JB's Warehouse & Curio Emporium

As some faithful readers may know, I am addicted to Indian food . One of the places I feed my fix is along Gerrard Street, usually at Udupi Palace or one of the Siddharthas . It may come as a surprise to some that one place I hadn't ventured into until recently was the eternally-under-construction Lahore Tikka House . The main reason that I had never settled into one of their outside picnic tables or whatever form the building was in was that it didn't appear to be a spot suited for solo dining. All I ever saw were large groups passing around dishes and figured there probably weren't any set dinners for one. One Friday night, my current partner-in-crime and I pondered nearby spots to go and she remembered that I had never been in Lahore Tikka—why not tonight? We ate in one of the trailers attached to the main building. Colourful linens were hung on the wall to liven up the 70s-style wall paneling. We sat side by side to stay out of the way of the sizzling platters ...

Previously : The 15-course Kitchen Table tasting menu at Colborne Lane , where kitchen successes are leading duds 7-1 at halftime. Dish 9 : Arctic char sitting atop tofu, served with dabs of orange marmalade. This picture was taken too soon as a mushroom jus was the finishing touch, which blended nicely with the marmalade. Dish 10 : Venison, parsnip puree, amaranth, mushrooms, huckleberry sauce and beet jelly. Venison is a meat I have fond memories of eating while living in England due to the reactions I provoked in my housemates whenever I prepared it. This was during the Mad Cow scare of '97 and everyone thought I had lost my marbles, since at first glance I appeared to be eating beef patties. Reassurances never dispelled their fears, as if I was pulling a fast one on them. Colborne Lane's rendition was juicy and tender, a piece of meat I could have happily eaten a few more ounces of. The surprise was the parsnip puree. Attempts to eat parsnips in any form have ...

There are birthday dinners. And then there are birthday dinners. A friend who I regularly dine out with decided that for her birthday this year, she wanted to have an evening that mixed good food and entertainment. Her choice was Colborne Lane , a downtown restaurant known for dabbling in molecular gastronomy . Anything with a term like that applied to it is enough to pique my curiousity, so I quickly accepted the invite. It may also have marked the first time I would ever eat at a spot reviewed by the New York Times . We ordered the Kitchen Table tasting menu, a 15-course sampler of the kitchen's wizardry. Among the seating options is a small room in the basement next to the kitchen, which we reserved to be close to the action. A window allowed us to see into the prep area, with half-a-dozen or so chefs carefully constructing dishes. The dessert chef was directly in front of us and we occasionally made faces or mimed questions for her. The room itself consisted a table fo...

Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face, Great chieftain o' the puddin-race! Aboon them a' ye tak your place, Painch, tripe, or thairm: Weel are ye wordy of a grace As lang's my arm. The groaning trencher there ye fill, Your hurdies like a distant hill, Your pin wad help to mend a mill In time o' need, While thro' your pores the dews distil Like amber bead. His knife see rustic Labour dight, An' cut ye up wi' ready slight, Trenching your gushing entrails bright Like onie ditch; And then, O what a glorious sight, Warm-reekin, rich! Then, horn for horn, they strech an' strive: Deil tak the hindmost! on they drive, Till a' their weel-swall'd kytes belyve, Are bent like drums; Then auld Guidman, maist like to rive, 'Bethankit!' hums. Is there that owre his French ragout Or olio that wad staw a sow, Or fricassee wad mak her spew Wi' perfect sconner, Looks down wi' sneering, scornfu' view On sic a dinner? Poor devil! see him owre hi...

My name is Jamie and I am an Indian food addict. Other than a menu in the family map box for the Himalaya restaurant in Windsor, I grew up with no exposure to Indian food. Dad occasionally swooned about it, but Mom never cared for curry so I suspect he had to live without it for years. I balked the first time he tried to introduce me to the cuisine, during a family trip to Toronto where I insisted everyone eat together since we had been separated all day. I suspect I was pooped from a long day of walking and wanted something familiar, which ended up being Swiss Chalet. Dad grumbled and I don't blame him. I was open on his second attempt, during our annual session of watching the Christmas high school basketball tournament at the University of Windsor. Dad watched the games and chatted with fellow coaches from the county, while I tagged along for food. Usually we went to the long-defunct South Campus Place, where I was introduced to french onion soup in a crock. He discovered a...

Once a year, Amy and I splurge at Zingerman's Delicatessen in Ann Arbor. Thanksgiving weekend's summer-like weather provided a good excuse to devour high-quality sandwiches on their patio. Downtown Ann Arbor was awash in maize and blue. Almost all university-age people we passed were decked out in yellow and blue t-shirts, as the Wolverines battled their next door neighbours, Eastern Michigan. We drove into downtown via Geddes, a scenic route which conveniently dodged game traffic. A display of salads, which we were given free samples of. Our faves were the smoked trout salad and the chicken paprikash. I chose the #67, Jon & Amy's Double Dip: "Zingerman’s corned beef & Niman Ranch pastrami, Switzerland Swiss & Wisconsin muenster cheeses, hot & regular mustards on pumpernickel & rye breads." Basically two sandwiches merged into one, without extra bread in the middle. Heavenly. Amy went for the #76, Thad's "Yes I Can...

After shopping along St. Mark's Place, I wandered aimlessly along nearby streets, my stomach growling by the time I reached 6th St. I stumbled upon a block of Indian restaurants, nearly all with cheap lunch specials. Since all I was really looking for was walking fuel for the rest of the afternoon, I figured I could stop for a quite bite and have something more substantial for dinner. I flipped a coin and wound up at Taj Mahal, which offered a set course lunch for $6. The meal started off with a bowl of mulligatawny soup, more accurately described as tomato garlic soup. The radioactive glow was frightening, but it didn't taste too bad, due to the healthy amount of chopped garlic. This was followed by a well-spiced, densely-packed samosa and average pappadum. I nearly ran out of room at my table when the rest of the meal arrived. The main was chicken korma, which had a strong hint of crushed almonds. The chicken was not full of bones or gristle, but the chef had been ...