wishbones magazine is, in many ways, an introduction to us. In order for you to understand us you need to know what we like to eat, who we like to hang out with and where we go for inspiration ... read more.
A bowl of hot borscht is like a tight hug from a lovely squishy grandmother. She holds you tightly against her bosom and you feel safe and unconcerned. For a brief moment, nothing really matters. Even if you don’t have an overbearing and slightly overweight grandmother, you can imagine how comforting this might feel. Brooke’s Polish great grandparents made borscht. Traditionally made with red beets and/or red cabbage, the dish is Eastern European in its roots. The soup made its way westward, as most foods do, with the migration of people. The vibrant beet variety became wildly popular with North American Jews, who maintained a cultural connection to their past though the soup. Another traditional Jewish food, kreplach, pair well with this borscht. Kreplach are small dumplings, usually filled with ground meat or mashed potatoes, and are traditionally served on Rosh Hashanah... read more.
On a chilly November afternoon we got on the subway and made our way to Etobicoke to visit Nick and Steph. For Brooke and I, Etobicoke holds some nostalgia power. Historically Etobicoke is a suburb west of Toronto, but was amalgamated into the City of Toronto in the late ‘90s. There’s still a suburban tone to the district, and things you rarely find in Toronto neighborhoods (like swimming pools and large backyards), are still quite rampant in some parts of Etobicoke.
After we got off the Kipling bus, we walked down a hill overlooking a wide expanse of curated green. It was a misty day and the air was cold. I never thought I would compare Etobicoke to Europe, but the atmosphere was reminiscent of an Irish moor. We found the house, nestled between the busy road and the calm herbaciousness of the Islington golf course. Steph was ready with sparkling wine and bottles of Golden Pheasant. Nick had the smoker going and their two marmalade cats, Sheffy and Kipling, were waiting to greet us. The couple welcomed us into their home and prepared us a gorgeous meal, all the while watering us with beautiful wines and keeping us entertained with stories of how they met, what they think about the industry and their plans for the future... read more
Farmers’ Markets have become the butt-end of many jokes. Hipsters, hot dads and Portlandia-esque vendors is what people usually think when you tell them you skipped sleeping in on Saturday morning and hit up the farmers’ market instead. And at many markets you do find a contingency of handlebar mustaches, handsome young dads and slightly wacky mushroom vendors. But you also find community, local ingredients and products that have been given attention and care from their producers... read more.
Super Luxe Bouillabaisse
It is common for many children in our culture to grow up with absolute disdain for seafood. Why is it that so many young ones are terrified of eating a piece of cod but fully on board for the congealed chicken pieces we call nuggets and the equally scary hot dog, which is really just a tube of mystery pork bits? I am proud to announce to the world that Brooke and I were not those kids. As the daughter of a Nova Scotian, I was exposed to a variety of seafoods in a myriad of forms at an early age. To my parents’ surprise (and perhaps disappointment, since seafood is expensive) I gleefully slurped back raw oysters, tore apart steamed lobster with my hands and piled my bagels high with smoked salmon. One of my most vivid childhood memories is getting a hot water burn from standing too close to the comically large pot we used to boil our lobsters. My father assured me then that the reward, fresh Atlantic lobster dipped in melted garlic butter, would be worth the small pain of the burn. Similarly, Brooke attended weekly shabbat dinners where the mussels and marinara sauce were served with cheesy garlic bread at Tata’s house. Black bean lobster with steamed rice has been a staple in her life, enjoyed alongside her grandmother, since she can remember. Brooke’s father lives on the west coast, where wood-smoked salmon prevails. In the same way I munched on oysters as a kid, Brooke sat at oyster bars with her mother before she could even see over the counter. For me and Brooke the sea is intertwined with family and childhood memories. Thus the mystical sustenance that comes from its depths takes on a familiar and magical quality... read more.
Sometimes it’s really difficult for me to decide what I want. It’s not unusual that my friends and family become frustrated with me when I can’t make a decision about what to watch, where to eat or what to drink. Some nights after a long shift at work, without even turning on the kitchen lights, I stand in front of the open refrigerator and stare into its cold abyss. Rows of mysterious jars, silently condescending vegetables and tall hot sauces stare back. What do I want to snack on? Pickles? Or sliced turkey right from the packet, perhaps. I am only interrupted from my reverie when the fridge alarm goes off, reminding me that I’ve been standing, motionless, in its fluorescent glow for far too long. At this point, slightly panicked and a bit embarrassed, I usually turn to the jar of tahini and dig a spoon in... read more.
To read our Fall Favourite click here.