Mini update on food related things.

I FINALLY finished the previous post after a month of lacking. Been eating a lot and not taking enough pictures of food. If someone hired me to do this blog, I would defiantly be fired. Getting a slow cooker tomorrow though. If I don't blow myself up trying to figure out how it works, i'll let you know. Pictures and all. Also working on a recipe folder. May post some if I'm feeling generous one day.

Later bitches.

17 Steps. I counted.

Aug. 18th 2010

I'm currently sitting here reflecting on the meal I just had, trying to figure out a proper adjective to describe it while sounding somewhat intelligent. Now you, the reader, cannot tell what i'm feeling at this point, so you have come to the conclusion that it was either so bad that yours truly is racking her brain to find the proper way to describe how bad it was, OR the meal has shattered my world and she can no longer think like a rational person.

If you chose the latter, you my friend are a winner!

The place is called 17 steps. 'Twas formerly The Woodhouse, a popular hangout for underage alcoholics (not that I would know anything about that). First 17 steps (actually 17. I counted) were rushed to the point of slippage. Door opens and we are hit by a refreshing blast of a/c. And then, eyes open. Absolutely gorgeous interior. Exposed wood, soft colours with bright blue accents. Beautiful. We were seated by what I assume is the owner, who then brought us complimentary greek champagne and olives. Pleasant conversation followed. Introduced us to another server, Casey, whom we immediately bonded due to my kick ass Corpse shirt. He's a hairstylist as well. Will probably go to him in the very near future. Will post the result. But I digress.




September 28th, 2010

So... hey. *cough* Sorry about that. As I was writing this passage, I got a phone call to meet a friend back at 17 steps for drinks, and I *obviously* immediately closed my computer and ran off. I have since then been back twice for dinner. First, with my uncle who footed the bill (thanks man) and next with my girlfriends for a sort of impromptu ladies night. Both times were heartbreakingly fabulous and I encourage you to try this place out as soon as possible. I would go through a list of everything we ate and attempt to explain how delicious it was, but my spotty memory and deafening stomach grumbles are preventing me from doing so. My recommendations would be the lamb chops, spanakopita and garlic chicken off the tapas menu, the gnocchi and steak off the main menu, and the asparagus and mushroom off the sides menu.

Or you can just bring me along and i'll order for you :)

Lamb chops


Braised Ribs



One Spanakopita (it comes with three, don't worry)

House dips that were already... dipped in to (YEAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH)

I now pronounce you Mr & Mrs Gordon Ramsay!

Gordon. Fucking. Ramsay.
Those words put a shiver down my spine. A shiver of lust and hunger. This fine ass mother-fucker not only swears like me, but also cooks like the greatest pussy-fucker alive. All qualities I love.

ANYWAYS! Now that i've gotten that out of the way, we can get back to business. Scrambled eggs. A staple in every good breakfast/lunch/brunch(and sometimes dinner) menu that one could have. I love eggs, but they don't like me, so I try not to eat them as often as I used to-which was almost every day. When I do indulge in these delicious little chicken parts, I make these...



Sorry about the photo quality.. and the meal quality. It was 2 in the morning and I was starved. But hey, at least I remembered to take a picture. [Sidenote: It's actually 2 in the morning right now, and I'm trying oh so very hard to not say 'fuck this' and go make them]

Now, of course these delectable little yummies are made by Mr. Ramsay, so I will share the link to the video of which I first stumbled upon them. Click Forgive me if it's not clickable. I have yet to master the skills of HTML.

I use sour cream instead of crème fraiche because I'm not a millionaire, and add dried chives (sometimes minced green onion if I have it) and of course an abundance of sea salt and black pepper to the mix. Nicely toasted light rye bread, tomato slices, and BAM! You've got the best eggs of your entire life.

Waterfront awesometown.

I honestly don't even remember what this place was called. Waterfront. Attractive waitstaff. Every time I think of the meal, I slip into a mini meat coma. Fuck. Irrelevant.

We walk into this restaurant, and are seated by a so-so looking hostess. I had already looked at the menu online, so I had a slight understanding of what I was going to get, until the specials were read to me. Beef tenderloin with a mushroom sauce, your choice of potatoes, and roasted vegetables. Fuck. Yes. After a lengthy discussion about how rare should be rare with our gorgeous waitress, and other variants of cooking beef, I was lapsed into listening to a conversation about some wedding.. or something. Wine arrives, a delicious Savignon Blanc from New Zealand. And then... this.



Words cannot describe how tender and fabulous this meal was. The meat was like butter. The sauce, delectable. Potatoes? Perfect. I recall stopping several times and just staring, opened mouth, savoring the affection that clearly went into this work of art.

*sigh*

If anyone would like to see pure unadulterated joy, take me here. :)


Edit

Eden Trattoria.
58 Marine Parade Drive
Etobicoke, Ontario M8V 4G1

Go. Now.

I like food, food is good.

I have come to the realization that I really have nothing that interesting to say about my life, so I've decided to switch it up a little and turn this into a place for me to share the delicious meals I have, and will, relish in. Ha. Relish. That's a food.

I'd end this post with something stupid like 'bon appetite' or another ridiculous food related quote, but I'm not a numbskull.

I hate this fucking blog, and most likely you for reading it.










I love myself though, and that's all that really matters.

see my dick? suck it.

You know what is really fucking amazing. Those little orange things. Clementines? Tangerines? Whatever. Fuck it. Stupid names anyways. Original oranges had it right the first time. It's orange, and it tastes like orange. Perfect name. Not fucking around with bullshit shit like apples, pears, etc. Who came up with this shit in the first place? I mean really, call it as you see it dude. Oranges = orange. Awesome. Now that shit I can remember.




P.s this is what you get for 10:30 in the morning. Nothing.