Christmas 2010

Nostalgia: –noun

a wistful desire to return in thought or in fact to a formertime in one's life, to one's home or 

homeland, or to one'sfamily and friends; a sentimental yearning for the happiness

of a former place or time:

Christmas this year looks a lot different than past years.

Actually, the month of December looks a lot different than it has the past 6.

December as a Chef usually represents a time where personal commitments are second to the demands of the restaurant and food service industry. Christmas parties, family gatherings, even Christmas Day with the family were put on the backburner as hundreds of people filed in to the banquet halls and restaurants of the Fairmont Hotel Vancouver and Newlands Golf and Country Club.

Corporate parties took up the mass majority of these elaborate banquets, and hours were spent in the kitchen prepping and cooking for guests hungry for turkey, ham, stuffing, gravy, and pumpkin pie. Christmas day at the Fairmont was a time when families would come to Griffins restaurant and feast on the many dishes featured on the Christmas day buffet. I spent those times cooking halibut a la minute, saucing, plating and garnishing an assortment of dishes, and replacing dishes on the buffet.

With all this commotion, there were rare times when I would be able to enjoy time with family.

Christmas visits were short, with present unwrapping and meals sandwiched between work and other plans. Home, it seems, had become a strange place to me.

Most people who know me don’t know me as a home body. To be brutally honest, time with family was never a high priority on my list of things to do. It seems the language barrier between my parents and I has proven to be a factor in a lack of deepened relationship with them. On top of that, with my sister in Victoria studying music and my brother busy with work and his hobbies, there wasn’t much pulling me home. So Christmas this year would be a special one.

With Squeah life, December is the complete opposite of the rest of the food industry. December is slow, and groups are sparse. Most of my time was spent composing recipes and planning renovations. With apprenticeship planning and research on the trends of the industry, most of my days were spent in the office. Though my heart is in the kitchen, this time has its many perks, one of which is a good chunk of time spent at home for Christmas.

This year was going to be different. This was my chance to reconnect with my family.

December 23^rd, my 25^th birthday, began with a shift in the kitchen, and ended with a feast of sushi in the dining room of my parents’ house in Surrey. Salmon, tuna, lightly cooked mackerel were all beautifully sliced and laid gently on a small clump of perfectly cooked rice. Unagi, or freshwater eel, was sliced thin and topped on the traditional California roll to produce the Dragon roll. Dynamite rolls, tobbiko nigiri, ebi, and house rolls made up the rest of the platters and we enjoyed these clean tastes with an equally clear and crisp green tea. This is a tradition that my parents have for me, and we have practiced it for many years. It was beginning to feel like Christmas.

Then came a special time spent with my dad. We went through his knife collection, and I was able to see with my own eyes some of the knives he had used as a chef when he was younger. The highlight of this time was when my dad willingly gave me his first chef’s knife, a 12 inch Japanese chef’s knife, one he used when he was 18 years old. The very steel that was in my father’s hands in 1961 would be in my hands. I know that cutting an onion will seem different, knowing that the knife did the same motions almost 50 years ago.

Christmas Eve was an eventful one, with 5 of my parents’ friends coming over for a potluck. I don’t remember the last time I was able to cook for my parents, which is quite the sad fact, considering how many people I do cook for, and so I was able to spend time with my dad in the kitchen. We peeled and cut and sliced as we prepared a few dishes for the potluck. I made warm potato salad with hardboiled egg and sliced onion and carrot, and sautéed prawns finished with garlic, butter and freshly squeezed lemon juice. An afternoon of fellowship and good food followed, and I was even able to show off my catering photo albums and show people what I was doing with my time. The evening ended with a trip down to Olivet Church for the Christmas Eve service.

Then today came; Christmas day, 2010. I was able to sleep in, and when I woke, I woke up to my room. I woke up to the light green color of my walls, sprinkled with a bit of graffiti, from a day when I tried out some new spray paint a few years ago. I walked up the stairs and the decorations were the same; glittery wreaths going up the railing of the stairs, a small tree and some ornamental decorations on a table on the top of the stairs. It was the same as in years past, but unlike years past, I was able to enjoy it for the whole day. I had some duck and squab marinating from the night before so I put it in the oven. We had a church service as a family. In years past, we used to have a big Christmas celebration as Surrey Mennonite Church. We used to get about 40 people at those services, the biggest showing of the year. We would start with the regular traditional service and then had a music recital section of the service, where my brother, sister and I would do different things as well as some of the younger people in the church. My dad and two other men would always sing “We three kings” in Japanese, there would be skits, and it would be a great time! With the number of members in that church diminishing, it was just the family for the service this year. My grandparents and immediate family sat at our dining table and had church. It was a blast from the past. The order of the service was the same, the songs were familiar, and the message was actually one that our first pastor of Surrey Mennonite Church had given in 1994. My dad had brought it up from then and used the same outline to give the message today. Although my Japanese isn’t as good as before, I was still able to keep up and understood most of the message. We then gave that pastor a call as a family. Her name is Anna Dyck, and she now lives in Drake, Saskatchewan. She was a missionary in Japan for a number of years and started our church in Surrey back in the early 90’s. It was great to catch up with her and tell her what has been going on in our lives. So much has changed, and yet some things are still the same. After opening presents, we had dinner. We had dinner as an entire family, just like we did for years when I was still in high school. Every Sunday morning we would have a meal as an entire family before going to church. It brought back many happy memories. We had roast duck and squab, farmer sausage with Dijon mustard, white rice, French baguette, squid sautéed with soy and ginger, and mixed greens with ponzu dressing. As I looked around the table, I saw the happy faces of my mom and dad, looking around to see three generations of the Takeda family all at one table. As the tender and fatty duck got devoured and as the feeling of cold butter on warm baguette and acidic and crisp baby greens repeatedly washed down the taste of farmer sausage with Dijon, I realized that this is the essence of Christmas. Christ was born on this day. He was born on this day to set us free, so we could enjoy life with hope. He was born on this day so that as we sit and eat and enjoy the company around us, we know that we are the luckiest people on earth, because Christ died for you and me.

Merry Christmas.

Hey, somebody answer the door

Christmas is at the doorstep, knocking to get in. We've heard it. As we open the door, we see it too. The Hope area was blanketed this past week with the first magical snowfall of the season. Snow is always different before Christmas. It feels different, it smells different, it looks different.

...You don't believe me? Just wait until a February snow then come back and re-read this blog post...

Lights are starting to adorn people's houses. And people themselves are happier in general. There is something in the air.

"For unto us a child is born; For unto us a son is given"

Somebody please get up and answer the door. I hear someone knocking.

-- Reid

Agassiz and Chilliwack Farm Tours – October 12th, 2010

I woke up on a cold, autumn morning at Camp Squeah. I had a late night, and I didn’t get that great of a sleep, and so I was slow getting out of bed. Though tired, I had a little bit of excitement and a jump to my step because today was the day that Reid, Caleigh and I were to head out to Agassiz, where we would meet up with our sous chef, Jill, and make a few stops on Agassiz’s self guided Circle Farm Tour. Along with a couple stops at farms in Chilliwack, today was going to be a full and hopefully educational day. After a quick stop at the Larsons to say hi and grab a scone, I was on my way to Hope to meet with Reid and Caleigh.

Highway 7 is a fairly straight road, blessed with a gorgeous view. It’s not long before we reach Agassiz. First stop is the Hazelnut farm. Canadian Hazelnut is a 68 acre farm where trees are allowed to grow these nuts until they fall to the ground. They are then swept up and cleaned, and then shipped to the U.S. for shelling. We were introduced to Cody, who gave us a tour of the area and showed us some of the products, including flavored roasted nuts, hazelnut oils, hazelnut butter, and different honeys. We went outside to see the trees and Cody explained to us the process in which the hazelnuts are harvested. It was amazing to see how small their kitchen was, considering the fact that all the flavored nuts were made in house. With ideas in our heads of using hazelnut butter as a substitute for peanut butter and using hazelnut oils for vinaigrettes, we headed to our next and most anticipated stop in Agassiz, Farmhouse Natural Cheeses.

As we walked into the small retail shop and the smell of cheese was in the air! Goat brie, caerphilly, castle blue, these are all names that were common to me at the hotel in Vancouver, as we had gotten Farmhouse cheeses for our cheese plates. To see where it came from and to see the cows and the goats who give their milk so we can enjoy these delicious treats was an amazing experience! They also had pigs and sheep in their farm, and thoughts of sheep’s feta and bacon came to mind. 30$ at the retail store and I had 200 g of Castle Blue and a sampler of 6 different sea salts, including a smoked bacon and chipotle sea salt and a black Hawaiian sea salt. Next stop, Valedoorn Farms for some milk!

Valedoorn Farms is a dairy farm housing approximately 250 milking cows and 250 cows that will be milking. We met with Tom, who grew up on the farm, and we couldn’t have asked for a better tour guide. Beginning at the milking pen, Tom gave us thorough explanations of the milking procedures, about the standards that they have in terms of controlling the temperature of the milk, the systems they have in place to control the safety of the milk, and the reason for those standards. Throughout the tour, we were educated on the cycle of milking cows in terms of when they are milked, bred, raised, and so on. The amount of knowledge this man had was amazing, not only explaining to us procedures that they have on the farm, but also why it was the most efficient way and how it affected the end product and why it was better this way for general consumption. We got to see the different pens, where milking cows were kept, where pregnant cows were kept, and where calves were kept. The cows are given very comfortable spaces to live in, with food available all the time along with warm water, which we learnt was preferable to cold water from a cow’s perspective. The philosophy behind the farm is that cows come first, workers come second, and everything is done for the cow’s benefit. A healthy cow equals more milk and therefore, more money. It’s a system that benefits everyone. The tour gave us a better understanding of how milk gets from the cow to our fridge, and it gave us all a better appreciation of milk, as it’s not something that just shows up at your doorstep like magic.

After a quick lunch at White Spot, we headed to Six Masters Farm in Chilliwack, where we met with Walter Bergen. I had met with Walter a couple weeks ago at a weekend church retreat, and he had intentionally come to the kitchen to talk to us about his products, which include squab and rabbit. I was extremely interested in visiting his farm because as I had spoken to Walter prior to today, it was very apparent in the way he talked about his procedures on the farm that he cared about the animals and how to raise them in a way that would be pleasing to God and to the customer. We drove onto the property and were immediately greeted by Walter and his two dogs, Peanut and Dexter. After introductions with the rest of the Food Services team, Walter went ahead and took us on a tour that gave us a real appreciation of what meat should be when it is served to the general public. He showed us some of his gardening projects, different types of chard, a plum cherry tree and a few melons, to name a few. He showed us the sheep and the duck that he had, all of which were free to roam the property. Inside, he had dozens of rabbits in cages that were lifted from the ground. He explained that so far, this technique worked best to provide the animal with a clean environment in which to live. He also explained the butchering technique of these rabbits, where if you grab them by the feet and hold their head tilted slightly, inserting a knife into the back of the neck will cause the animal to simply exhale, and then die. No fighting, no kicking, just a simple process. Walter explained that there is no joy in taking an animal’s life; it is just a necessity to life. Next was the squab. Thousands of pigeons were kept on this farm and this would keep the farmers busy throughout the winter months. Pigeons are the most profitable part of this farm, Walter explained. After a quick lesson on what the characteristics were of a good pigeon, we headed outside, where we were introduced to four pigs. Walter spent a few moments in the pen before feeding them some chard from the garden and some bread from a local bakery. These four pigs were for his family dinner table. He was testing out the meat and seeing how he could raise these pigs for the best possible product. You could tell that Walter really cared about the quality of his product, to the point where he would eat it himself to make sure he got exactly what he wanted. The pigs would be slaughtered within the next three weeks. Finally, we met the cattle, a beautiful black angus and a few others, and that concluded our tour. We were extremely impressed by Walter’s dedication to his trade, and to his efforts to treat these animals as God’s creatures, with respect and appreciation. It was an eye opener for us to see the amount of work it does take for a farmer to raise animals the proper way, and why these products cost more than your average meat at Costco and Superstore. If you ask me, I would be tremendously overjoyed if the general public were educated on the same things we were educated on today.

Fraser Valley Duck and Goose is a place close to my heart, as my best friend married the daughter of the owner of this business. I had cooked with the product before and have heard stories of this place, and it was great to finally tour the facilities. Ken Falk personally took time out of his busy day to show us around, which was a real honor, and he was gracious to spend time explaining in detail the procedures of how the product came to be. Fraser Valley Duck and Goose is an extremely large operation. From the outside, it looks institutionalized, with little heart and with a “get-it-done” attitude towards the product. But as we toured around with Ken, we realized the care that they take to make sure the animal is taken care of before slaughter. The appreciation that Ken has for his animals and the product and the duck industry in general is amazing. It’s a big operation, and so that demands efficiency. Approximately 15,000 a week make this company one of the three largest duck companies in Canada. Ken showed us the different barns, holding ducks from birth until week 6, when they are slaughtered. We saw the eggs being washed and handled carefully, and we learnt that the whole process is rigorously looked at by the employees that he hires. We saw the slaughtering facilities, and although we didn’t actually see a slaughter as it was later in the day, we dot a picture of what it would look like up and running. We got to see the packaging plant, and we got to see all the product of the day, which would be shipped tomorrow. It was an impressive facility, and a very efficient operation. After receiving some product to try out at home (and a duckling for Caleigh to keep as a pet), we were on our way home. Fraser Valley Duck and Goose is a family owned operation, and it was great to see that such a big business could have so much heart and so much care in their product. I truly felt blessed to experience this.

Overall, it was a full day, and one that was eye opening for me as a chef. I grew up a little bit today. The more I spend time up here at Camp Squeah, the more I am exposed to the raw foods, where they come from and why I need to show them respect in the kitchen. Today was another step in making sure that I realized that God created these creatures, and they demand respect, they demand an appreciation for the sacrifice so that we can go home to food on the table.

~posted by Yoshi

Salmon Fishing

7:00 am. Not that early, but I would have loved the sleep in. Nevertheless, today was the day where I was going to learn something vital as a chef. I’ve eaten salmon most of my life. I’ve eaten it different ways. Smoked, lox, braised with soy, maple glazed, demi-cured, raw…ah yes, raw. Still, to me, the best way to eat it. And all these ways that I’ve eaten salmon bring about fond memories. Memories of watching dad stand over a steaming pot of broth, lightly seasoned with soy and ginger, as the less glamorous parts of the salmon, such as the fins, belly and tail, simmered away, soaking up the delicate flavors. Then came the feast, the family sitting at the table, fingering through the flaky flesh, taking out bones so that we can enjoy the tiny morsels of this wonderful fish. Memories of different kitchens I had worked in, pan-frying wild salmon, skin on, patiently waiting for the right moment to flip, to produce perfect, crisp skin, making sure the pan was hot enough to keep the skin from sticking, but not too hot that the proteins shoot out of the fish, coagulating into drops of white, producing not only an unattractive, but dry fish. Memories of spending hours folding delicate, thinly sliced smoked salmon into roses, topping it with caviar and candied lemon zest before placing it on a toasted ficelle or rye, with a cream cheese and caper concoction, which, when complete, will make a stunning canapé for a cocktail party. Cooks know what I am talking about. With the vast amount of salmon I have prepared and consumed, it’s about time I experience how it got there. My memories of my father fishing were vague and dated. It’s time to refresh.

So, 7:00 am. After a call from our site manager at Camp Squeah, Dan, I woke up and got ready. We drove about ten minutes, hiked another ten or so, until we came to the Fraser River. There were already some fishermen there, casting and reeling. I sat as Dan did his thing. “Today is a good day,” he said, “not as good as yesterday, but still good.” Of course not as good as yesterday! Dan came into the kitchen yesterday, beaming, as he told me he had caught two in fifteen minutes. But today was still a good day. It wasn’t long before he had his first, a stunning sockeye, fighting and flipping for his life. A few hits to the head left the fish twitching.

“Yosh, time to get your hands dirty.”

It was time. I didn’t have my fishing license, so I couldn’t fish myself, but you definitely don’t need a license to gut it. So I took it, fingers shoved into the gills to keep it from slipping out of my hands. The fish was polite as I brought it to the water. It didn’t move. So I gutted the thing, split the belly open and hesitantly poked my fingers into the body. You know, there’s just something about feeling the pulse of the animal as you scoop out their intestine that makes you really appreciate truly what sacrifice needs to be made so that I could sit at home and munch on indian candy. I did a horrible job, I didn’t know what I was doing, but I got it as clean as I could. We caught another, and Dan showed me another, more convenient way of gutting. Then we headed back.

We fileted the fish as a couple kids watched, one in awe of the size of the fish, and the other, in utter discomfort, wondering how we could have killed such an animal. We had to explain that these animals were a gift from God, and that’s why we thank him for our food. We also had some roe, and so we ate some. It was subtle, clean and delicious.

As we sat and ate breakfast (toad in a hole, with bacon, pan fried tomatoes and brown sugar seared salmon belly), and as Dan and I chatted about this experience, I realized how important it was for me to go today.
I will never look at salmon, or food, the same.

~posted by Yoshi