Backseat Adventure - Chinatown

We have Revenue Canada to thank for our day.  Yeah, I just said thanks to the taxman.  Due to ignorance on either my part or theirs (I'm going with the latter, of course) I had to make an unplanned trip downtown to the federal government building.  For those of you that don't know Calgary, said building is located smack-dab next to Chinatown.  How could I not take advantage of that?

It was perfect too since we were on a chopstick mission this week.  For The Monster's birthday dinner (on the day of) she chose sushi. After the forced affection and delivery of our Pocky and the carved orange we set down to eat.  The girls had pieces of sashimi and a pile of edamame.

All was well until she got frustrated with the chopsticks.  It was not dissimilar to her attempts to ride the tricycle.  If she can do it easily all is well the world.  Rainbows appear and choirs appear to be singing just for her.  But if it is even the tiniest bit difficult then the thunderheads arrive instantaneously and she throws aside her pride and her effort to pout.  Oh yeah, we're going to have fun with her in life. 

So it was with the chopsticks.  She tried them the way Hubby showed her.  No luck.  She tried the way she thought they should work.  Nope.  So she flounced back in her chair, ignoring even the edamame, and pouted.  Crossing our fingers we asked if they had kid-friendly chopsticks. MacGyver would have been proud of these take-out chopsticks configured with an elastic band and bit of paper towel.  And a chopsticks superstar was born.

So, thanks to Revenue Canada she and I found ourselves in Chinatown this morning (Smilosaurus was napping and Hubby working from home).  Sheesh, it's been a while since I wandered through this part of town.  We went into some groceries, a meat place, a bakery (steamed pork buns and pineapple cake!), and even a store selling Chinese medicines.  She walked around asking, "What's that?  And that?  And that, that, that, that?"  Of course, being the white girl with no real knowledge of Chinese I couldn't answer her most of the time.  

Her natural curiosity  - I wonder where she got that? - carried her through just fine.  It was funny to me that the crowds, new smells and sights, and people selling on the street were just fine to her, but the bustle and noise of the traffic on the main roads of downtown actually terrified her. She had an abject fear that a truck would run her over.  Sure, she can randomly run into the basement of a strange building because it has a funky ramp, but a dump trunk is going to jump the curb and squish her.  Is that just a three year old thing?

I loved chatting with the little old ladies selling plants and fresh onion, herbs, and garlic on the street.  They reminded me of my Baba in the worst way - if my Baba ever lived in a big city and thought to sell anything from her over-sized garden.  They were tiny, full of smiles, a little bit pushy, yet meek and quiet.  On plastic sheets in front of them they sold stuff picked from their gardens.  Wait, I'm assuming that last part because their English wasn't great.  But I want to think that they picked the stuff that morning from their backyard and brought it downtown to sell.

You can only just make it out above, but they also had a variety of houseplants for sale - in pots, plastic tubs, or margarine containers.  It was like they transported their houseplants to the street to share with everyone.  If I liked houseplants I definitely would buy from them.

You could eat all day in Chinatown and not even scratch the surface of possibilities.  I would love to take the girls to Dim Sum.  I think it's been twenty years since even I've been.  Honestly, I think need a tour guide to make sure I appreciate what I see around me - on the street and on the plate.  Maybe I should sign up for one of these?

That being said, I knew this place and couldn't resist taking lunch home for Hubby. Oh, the Thi Thi sub... excuse me while I mop my forehead from the heat and wipe the drool from the side of my mouth.  Sadly, the girls stuck to their steamed buns while Hubby and I sweated over our subs.  Yeah, thanks again taxman.

Backseat Adventure - Asparagus Festival

Much to Hubby's chagrin I dragged him away from the yard and we made the drive to Edgar Farms' first Asparagus Festival.  He was tired and tried not to be cranky, but the rewards were sweet.  The girls sat on a horse and a pony, got to pet some brand new goats, ran around a hay bale maze and fort, and even went on a tractor ride.  But the highlight of the day for me, and possibly Hubby, was eating stalks of asparagus that we'd just picked from the ground.  It would never have occurred to us to eat asparagus raw, but we were trusting the advice of Elna Edgar, and she would know.

Elna and Doug Edgar own and operate their farm, with their daughter and son-in-law just South of Innisfail, Alberta.  They are a traditional grain and cattle farm.  But they also grow fantastic peas (so I am told) and Alberta's only commercial asparagus.  And they've been doing it for nearly two decades.  So, when Elna tells me to take a taste of asparagus right from the ground I do it.  

Wow, what a revelation!  Other than the fact that raw asparagus tastes more than vaguely like peas, it was crisp, light, and purely fresh.  Unlike tomatoes that you pick in the late summer sun this tasted like cool spring.  The Monster and Smilosaurus had as much as they could eat.  Good thing the baby got her front teeth a few weeks ago.

We saw the asparagus fields last summer, long after harvest.  Did you know asparagus is a fern? But as soon as it comes out of the ground the spears can be picked and will continue to grow. The only thing that stops the Edgars from a continuous harvest is the need to let the crowns rejuvenate to produce next year.  During spring, however, these custom pickers travel up and down the fields picking the tall enough crowns. It is a near continuous harvest for more than a few weeks as the crowns can grow over 6 inches a day!

Once we returned from the fields we tasted some freshly grilled asparagus from both Wade Sirois from Forage and Infuse Catering and dee Hobsbawn-Smith.  Grilled is my all-time favourite way to eat asparagus.  A little toss with olive oil then just a few minutes on a hot grill. You can drizzle some lemon or vinaigrette over top, but I will happily eat them like fries straight off the grill.

One of the best things was hearing people's surprise when they heard that no, you don't need to break off the ends or peel asparagus when it is this fresh.  And you don't get any fresher than off the picker's truck.
Asparagus Festival is over until next year.  Okay, this was the first one and there are no guarantees, but I'm betting that we and many more will be back next year.  You don't have to wait until then to go to Edgar Farms.  You can visit them daily at their farm store - where they currently have asparagus, rhubarb, their own beef, and a variety of asparagus pickles, relishes, and some sweet berry jams.

You can also visit Edgar Farms with the rest of the Innisfail Growers at farmers' markets around the province.  And make sure to stay on top of things through Doug Edgar's blog, he'll keep you up-to-date on harvests, this year's pea crop, and more on-farm events.

Farm Visit

Meet Jonathan Wright of Thompson Wright Small Farm.  This summer he and his partner, Andrea Thompson, and all the many folks they have helping out, will be our farmers.  They will also be the farmers of a few hundred other folks who signed up to be part of the Community Supported Agriculture (CSA) program that Jonathan and Andrea are running off their farm East of Calgary.

Yesterday I took the girls to meet the farmers, the farm, and of course the animals.  Sadly Hubby was stuck with the necessary landscaping work at home. (One day we will have something other than mud.)  We drove in the first real day of heat and sunshine.  While the girls slept I ruminated on the luxury and necessity of supporting local agriculture through a CSA.

Yes, I said luxury.  Hubby and I have been talking about this a lot lately.  While feeding our family with the best possible ingredients, sourced as locally as possible is of prime importance to us (well, me, mostly) we have to admit that it is a middle class luxury.  It shouldn't be, but it is.  And for now, it is one that we also see as a necessity - as long as we can afford it. Maybe that's why I'm returning to work tomorrow?  It is a necessity - not just for the health of our family, but for the health of a diverse agricultural economy and a diverse farming community.

Jonathan and Andrea are perfect examples of people leading by doing.  They haven't spent a lot of energy getting involved in the foodie community or even selling what they do.  But they've spent a lot of time on their farm, working it and their animals to produce food.  Food, simple food.  Food that contains the sweat of a small family, some horses, water buffaloes, yaks, and the additional sweat of the supporters and helpers that come to the farm to work.

In speaking to Jonathan yesterday he said something that just ran through my brain.  "In order to have a sustainable world, a truly sustainable culture, we have to work."  It echoes comments made by Wade Sirois at the Local 101 event back in March.  He reminded the audience that no matter how you look at supporting local agriculture it means you have to cook.  It all comes back to effort, to work.  I better get The Monster trained up as a sous chef soon because we're going to have a lot of cooking to do this summer, thanks to Jonathan and Andrea's efforts.

This is the second year for the Thompson Wright Small Farm CSA.  In speaking to Andrea yesterday she is excited about the coming months and the supporters they have this year. The commitment from their members is strong, with most at the farm to support the ideals and work, not just get some good groceries.  

The farm is run by animal and people power.  When you drive onto the property you are struck by the lack of a powered tractor and the simplicity of the old metal plow.  I remember my dad showing me the one he used as a boy on the farm, long since rusted and now serving as a jungle gym to city kids visiting the farm.  Not at Thompson Wright.  The metal plow sits clean, almost proud, after recent use readying the fields for this year's crop of broccoli, cauliflower, carrots, peas, parsnips, kohlrabi, kale, peppers, onions, tomatoes, and garlic (and more).

The girls were in heaven running around to visit the animals.  Smilosaurus loved to pet the little chicks, but did not like getting licked by King, one of the two water buffaloes on site.  The Monster was fascinated by the chickens, gleefully calling, "Chock, chock chock!" to give them their molasses covered grain.  And who couldn't resist a three week old yak calf named Wild Bill?  Poor little guy lost his mother when he was born so I predict a gentle giant after his stint with bottle feeding is over.

It meant a lot to me to have Andrea, her son, and Jonathan welcome us and our toddler mayhem to the farm.  On the way home The Monster spoke constantly of the horses, mainly Sarah who wasn't big enough to be working yet, and her farm.  No longer was it the farm, it was her farm.  In a way, she's right. I do insist on giving credit where credit is due and that belongs to Jonathan and Andrea.  But they are our farmers.

Nary an Easter Bunny In Sight

The world is overrun with chocolate this week.  Bunnies and eggs and little fake nests filled with plastic clippings.  I, myself, am a sucker for Mini-Eggs.  But I do loathe the fake chocolate that sometimes creeps its way in to our house by well-meaning family.  Today we tasted chocolate in an entirely different league than even the best locally made bunny.

I took the girls on a date this morning.  We used to call them adventures, but The Monster has been insistent about going on dates since Mama and Daddy have found a regular babysitter and a little free time. 

"I'm a big girl, I can go on dates."  It's enough to put fear in to the heart of any father of daughters.  And she isn't even three.

Alas, I digress.  So our adventure... er, date, was to Choklat, here in town.  This is historically the worst week of the year for our family (but that would be a true digression to mention why). This year was milder, but really no exception to historical rule.  I figured some emotional eating would be good for all of us.
And after eating two of these between the three of us (yup, Smilosaurus had her share), plus a brownie, we were all feeling good.  That is, until we got a flat tire and the nanny we'd hoped to hire turned us down.  That's why I'm glad that I have some fresh truffles, some ridiculously expensive dark chocolate bars, and perhaps another couple of cupcakes hiding in the kitchen.

Choklat, owned and operated by jack of all trades Brad Churchill, is one of only two chocolatiers in Canada that actually makes their own chocolate.  From the bean.  Brad imports the raw beans in giant burlap sacks.  If you peak through the doors at the back of the kitchen you can see them piled there, waiting to be roasted on site.  The smell of chocolate in multiple forms is worth the visit itself.  Then you see the menu.

Unlike any other chocolate shop, there isn't a storefront display of chocolates waiting to tempt you.  There might be some chocolate dipped strawberries, the rich cupcakes, or some other baked goods, but there are no trays of chocolates distinguished by their swirls and gold dust. Pick up the diner style menu and choose your evil.  Key lime truffle filling covered in dark chocolate and rolled in coconut?  Espresso truffles with dark chocolate and rolled in cocoa nibs (those are for my mum-in-law visiting this weekend).  Then buy a cupcake iced with whipped chocolate to watch Brad and his staff make your truffles right then and there.  The only thing missing was a glass of cold milk.

When the new girl was struggling to make the truffles I ordered look right Brad told her to start over.  Heck no, I said, I don't care what they look like!  But he wouldn't have it and said the rejects would be kept for samples.  I should have pushed for an extra sample right then and there.

One more mention has to be made of the cupcakes.  At all the fancy, trendy cupcakes shops in nearly every major North American city the vast majority of cupcakes are okay cakes designed to carry a frivolous amount of frosting.  And that frosting is almost always a buttercream piped in a pastel tower of sweetness.  When the mood hits they can be just right.  But when you want a real chocolate cupcake go to Choklat.  I must admit that the cake part isn't perfect, it is a little dry.  The frosting however is a simple whipped dark chocolate with a touch of cream and icing sugar.  Not cloying, not bitter, and just a little bit creamy.  Together with the cupcake it is perfection.  The kind of perfection that makes you want another and you know you won't get sick or need a trip to the dentist.  The kind of perfection that erases a crappy week.  The kind of perfection that caps a perfect date.