The Honeymoon, pt.2 - Prune

And now we come back to our not-so-recent-anymore trip to New York. As mentioned previously, I didn't have a lot of restaurants on my list of destinations, so a lot of the time we just drifted along and stepped in whatever place looked good; after all, there is no shortage of restaurants in NY. But there was one place, apart from Momofuku, that I absolutely wanted to visit: Prune.

It started, as it often does for me, with a book. Having read stratospheric praise for Gabrielle Hamilton's memoir Blood, Bones, & Butter, I bought it soon after if came out. I’ll review it in my next post, but for now, suffice it to say that I absolutely loved it. I was dying to know what kind of food was made by the woman who had written this book. So, the day after we arrived in NYC, I dragged Laurent to the East Village for lunch, where we got lost and wandered around for a while before finally locating the tiny restaurant. As we examined the bright room, with its fuschia barstools and old mirrors, I couldn’t help but think of Hamilton’s description of the place when she first saw it: abandoned, cockroach-infested, covered in rat droppings, and packed with rotting food. I promptly put the passage out of my mind, as the place bore no remaining trace of its former filth, and who wants to be thinking about rat poop right before a meal?

I want to take a minute here to describe my state of mind on that first visit. It was a warm, sunny October day. There was a light breeze. I was wearing my favourite black polka dot skirt, the one that swishes around my legs in a way that makes me feel like a girl. And I was just married, and honeymooning in one of my favourite cities in the world. Most likely all these wonderful things influenced how I perceived my meal. But I’m thinking the food had something to do with it, too.

I confess, I didn’t even take pictures that first time. I didn’t feel like being a food blogger, I just wanted to enjoy myself. Descriptions of the dishes probably won’t do them justice, because they were so very simple. For starters, we split a half-avocado filled with olive oil and sprinkled with Maldon salt. Was it something anyone could have whipped up at home? Sure. But the avocado was perfectly ripe, and the olive oil was fragrant. Next, I had a shaved celery salad with a thick slice of blue cheese on the side, while Laurent had a coddled egg with wild mushrooms. Again, nothing fancy. But everything was just right, from my salad’s vinaigrette to the texture of Laurent’s egg. I could feel the love in the food, and that’s not something that happens very often.

We ended up coming back for lunch again a few days later. This time, we took pictures. Also, we were hungrier, so we ordered more food. We started with a chicken noodle soup with cracklings and matzo balls, which was fragrant and warming.

Next, I couldn’t resist ordering something which is mentioned in Hamilton’s book: an egg-on-a-roll. Apparently, she lived on these during her early years in the city, and I myself have eaten my share of these classic deli sandwiches. With crispy bacon, runny yolks, and a side of cold noodles, it was pure comfort food.

Laurent had a burger and fries. The meat was cooked rare, as requested, and was satisfyingly juicy.

Finally, we splurged on dessert: a poached peach with caramelized pecans and crème anglaise for Laurent, and fresh figs with lemon cream for me. Both were light and nicely cleansed our palates, but Laurent’s choice won, I have to admit.

Was this a pure act of fangirlism? Probably. Then again, so was our trip to Momofuku. But in both cases, the quality of the food spoke for itself, despite the absence of frills. Sometimes, you have to put cynicism aside and just recognize that there are cases where a good reputation is well deserved.

Tasting memories

Anyone who went to a French high school (as well as many people who didn't) is familiar with Proust’s madeleine. In À la recherche du temps perdu, the narrator eats a madeleine with tea, and finds himself instantly flooded with involuntary memories from his past.

Many things can trigger memories. Music sometimes works that way for me: I’ll hear an old Alanis Morissette song on the radio, and I’ll find myself transported to my teen years in Brussels, with all the angst and confused feelings that come with that period in life (blech). But with food (and smell, as the two usually work together), the experience is usually much more powerful. That’s why we sometimes find ourselves craving foods that we know aren’t even particularly good: because they bring us back in time.

But sometimes, the foods you remember aren’t available. Which is why I was looking forward to tasting something in particular when we reached Japan in May. I had not been there in over fifteen years (I briefly lived there when I wan eleven years old), but there was something I absolutely needed to taste again. Not refined Japanese cuisine, or even traditional Japanese street food, which I hadn’t even had that much of, back when I was living there.

No, what I wanted to taste again was iced milk coffee from a vending machine.

It sounds silly, but one of the first times I ever tried coffee was from one of these little cans. And I’m an espresso-lover now, so it really was the beginning of a beautiful friendship. This drink is more milk than coffee, and is quite sweet, so it’s ironic that I, who now take my coffee black and bitter, remember it so fondly. It’s nothing special, with its malty taste and watery texture. Nevertheless, as soon as I spotted a vending machine on our first day in Tokyo, I shelled out 220 yen and treated myself and Laurent to a can each.

It tasted just like I remembered it. And apparently, I’m not the only one who finds the stuff addictive: Laurent got regular cravings for it throughout the rest of our trip.

At other times, you think you’ve forgotten all about a specific food, yet you instantly remember its flavour as soon as you see it. This happened to me when I saw these little candies for sale:

I have no idea what they are exactly. Some kind of dried legume or something (or a pea? I really don’t know), covered in a flavoured sugary coating. I hadn’t thought about these sweets in years, but I immediately remembered them, along with their texture and their flavour. It’s funny how it all popped back into my head and tastebuds.

Now, if only I knew what these are… If anyone out there knows, I would be grateful!

My kind of street food - Squid

I've always thought that “squid-on-a-stick” sounded like a good inoffensive swear. “Squid-on-a-stick, it's hot today!”

We're still in Tokyo. Last week, we were lucky enough to attend a free shamisen (Japanese guitar) class. We were awful, but it was still really fun. And I got to wear a kimono properly, for once, instead of sloppily wrapping it around me like a common dressing gown, as I have done on the few previous occasions I”ve tried putting one on:

After that, our hosts took us to a matsuri (festival) that was taking place all weekend. It reminded me a little of the street fairs in New York, with all the food stalls, the delicious smells, the games, and the noise. The festival's main event was to be the procession of the nearby temple's portable shrine, but that was taking place the next day, so we missed it. However, we did see the children's procession, as they practiced carrying a smaller, presumably ligher version of the shrine (the real thing weighs about four tons and requires the strength of two hundred men).

Now, I'm sure many people find the idea of squid-on-a-stick repulsive, but I love squid in any form, and this was definitely on my lengthy list of things to eat. Just charred on a grill, with a layer of sauce. It was the first thing I looked for when we hit the stalls, because I knew it was a typical matsuri street food.


Laurent went for a much more visually arresting version, with little octopi:

Everyone around the table thought it was quite cute. But it'd probably look a little weird eating this in Montreal, don't you think?

Tastes of Kansai - Takoyaki and Okonomiyaki

Hello all! We're still in Japan, and having a wonderful time!

We just spent a week in the Kyoto area, visiting shrines, gardens, and parks. It was quite a change from Tokyo, with its neon signs and trendy crowds. That said, I've always been a city girl, so the urban bustle doesn't bother me – especially when it's as stress-free as Tokyo. As my Dad reminded me: “If Americans lived in Tokyo, it would Hell on Earth – but the Japanese make it work, somehow.” Even Laurent, who had anticipated the crazy crowds, had to admit the city felt very peaceful.

We've both taken tons of pictures – too many for me to sort through right now. Thankfully, there are comparatively fewer food pictures, which makes my task of keeping this blog alive during our trip a little easier. So, on with the food!

We didn't just visit shrines in the Kansai region (the South of Japan): we also sampled the local food. Two of the specialties I was particularly keen on tasting were okonomiyaki and takoyaki. If you really want to be a regional purist, they are specifically Osaka's specialties, but you can also find them in Kyoto and other nearby cities.

Takoyaki (literally: grilled octopus) are little chunks of octopus, dipped in an egg-and-flour-based batter. They are then cooked in sphere-shaped molds, and traditionally served with mayonnaise, katsuoboshi (dried bonito flakes), seaweed flakes, and a special brown sauce that tastes a little like zippy teriyaki sauce. There are multiple variations, including takoyaki with extra octopus (shown below), and even octopus-free takoyaki, with cheese and bacon used as filling. The latter actually sounded kind of yummy, but we turned our noses at it, given the context.


Okonomiyaki (literally: what you like, grilled) is based on a similar batter, but is shaped into a large disc and cooked on a teppan (a iron griddle). All sorts of things can be added to the batter: meat, seafood, vegetables... Ideally, the okonomiyaki is served piping hot, crispy on the outside, and soft on the inside. There are also variations, such as the one shown below: a thin crepe, topped with yakisoba (which, ironically, contains no soba, but consists of sautéed ramen noodles), various garnishes, and an egg. Again, you can add mayonnaise and sauces, depending on what toppings you chose.



I don't think I've ever seen okonomiyaki or takoyaki on the menu at a Japanese restaurant in Montreal, so I was very glad to get a taste of them here. Seriously, I see a market for them in Canada, don't you?

Turning Japanese - Tsukiji Fish Market(Tokyo)

The Chocolate Bunny is going Japanese for a few weeks: Laurent and I have said “Good-bye to all of this,” and are currently in Tokyo! I lived here for a little under a year when I was 11. Obviously, it's changed a lot since then, but I'm so excited to have the chance to rediscover Japan!

I'm sure no one here will be surprised that the very first thing we did was check out the Tsukiji Fish Market. Well, no, actually, the very first thing we did was get 9 hours of sleep, after more than 24 hours in transit (from the time we headed for the Montreal airport to when we finally arrived at our hotel in Tokyo). And the second thing we did was find breakfast.

We had gotten up too early to enjoy the hotel breakfast (which had never, ever happened to me before), so we bought a couple of onigiri (riceballs) at the nearby combini (convenience store). I had actually never eaten these when I lived in Japan, and it was definitely something I needed to cross off my list.

The nori is separated from the rice with plastic film, so that it remains crunchy until you eat it. You can't tell from the pic, but my onigiri had a kombu filling. Yum!

With that out of the way, we headed on over to Tsukiji. I had my heart set on attending the infamous tuna auctions, but unfortunately those are currently closed to the public. Nevertheless, there was still plenty to see.

First thing: the fish market is a surprisingly scary place. Well, not scary, but stressful. The little carts pictured above are everywhere around the market, and even in some of the narrow alleys between the stalls. Unlike cars, they are very quick to turn and shift gears, and are therefore quite unpredictable. Not getting run over was a prime concern of mine, especially since I tend to space out easily – I'm already in danger whenever I step out in Montreal!

As you can see, there is little room to navigate between the stalls in the market itself. And, as in any popular market, there is a lot of action, a lot of comings and goings. Tourists are tolerated, but we definitely felt it important not to make a nuisance of ourselves, and not get in anyone's way. So usually, when one of us took pictures, the other stayed on the lookout for little carts, or fishmongers in a hurry.

Even though we had missed the tuna auctions, there were still a few lying around. They are as enormous as rumored (although these are actually not the biggest ones we saw).

It's quite the "before and after process," as you can see.


And, of course, there was every kind of fish and seafood possibly imaginable, most of which I couldn't even identify.


Someone had told me that, amazingly, the market doesn't reek of fish in the slightest. That is absolutely true. It smells like the sea, but there is no unpleasant odor whatsoever. I haven't been to a fish market in Montreal in a while, but Laurent confirms that the fish back home definitely smell a lot more.


We left Tsukiji around 9 a.m., just as it was starting to get more crowded. We did some other stuff during the rest of the morning (mostly browsing around Ginza, a high-density shopping area), but we came back to the market area for lunch. We went to Sushi Zenmai (the tourist guide book recommended it – yes, I am a tourist, why hide it?), where we were ushered in and loudly greeted by the entire staff. Throughout the meal, the waiters and chefs regularly yelled out orders, in addition to enthusiastically greeting and saying goodbye to any customer who walked through the door. I don't remember ever eating in such an animated restaurant back when I was living here – probably not, as noise was never my parents' thing. I loved it, though. And sitting at the counter, directly in front of the chefs, was quite a treat.

My Japanese is terrible, but good enough to more or less express needs and desires – and having a menu with pictures obviously helps. I had a sushi platter, which I completely forgot to photograph. Laurent had a chirashi-don, a bowl of rice topped with various slices of fish and seafood. Again, I had no idea what half the fish were. All I knew was that it was all super fresh, and delicious.

I can't wait to find out what the rest of the trip will bring.