My partner Dave mentioned it in passing.

“The chives have already started sprouting,” he said.

Like it wasn’t a big deal.

This is bigger than the days getting longer, or the temperature outside getting warmer.

This is a promise, albeit a very quiet one, of things to come.

This humble, green, oniony little plant poking out of the ground

Welcome spring.

Chiles in Port Of Spain, Trinidad

•  Meat Monger/Farmer (and former Passable Podcast subject)  Chris deWaal was recently asked to write an op-ed for the site Rustik on what he calls “the real cost of food.” Check it out.

• A great read in the NYT about a woman in Portland who teaches people all about butchery: from slaughter to quartering to learning about cuts, and most of all, the value of the life taken.

• A writer at Slate writes about his experience with the scorpion pepper, the most current “hottest pepper in the world.” Why, oh why, do people do this to themselves…

• Although I tend not to post press releases, this one was worth noting. A group in British Columbia claims to have harvested black truffles in the Fraser Valley.

• I know I’m guilty of this one: the misuse of the word “unctuous”, as decried by the Huffington Post.

• Although you wouldn’t think of The Smithsonian’s website as a great place for food writing, in this case you would be wrong. The story of Kolaches and the wonders of Tex-Czech cuisine.

• As for us writers at Passable, while Melissa was away in Spain eating amazing meals (you should really read her series of Dinners with Albert) I had the opportunity to write about the humble yet potent Haskap berry, and its possible impact on Nova Scotia.

Tonight, I will be doing just that – in french no less – on Radio-Canada’s radio food show, “Bien dans son assiette“.

The show has decided to produce a series of episodes from Halifax this week. Yesterday’s episode is already available on iTunes, which discusses Fox Hill Cheese House’s lovely wares and much more. I will be tonight talking about Halifax’s culinary scene and providing commentary on various other topics. You can listen to it in Halifax at 92.3 FM and check Radio-Canada’s website to stream it it live.

An open copy of Out Of Old Nova Scotia Kitchens

If they’re good, they not only give us great dishes or great meals to remember, but they can give us insight into not only the food of a place and time, but of the people themselves.

In the case Marie Nightingale’s “Out Of Old Nova Scotia Kitchens”, what we get are not only recipes, but an entire overview of how the people of Nova Scotia ate, and continue to eat in the present day.

I recently had the opportunity to interview and write about Nightingale’s book for Zester Daily. The first part of the story tells of how the book came to be (a lot of recipe testing, years of research) as well as the influence that the book has had on both home and professional chefs, over forty years on.

This week’s you’ll find stories about eating horse meat because you want to, the issues around languages that aren’t french in Quebec’s restaurants, Nova Scotian cheeses in competitions, and to finish it off, some deadly foodstuffs.

Fernet image via Wikipedia

• First, a lovely local story. Two cheeses from That Dutchman’s Cheese are competing against some of Canada’s best in the 2013 Canadian Cheese Grand Prix. Good luck!

• This one is for Melissa B, who I know to be a big fan of Fernet Branca. A story in the L.A. Times about the recent interest in amaros, that punchy and bitter italian booze.

• Speaking of tipples, the Globe and Mail throws back a few cocktails that use teas in the mix.

• I love that there is a story in Popular Mechanics about southern chef/seed saver/cookbook collector Sean Brock. Why? To talk about the best way to roast a whole pig.

• Although this op-ed was posted last week, I still wanted to include it here this week. CNN Travel’s Jason Sheehan asks and opines as to why we are always so touchy about food. The opening line: “In Denver, they threatened to kill me over soup.”

• The CBC did a hefty amount of reporting over the use of non-french words in restaurants in the province of Quebec. Apparently Quebec’s office of official languages took umbrage over the usage of the word “pasta” and a selection of other words, signage and other items in various restaurants.

• Clifford Wright is a James Beard winning author, known for his love of Mediterranean food. According to his latest piece in Zester Daily, apparently his latest love is Newfoundland’s culinary legacy.

• Also from CBC: In a weird twist, the recent interest in the media around the horse meat scandal has spurred an interest in the eating of the equine animal.

• And last but not least, a meal to raise funds for charities in the U.K. invites diners to feast on dishes that could send them to their graves.

 The Dresden Row eatery has been around 13 years and has been at the forefront of serving local and seasonal food, an idea that was only just gaining traction when they opened their doors.

“We want to thank all of our loyal customers for dining with us over the years,” said chef and co-owner Dennis Johnston in a press release. “We also want to thank our incredible food suppliers; the farmers, the fishers, foragers, wine makers and others who have been intergal in putting FID Resto on the map. We’ve put a great deal of thought and consideration into our decision. While not easy, it feels right and we are looking forward to whatever the future holds for us both.”

Johnston spoke with CBC about the closure, stating that it was not “a decision based on the business climate in Halifax”, rather, that the lease for the space was up in May. He and Monica Bauché, the restaurant’s hostess and co-owner, had reviewed their options and decided to close.

For a long time, Fid was the place I would suggest or send people to when they wanted to know where to eat in Halifax. But food was only part of the reason I would send people there. The other part of the equation were Dennis and Monica, the restaurant’s owners.

Monica was warm and inviting as a hostess, and would remember more than just your name or your taste preferences. She would remember the stories or facts she would garner from conversations she would have with you as she seated and served you.  In an industry where individual touches are king, Monica was a queen.

That would make Dennis the crown prince, or court jester, depending on who you asked. I can’t count how many times Dennis would make a joke-  either with me or at me – when I would see him.  And I would always see him at the farmers markets here in the city. His kitchen may have been a sacred space, but that doesn’t mean it was closed to the public. Dennis would often invite diners or friends into the kitchen to learn about something, a technique, an ingredient.  He was even kind enough to help me source a few hard-to-find ingredients. My sister’s lemon birthday cake would a yuzu curd not have happened if it wasn’t for Dennis.

But outside of the personal connections, Fid and its team stood as one of the strongest stalwarts of the local food movement in Halifax.  Fid, along with many of the other restaurants and chefs in this city that have touted the benefits of local and seasonal food, helped change the culinary dining scene in this city. For that, we as Haligonians are eternally grateful.

When asked what was next for the team behind Fid, Johnston was vague, telling the CBC that he had no comment. In any case, I won’t say goodbye to Dennis and Monica. Only, “à la prochaine“.

• First a leftover link from last week. Apparently Halifax Recipes and Food has its own Pinterest page. Neat.

• Big? Yes. Tasty? Not so much. Slate offers a story about a drug that brings beef down, or up, depending on how you look at it.

• A great little interview with Ruth Reichl, posted in Fashion Week Daily. She reminisces about her days at Conde Nast (“You paid for nothing!”), her feelings on Yelp (“Anybody who believes Yelp is an idiot”) and her love of Twitter (“I found I had another voice on Twitter. I love the discipline of 140 characters.”)

• Bad news for Bourbon lovers? The makers of Makers Mark are reducing the alcohol percentage in their brew due to not being able to produce enough for their customers. And of course, people are talking about it. (via Bourbon Blog and First We Feast).

• Speaking of hooch, the Globe and Mail talks about the recent surge of interest in all things bitters.

• As for other things acrid – or in this case acrimonious – a previously anonymous blogger who went by the name The Bitter Barista was found out, and subsequently let go from his job. (Via Gawker)

• And finally from the bitter to the sweet, The Atlantic interviews a researcher who specialises in the health benefits of chocolate.

Weekends are also the times where I feel like being the most lazy. I often find myself lazing on the couch watching food shows on PBS in the afternoon. Maybe my better half is more motivated to cook something tonight…

There is next to no balance with me on this day. My moods are either inspired or insipid. But I think I may have found the perfect balm to this: making stocks and broths.

The best stocks are made by people who know how to take things slowly. Stocks benefit from being left alone to do their own thing, being gently prodded at not-so-specific times that are decided somewhat arbitrarily by people who would rather relax than obsess.

To take stock of things is to take the time to count, to organise, and to know what is available and accessible.

The act of making stock keeps the kitchen warm with the heat of the oven, perfumes it with roasting bones and simmering things on stoves. The weekend started ambitiously, with an armload of beef and pork bones, a pantry full of dried foodstuffs and a kitchen table covered in cookbooks.

Stocks and broths are very subtle yet forgiving teachers. It does not need your full attention all day long, barraging you with questions. It simply asks that you stay mindful and keep an eye on it, acknowledging it from time to time. In the case of this one, you started with a large piece of kombu, placed in a pot of cold water, and brought to a gentle boil. To the impatient student, waiting for a pot to boil, especially a large one filled with cold water is – pardon the pun – water torture. But to the student who understands that you don’t have to wait, you can sit in the kitchen and read more cookbooks or work on something else, it’s a lot easier. You’re not waiting for the kombu to soften and the water to boil. You’re just letting it happen.

With the water just about boiling, off goes the heat. You take a look at the clock and pay mind to the time. In ten minutes, out will come the kombu and in go the dried shitake mushrooms. The water in the pot smells of the ocean.

The mushrooms are dropped into the pot, and the room starts to take on that slightly rich and savoury smell that you find in good Japanese soups. They will sit in the water to plump, perfuming the air and lending a much needed layer of flavour to the broth. An hour or so will do.

In the meantime, you turn on the oven. You’ve some pork bones to roast in there. It doesn’t take long for the kitchen to warm up. Another layer of flavour to add to the pot, another scent for the air.

Nearly an hour later, the bones are done. Golden in spots, darker brown in others. Out come the mushrooms. In go the bones. There’s a chicken carcass on the counter. Into the pot it goes too. The more flavour, the merrier.

And here is where the real instruction comes in. Here is where your desire to do things quickly and with great enthusiasm will ruin things. In those lovely bones are things which will lend great richness, savouriness and flavour to your stock/broth/soup. But these things are best extruded gently, with low, slow and gentle heat. Remember, turning up the heat will only cloud your stock.

There is something to be said for a clear broth. It doesn’t have to be so perfect that you could view the reflection of the moon in it, but you don’t want to drink a liquid that looks like a storm has brewed there. If your broth or stock is cloudy, it’s because you boiled it. Boiling doesn’t allow you to skim off all those impurities that will rise to the top. You decided you were in a hurry, turned up the heat and boiled the shit out of those bones and vegetables. Don’t. Just don’t. Skimming the impurities that rise to the top of your stock will help in this. There is letting things take their course, and then there is guiding them to the desired final state. That state is clear, remember?

Time passes. Maybe five or six hours. You then add a carrot or two for sweetness. Just to balance things out.

An hour later, it’s time to strain your stock. Out come the carrots, the bones. Once again, here you will gently steer your stock into the territory you clamor for: clarity. Out comes a fine-meshed sieve, lined with cheesecloth. Gently, your pour the stock out.

It’s not so clear that you could read through it, but you can see what is on the other side. This is a good way to be.

And you’re done. You’ve made it.

You’ve done what you felt like doing, following either your ambition or your need to relax, perhaps both at once. Your house smells amazing. And you did it. It’s your glory to bask in. And all you did was add a few things to a pot and let it be.

• I have a confession to make. When I first started drinking in bars, I would always order something ridiculously fruity to drink. Like a Purple Nurple. So I have to say, I quite enjoyed this story from Slate about the history of girly drinks, and that most (in)famous one of them all, the Cosmopolitan, who turns 25.

• For those of us who eat alone: a ramen bowl with a rest for your phone, via Eater.

• The New York Times talks about how so many people are taking photos of their food in restaurants. Those who do it, love it. Those who don’t, hate it. And so PopPhoto put out a guide on how to do such a thing discreetly. Where do you stand?

• A short but interesting read that talks about how southern barbecue softened racial lines in the south, via Entrepreneur.

Ever hear of Brunost, a lovely Norweigian cheese? Well, apparently in the right circumstances, it can burn for a very long time, and release toxic gases. Tasty, tasty asphyxiation. (Via Gawker)

• The Globe and Mail reminds you that you may think you know pop up restaurants, but baby you don’t know pop ups.

• Another strike on farmed salmon. CBC reports that a virus in the population is causing consumers, namely restaurant owners, to be leery about ordering salmon for the kitchens.

• And finally, via Buzz Feed, a young adventuresome eater named Rino. Quote: “So many American parents struggle to get their kids to eat anything but chicken finger and mac and cheese. Vegetables and seafood are out of the question. Here is a little Japanese girl devouring tail-on shrimp without blinking an eye.” Kawaii!

The best trend in this city right now is how we, the dining public, look at food. We, as diners, have become much more adventurous in what and where we eat.  We just want to eat good food, and that comes in all sorts of places, from fine dining establishments playing with modernist techniques to hole-in-the-wall joints that serve cheap burgers. We are treating food as a much more democratic place, and everyone and anyone can eat anything and anywhere.

I was thinking of doing a year-end “best of” or “fave things” list of some sort, but ever since I wrote that, I feel like I’m not done with that comment.  If I want to leave the year on some sort of note of reflection, I’d rather do it on how we as Haligonians eat, rather than post a list of enjoyable things.

It’s hard to talk or write about food today without the word “foodie” come up.  We already know that the term has been experiencing a backlash for some time now – B.R. Meyers wrote about it in March of 2011 – and it could almost be argued that the term is garnering derision amongst food-loving circles.  It’s like being called a hipster, no one wants to be called it or admit to being one. But those of us who love food, read about it, think about it and plan our lives around it, are often called it. Many of us – myself included – have been guilty of taking photos of our food and posting them to Instagram or Facebook or various other social media platforms.

This post amounts to more than a hill of beans, I promise you

But beyond the social and cultural critiques of how we look with food, the point is that we are looking at it, thinking about it and are cognizant of what food means, perhaps now more than ever.  Brillat-Savarin’s famously misquoted quote of, “Tell me what you eat and I will tell you who you are” has even more resonance now in a world of ethically sourced foodstuffs and “epic” meal. (I use the term epic in quotes because I’m one of those people who think the word should be used for grand stories in grand books and not for gluttonous though delicious experiences).

Think back to the food and dining scene in this city and in this province ten years ago. Ten years ago it was hard to find a bowl of pho in this city’s restaurants, let alone a good one.  Korean food was nearly non-existent and sushi was exploding. Thai food was just starting to blossom, and vegan food options were scarce and generally un-appetising to many non-vegan diners.  The Halifax Farmers Market (singular, at this point in time) was busy, but not crazy.  Farmers offered what the general public knew about.  Exotic was not a term used often in those times when talking about produce or foodstuffs.  This is not to say that there weren’t interesting things to find in this city, if you knew where to look. The city’s specialty food stores – Indian, Greek, South Asian, health food, etc. – would often be small treasure troves for eaters who wanted to try something new and different.

And then a shift happened.

There are lots of things that brought about this shift, and it’s not only here in Halifax, Nova Scotia, or Atlantic Canada.  Cable television brought chefs into our home, and at that these were “celebrity” chefs, chefs who were famous for being on television as well as for their restaurants and the brands that their names were connected to.  We’ve all heard that “chefs are the new rock stars” and to a certain degree, they have became so.  Food lovers started talking about how they ate here or there, or bought this or that product that so-and-so put their name on or talked about.  Those of us who haven’t or didn’t drooled with envy.

The Internet also changed the way we look and talk about food.  For years, trends moved at a certain pace from one side of the world to the next.  They were only talked about by chefs or hard-core gourmands (as the first foodies were once known).  But the Internet helped democratise how information about food and food techniques and trends is spread.  Some guy in Spain is making spheres of food. Who? What? How? Google the answer. Now you can find spherical taste globules and aromatised foams on plates in this city. It’s even being taught at our local culinary schools. Cold-brewed coffee? You don’t have to be in Portland or Seattle to know how good it is, because you can find it in Dartmouth.

Mainstream media also pitched in to food mania. They sussed and discovered the hardcore food lovers and makers – people who had toiled away and nibbled away –and showcased the what and why of their work. But soon that small group of people grew. They saw things, heard of things and some of them tasted things that changed their relationship with food.  These were the first foodies.

I’ll admit, I was one of those people who read “Kitchen Confidential” and started telling friends, “Don’t order fish on Mondays.”  Then I started reading cookbooks, learning how easy it was to make thai curries (even from scratch) but bitched and moaned about the fact that I couldn’t get kaffir limes, let alone fresh (not frozen) limes leaves in this town.  So I made friends with cooks who hooked me up with ingredients.  Yuzu juice?  Thanks, I’ll take 100 ml.  Yes, I know it costs and arm and a leg but it will be the best damn lemon curd I’ve ever made.

Yup, I became one of those people.

And then I found other people like me. People who had cared or dared to find Filipino blood stew (Dinuguan) and fertilised duck eggs (Balut) for snacks.  We went into restaurants for dim sum and asked, “Is there anything not on the menu we should order?” and we would get it. I, and other people like me, started asking farmers for off cuts of animals, things like heads, hooves and caul fat.  We got excited when we found out that this farmer was growing this herb that you can’t find fresh anywhere east of Montreal. We started asking for more, and more is what we got.  More ingredients, more techniques, more restaurants, more interest and more people.

Chefs got into and promoted local food as a viable way of eating. In a place like Nova Scotia, eating locally becomes a political statement.  Many of us have connections, either familial or fiscal, to the people who produce our food.  We not only started buying locally as a way of helping our palates grow, but our economies as well. Farmers established stronger connections with the people who bought their produce, and vice-versa. We began to understand what and why this seasons’ strawberries were so few, or why the apples were so plentiful.  Faced with eating what was in season, some of us learned to prepare dishes in new (or old, depending on who you ask and what you’re cooking) ways. Eating locally became a synonym for spending locally. And that got everybody talking. And doing. And buying. And eating.

More and more people came into the fold.  They too wanted to be in on it, “it” caring about food.  It was no longer only a place for exclusive and expensive dinners, or people who were “in the know” Everyone became “in the know”.

Food has become democratised.  You too, can have a zaa’tar-dusted flatbread stuffed with fried halloumi.  You, the guy who lived at McDonalds in your early twenties was now forking out the extra money for grass-fed beef because you know not only that it tastes better, but also you also now are against feedlot and grain-fed beef.  Your dad is reading the Omnivore’s Dilemma and your mom is joining a CSA.  Good food is no longer for the culinary cognoscenti. It is for everyone.

And that’s how it should be, especially in a place like Halifax.  We’ve already talked about how no, we don’t have places like The French Laundry, and we probably won’t. That doesn’t make us – as Passable’s own Melissa Buote pointed out – culinary sad sacks. It makes us cogniscent of what is available to us, and gives us room to explore and celebrate what is.  It gives room for this province’s food producers, chefs and eaters room to grow their palate, collectively.

And now it’s 2012. More and more farmers are producing and growing fruits, vegetables and meats in sustainable and ethical fashions, as well as fostering a desire for specialty items.  Ethnic communities are finding farmers who will cater to their desire for produce that reminds them of home.  One farmer told me about how he had grown a specific type of radish/daikon for his Korean clientele, but soon realised that he had grown it at the wrong time of year.  The radish is mainly bought during kimjang, or kimchi-making season. He now grows Napa cabbages, various turnips/radishes/daikons and even perilla leaves for his clientele.

We, the eaters of this city, have brought this upon ourselves.  And it is a delicious thing to have wrought upon us.