Hey Corporate America! Quit Looking at My Ass

A quick run to Harrod's in London on Friday evening to stock up on Christmas chocolates etc etc before Sheena's flight home on Saturday morning.

On the way out the door and passed through standard security to ensure nothing unpaid for left the premises.

"Beep Beep Beep"....

Shit. Security guard at the door had me pass through again, along with the other woman who went through right at the same time. "Beep Beep Beep". It was me. He took a look through the bags, saw nothing untoward and then asked he he could pass my packages and tote bag through. Went through clean. Dammit. So I took my coat and scarf off, and walked through just on my own. "Beep Beep Beep". At this point Sheena is getting aggravated and annoyed, clearly having nothing on my person or in my pockets.

Then the security guard asked if I was wearing any clothes purchased in America. I nodded. The silk/cashmere sweater set was from my January Cheek Visit to Atlanta and the pants were from Old Navy Waterloo location.

It was then that Sheena learned about things she had only heard rumoured. Harrod's uses a particularly state of the art security system and it picks up any RFID labels.

Yep. RFID labels in people's clothing. He showed me the pair of scissors he kept at his daily work station. Every day he cuts off stacks of RFID tags from customers wearing American purchased clothing, teeming with electronic static. He had about a dozen tags from his current shift and showed me what to look for when I got back to the hotel. (Sheena had made it VERY clear she did not intend to take off her pants in the perfume department, and he seemed to understand my position on the matter).

So lo and behold. He was right. The offending tag is from my Old Navy pants, not purchased in America, but right down the street from my house.

Now Sheena is very much a Web 2.5 kind of girl, and wishes she could broadcast twitter thoughts from her head as she walks down the street so that people could anticipate her needs and wishes without argument, but this is a bit much. Nothing was said when I bought the pants. And the label is pretty non-descript like any other care tag so easy to miss on the first wash.

Heads up people. Your privacy, and more importantly - your dignity at Harrod's is at stake.







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Saturday Night Chez Sheena

Landing in Toronto right on time Friday night, Sheena jumped into her awaiting chariot and hightailed it down to the Crooked Star, to pick up her sweet little Saddam who had been sitting patiently all by himself since Wednesday night's Raymi Art Wrap Party.



Next stop was one of Sheena's sorely missed Happy Places in Toronto... the Cheese Boutique It had been wa-a-a-a-y too long. After wiping her bodily fluids off the glass window of the Quebec Cheese cupboard, she settled on the staples: Bouq Emissaire, Benedictine Bleu, the house paté... and a new one - the Normandy Mimolette The Mimolette was extra orange, extra hard, almost like an aged Parmeggiano... Cheese Boutique ages it for an extra 4 years on its own premises. (Yes, I always stick my head inside the aging cellar....)

AND! Quince paste is available at the cheese counter. Yay! Not quite as tart and pungent as the one Sheena got engaged to at Harrod's last fall, but it made for lovely company paired with the Benedictin Bleu and those yummy little fruit/nut crackery biscotti only ever found at the C.B.

Also an excuse to think about my dear friend The Cheek as I cracked open her thoughtfully gifted Marcona Almonds and finally christened my Atlanta smuggled Crate and Barrel Slate Cheese boards....

Though sans chalk. FCS.

Eat Globally; Obsess Locally...

Sheena had another cheese world changing moment last week.
Had the charcuterie & cheese plate at Harrod's for late lunch/early dinner today and the Spanish chef behind the counter mixed up some pungent old bleu, some creamy brie and another nutty something I'm not sure of with some carpaccio and uber salty proscuitto with nuts and grapes and.............. quince jelly (extra firm, in slices).

OMFG. apparently the quince jelly is a traditional spanish cheese accompaniment for desserts. If I don't find some of this locally I will kill myself. I have not slept since returning home, obsessing about this. I could have bought a big chunk at the deli, but it is delicate and needed refrigeration and would not have survived unrefrigerated until Saturday night home arrival.



Sometimes it is the unexpected simple pleasures that make Sheena swoon and smile.

Riper and Runnier

Spent some time on Saturday at the amazing Cheese Boutique. Stuck off the beaten path near the Kingsway, in an old sausage making plant, it's a bit hard to find the first time out. Good thing they have vans with big yellow signs at key turnoffs pointing the way.

I've not seen anything else quite like it in Canada. Not only do they import the best from around the world, but their own aging cellars for cheese and meats mean they only sell the products when they've hit their peaks. Olive oils, perfect produce, veal chops that could fell a tree... have to see it to believe it. A little bit of Harrod's food mall right here in our backyard.

Today's purchase: a hunk of Quebec's Bouq Emissaire (see picture above...); a package of fruit/nut crackers and a litre of guava juice (inspired by Julie's Lunch' wakalita see Sheenavision passim. The pairing of this cheese with the fruit crackers was a trick learned at the Fat Cat Wine Bar on Roncesvalles (who do a gorgeous cheese plate, mostly from the Cheese Boutique...).

Was going to open a red with it. Probably because I saw
Stratus Red on the menu at the Swan this weekend and have had it on the brain. Most gratefully, an online intervention occurred and the suggestion of a medium bodied Chardonnay was given. Bingo! Perfect moment to open last week's unoaked chard from Deborah Paskus's Closson Chase.

Can't think of a better snack to represent national unity. Though now Sheena has a new obsession, and finds herself getting restless. Is there such a thing as a Cheese-Route in Quebec? I do have a few vacation days left to burn...

Scraping the Bottom of the Barrel

Exhausted the last "OK to drink this year" bottle in my YYZ secret stash.

With pork chops, mashed potatoes and frozen corn. And one dark chocolate dipped fig from the Harrod's snack pack I brought home with me.

I wish I could remember where I bought it and how much I paid.

Foie Gravitas

Dinner in Kingston on Tuesday night. Made a point of stopping into long-time institution Chez Piggy. Excellent wine list. Innovative cocktail menu. My chaperone started with the "Bloody Dane". A twist on the Mary using aquavit and horseradish. I had the "Hunter S Thompson". Grapefruit juice and premium tequila which according to the menu was "stirred with a dirty knife". There was no such dirty knife behind the bar, so my chaperone whipped out his Swiss Army knife and took care of business for me.




Then I spied the wine list. Oh! The Kim Crawford Sauvignon Blanc. The epitome of the beloved fruity grassy New Zealand character. First discovered it in New Orleans in 2002 and the sipping white of choice whenever it surfaces, often in the most unexpected of venues.

Decided to do an appetizer meal, mixing and matching. Everything was lovely: the mussels, the spring rolls, the garlicky caesar salad (just the right hint of real anchovy). But the star of the night was my little foie Gras. Lightly seared with grapes in a brandy demi-glace. 12 bucks. Just a little pink in the middle. It was like warm butter in my mouth. Melted away without even chewing. My chaperone was equally blown away.

It surpassed the lovely appetizer done at Ottawa's 18 bistro. That's where I introduced a squeamish semi-vegetarian American friend to this indulgent pleasure. She who has "texture issues" with her food now will order it anytime it's on the menu.

I brought back a tin from Harrod's last year. Served it with a late harvest Pinot Gris when some friends were visiting. Felt particularly decadent when I polished off the "leftovers" the next day with port jelly and pancakes.

Bird flu should worry all of us. Especially those who count on imported fowl to keep us supplied at reasonable prices. Last week the federal government put restrictions on ducklings from France, limiting the availability of the preferred species for cultivation in Quebec's emerging foie gras economy.

The Globe and Mail outlined the concerns of local producers and the difficulties keeping the supply of the preferred hybrid species open in the wake of avian flu threats in Europe.

I forgot to ask where Chez Piggy gets their supply. I know I meant to. Must have been that "Last of the Mojitos" (no sugar) that made me forget.