TASTE

Happy (Canadian) #Thanksgiving 🍗🧅🍠🍷🍁

What’s not to love about a holiday that’s all about stuffing your face? And maybe getting together with family. But mostly about the stuffing your face part. It’s not like (the average person) never sees their family any other day of the year.


The Green Grass of SILVER BROWN

That Shit I Ate For Breakfast

Chocolate blueberry pancakes started out as just a concept that came to me one morning during a wake n’ bake. One I translated into a tangible product the following Sunday. (If you can dream it, you can do it?) The first batch turned out like this…


They were pretty good. The chocolate taste was detectable yet subtle. But some crazy part of me wanted more chocolate. So the next weekend I added an extra teaspoon of cocoa to the pancake cauldron, and a few handfuls of these things…

If Count Chocula had a nasty case of the runs, it would probably look like this.
The maiden pancake in its early embryonic stage. I’m aware of how scatologically suggestive this picture is, so there’s no need to point it out to me.
The finished product. It should be pointed out that accidentally making the pancakes extravagantly huge is one of the associated risks of doing this while high.

It was immediately apparent after the first couple of bites that there’s only so much chocolate one can put in pancake batter before the resultant product tastes more like a certain dessert than actual pancakes. I thought to myself: Gadzooks, am I eating chocolate cake for breakfast? Have I turned into one of those people?! The blueberries kicked in around Bite Number Three, instantly bringing my gastronomical chi back into balance and salvaging the whole experience from my nightmares. They didn’t overpower the chocolate flavour, opting instead to lurk in the background. Occasionally reminding me of what I was actually eating.

If the blueberry goodness was a character in this taste bud theatre, it’d be something like a benevolent version of Michael Myers.

These were actually way better-tasting as leftovers. Something about refrigerating them overnight restored the innate flapjackitude lost during the cooking process. Pancakes from the first bite, albeit weird-ass ones from another dimension. A dimension my stomach was pretty convinced was evil…


The next Sunday I nixed the cocoa entirely and only put in a small handful of chocolate chips. One of the pancakes from that batch looked at me funny…


The Soundtrack of SILVER BROWN

Food of the Gods

My supervisor asked me last week during lunch break about the last meal I would have if I were on death row. Not that I would actually do anything to warrant being on death row. A hypothetical question obviously, in light of the fact that capital punishment has been prohibited in Canada since 1976.

As for the answer, it was a traditional Scottish haggis supper with neeps and tatties. My supervisor reacted with disgust. I could tell right away she had never tried haggis in her life. It’s a trait shared by everyone I’ve ever met with similar sentiments towards the “great chieftain o the puddin’-race”. They have never tried it.

If meat was booze, haggis would be a carefully aged full-flavoured single-malt scotch, and bacon would be Mike’s Hard Lemonade.