Within the broad scheme of history, women have only recently liberated themselves from the demands of virtue, subservience, and piety. Women have carved out their place in the working world; the factory workers of the Industrial Revolution, the nurses of the World Wars, the typists and secretaries of the 1950s, and the blazoned and blazer-ed businesswomen of the 1980s have opened the horizon for women to work in any field of their choice — theoretically.

In the domestic cult, the kitchen is societally prescribed as the “women’s domain.” However, the restaurant industry has traditionally been a heavily masculinized, male-dominated sphere, à la Anthony Bourdain’s Kitchen Confidential. Take, for example, the alpha-male figure of Head Chef-cum-bully embodied by Gordon Ramsay or the toxic testosterone-laced pressure of commercial kitchens seen in FX’s The Bear. While women make up 52% of the overall restaurant workforce, they only occupy 30% of executive roles. In 2022, out of the 2,286 Michelin-starred restaurants, only 6% were female-led. 

There has always been a tension of theory in women making a career off the “domestic” arts — turning something that has historically limited women into a means of profit and, for some, fame. A revived wave of discourse surrounding the idea of a “career homemaker” has risen following the release of Ina Garten’s memoir, Martha Stewart’s documentary, and, most recently, Meghan Sussex’s Netflix series. Sussex’s show was met with reviews divided between praising her pure appeal to making moments of joy and rolling their eyes at her out-of-touch, inauthentic demonstrations of “useless information” (harvesting honey, arranging flowers, or making jam) in an $8 million home. Whether her series and affiliated brand As Ever are indeed a “Montecito ego trip” intended purely to line the ex-royal coffers, the show’s essential nature as a capitalist venture profiting off the work many women do unacknowledged remains.

The discourse has reversed: progressive feminism has slated women working in the kitchen — particularly when their toils benefit their family — as categorically regressive. Social media has had a heyday with the idea of “tradwives,” (“traditional wives” that ascribe to the heteronormative cult of domesticity, often linked to conservative politics and anti-feminist rhetoric) so much so that it feels like being a woman interested in cooking and baking (especially doing so for others) is almost taboo. Female content creators like Nara Smith and Hannah Neeleman, who made their names off making food from scratch for their small army of children, continually dodge accusations of tradwifery. Others — notably, those without children, like Meredith Hayden — are praised for their culinary genius and business savvy. Male content creators who make food for their families, however, are praised as “empowering” for defying gender norms. Regardless of whether Smith’s and Neeleman’s videos actually contain subliminal messages of conservative politics, the accusation hinges on the idea of women demonstrating a domestic lifestyle of tranquillity and family, wiped clean of any sign of distress or toil.

A pattern thus emerges: women are reclaiming cooking as a form of joy and a source of self-affirming power. The media then attempts to skew it as either a play for profit or political propaganda. We arrive at an impasse. How can women stand in the kitchen without standing for a cause? It hinges on the motivating force behind her work: is she cooking for passion? As a display of love and care? Or as a career? 

Ultimately, women shouldn’t need to defend their motivations or explicate their politics for the gratification of the media. Cooking is unique in its ability to act as a form of power, joy, respite, and resistance, depending on who wields the knife. As long as she steps into the kitchen voluntarily, cooking can mean anything she chooses.

The post Let Her Cook: The Paradox of Women in the Kitchen appeared first on The McGill Daily.

Claire Saffitz is a true modern paragon in the culinary industry. While she is known internationally as the former senior food editor of Bon Appétit, creator of the fan-favourite Gourmet Makes YouTube videos, and author of myriad superb recipes, Saffitz’s roots trace back through to our very own Montreal. Saffitz earned her undergraduate degree at Harvard University before venturing north to McGill, where she studied early modern French culinary history, earning her master’s in history in 2013. Saffitz made her name working in Bon Appétit’s test kitchen during its golden years in the mid-2010s. After departing Condé Nast in 2020, Saffitz proved her strength as a fundamental tastemaker in the food world, moving on to create viral content for New York Times Cooking, launching her own YouTube Channel, and writing two New York Times-bestselling cookbooks, Dessert Person and What’s For Dessert. Given that Saffitz is my personal culinary hero, I had the incredible honour of interviewing her, garnering insight into her remarkable career thus far and the state of the food industry.

Luxe Palmer for The McGill Daily (MD): You’ve done so much in your career, from studying culinary arts in Paris and early modern cookbooks at McGill, to becoming an internet personality with Bon Appétit, New York Times Cooking, and Dessert Person, to writing two outstanding cookbooks, and now to homesteading in Hudson Valley and producing your own YouTube channel. Are there any highlights of your journey thus far, and/ or anything that stands out about this particular moment in your career?

Claire Saffitz (CS): There have been many wonderful highlights, including winning the IACP Julia Child First Cookbook Award for Dessert Person, as well as filming a croissant recipe video for New York Times Cooking that has become their most viewed video ever. Another milestone was gaining one million subscribers to my YouTube channel. At this moment, I am a new mom and trying to figure out how to balance work with my family and time with my baby. This definitely feels like a new chapter.

MD: In interviews, you have said that you love structure, routine, and details (we get along famously in that respect). How have you balanced that work ethic with the instability and unpredictability of freelance work?

CS: I have been pretty much nonstop writing a cookbook in some form or another since 2018, and running my YouTube since 2020. I therefore have lots of control over my own schedule and can plan how I want to divide my time. It can be hard to impose a structure on myself, and I do not think [that] I have it perfectly figured out yet. At the same time, the freedom and flexibility is a huge gift.

MD: You have cited Julia Child as one of your top culinary inspirations (rightly so); do you have any other women muses or icons pertaining to cooking and/or life in general?

CS: I am a big admirer of Ruth Reichl and Martha Stewart and the career paths they carved.

MD: There is a tension within the culinary industry often faced by women in the field. In the historical concept of the domestic realm, the kitchen was societally prescribed as the “women’s sphere.” However, the restaurant industry has traditionally been a heavily masculinized, male-dominated sphere, à la Kitchen Confidential. As a highly renowned luminary in today’s food world, how have you navigated these gender dichotomies in the industry?

CS: I bristle against the ways that the restaurant industry has traditionally tolerated — and even celebrated — male chefs (and some female ones) who lead their kitchens through anger and intimation. I knew I never wanted to be a part of that culture, so I didn’t pursue a career in restaurant kitchens (there were other reasons as well). Food media is actually pretty female-dominated, so I had a lot of women who I felt I could look to for guidance.

MD: One of my particular passions is how food acts as a love language, connecting people across time, place, cultures, and generations. How does your childhood, family history and/or ancestry play into your food and tastes?

CS: Big question! Too big for this space, but I grew up in a household with parents who loved to cook and loved to eat, and who valued food. I grew up understanding that eating is a source of pleasure, which pointed me in the direction of my current career path.

MD: Speaking to your status as a McGill alumnus and your Master’s in culinary history, what are your thoughts on navigating the boundaries between respecting and breaking tradition? Do considerations of culinary tradition, from the strict rules of Parisian pastry technique to the deeper histories behind classic recipes and methods, factor into your personal recipe development practices?

CS: I am respectful of tradition, and generally believe in the idea that the classics are classic for a reason. I don’t try to reinvent the wheel. I like to work with familiar and tried-and-true flavour combinations. Technique is important to me, and I don’t do a lot of “hacks.” I like to try to make things as they’re supposed to be made, but ideally in a streamlined way.

MD: Do you have any advice for college students cooking? Is there a recipe you think everyone should have in their toolbelt – a go-to crowd-pleaser or a technique that will set up a home cook for success?

CS: My best cooking advice is to make a recipe multiple times – it’s easy to always try a new recipe once and then move on, but there is so much understanding to be gained from making one over and over again. That’s how to learn what happens when, for example, you change an ingredient (or even a brand of the same ingredient), or use a different piece of cookware, etc. It’s how you learn the cause-and-effects and nuances of cooking. I think learning to cook pasta, an omelet, a basic vinaigrette, and maybe roasting a chicken are all great starting points.

MD: What’s for Dessert has a distinct retro visual aesthetic, alongside recipes that hark back to mid-century cooking, like icebox cakes, cherries jubilee, Eton mess, and multiple soufflé iterations. I’ve definitely noticed a recent trend toward vintage food and flavours (i.e. The Corner Store in NYC, a resurgence in Americana diners, and the nostalgia of shrimp cocktails or Girl Scout cookies). What attracts you to that era of cuisine? What other culinary trends or themes do you have your eye on?

CS: Nostalgia is a powerful thing, especially when it comes to food. I could spend my time trying to invent a brand new dish, but I’d rather riff on familiar dishes and flavour combinations because they can be so fun and transporting to both make and eat. It’s fun discovering old dishes and making them feel new again. I don’t see it so much as a trend for me personally, though mid-century food has seemed to be big since the pandemic. People definitely seek out the familiar as a form of comfort.

MD: From my own perspective, the culinary industry is a bit unusual in its different methods of entry and criteria for experience: you can work your way up a restaurant brigade, or start as a beat reporter (not even necessarily for a food publication), or attempt the terrifyingly unreliable medium of freelance work. Social media has recently opened a new door to the food world, with content creators like Justine Doiron and Meredith Hayden making substantial careers from their Internet success. How has the process of entering the culinary work field changed since you first began? What advice might you give to someone looking to join its ranks?

CS: There are so many entry points to the industry, and I entered in a more traditional way through food media. I am glad that there is less gate-keeping now with social media, and I encourage people to start in whatever way is most practical for them. But in any context, it’s important to develop the core skill set first – so that means developing a voice and writing skills if you want to be a food writer, and cooking skills and experience if you want to be a recipe developer or cook.

MD: Lastly, and more generally, what excites you right now? What are you looking forward to?

CS: I am very excited about my next book project, which includes lots of savoury cooking. It’s so much fun to develop these recipes and cook for myself and my family at the same time. There’s more of a sense of instant gratification and authenticity, since I am developing recipes I love and actually cook often.

The post The (Gourmet) Making of Claire Saffitz appeared first on The McGill Daily.

Cappuccino ($4.00): For a student café, Gerts offers a surprisingly mature and thoughtful cappuccino. The espresso used is the Kittel Signature Blend, a crowd-pleasing medium roast that still retains its intrigue and complexity. The tasting notes identify “milk chocolate, peanut butter, [and] red fruit,” all of which are in attendance. Many basic, one-note espresso blends cite these three notes as a catch-all, parading around as something more interesting than actuality. Kittel does the profile justice, with each note clearly picked out and presented harmoniously. The espresso’s bright start gives way to a powdery chocolate, rooted in a roasty but not burnt or bitter note (you won’t find any “Charbucks” here). There is a slight floral note that appears as a whisper at the end of the sip, evocative of the “red fruit” noted in the blend description. You can distinctly pick up the woody peanut butter as it cools, landing in the middle of the palette. As far as the actual crafting of the cappuccino goes, I tip my hat to the baristas. The classic (and deceptively tricky) latte art was the cherry (literally) on top of a beautifully creamy and well-executed microfoam.

Lavender London Fog ($5.75): Recommended by Hamoda, the lavender London fog puts a springtime twist on the warming drink. The eponymous lavender syrup brings out the distinctive floral notes in the Earl Grey tea without being too cloying or sweet. I have encountered lavender-flavoured items that taste like biting into a Lush bath bomb; this is not the case. The black tea perfectly balances the lavender, while the milk cuts out any bitterness.

Walnut Brownie ($4.00): Gerts doesn’t try to reinvent the wheel; their rendition of the brownie is humble, executed with care and attention to detail. The large slice is generously encrusted with walnuts, both on top and embedded within — you truly get your money’s worth. That being said, if you don’t definitively enjoy walnuts, you may be displeased at how prominent the flavour is. The brownie isn’t overly rich or sweet, which allows the flavour of the chocolate and walnuts to shine. The slice is perfectly moist, striking a balance between a more structured, cakelike crumb and a fudgy, denser brownie. It pairs wonderfully with the coffee, to no one’s surprise.

Gerts Café holds no pretensions of being a postmodern fourth-wave indie coffee house, nor does it fall to the wayside of cheap drip coffee and baked-from-frozen pastries. Their menu has succeeded in catering to a wide array of palettes and taste preferences without losing intrigue and complexity of flavours. Gerts has pulled an impressive feat in curating a cozy, picture-perfect atmosphere and providing high-quality goods at a startlingly affordable price point.

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If there is an oats expert in this world, I can confidently identify as such. However, I am aware that my passion for porridge is not widely shared; this is simply because you have not had correct oatmeal. There is a method. Take notes.

Firstly: all oatmeal is porridge, but not all porridge is oatmeal. Porridge is any grain or starch cooked down in liquid until macerated. Oatmeal specifically uses oats. The type of oat used is the most crucial decision in the oat-making process: 

• Groats: Oats’ original form, kernel, shell, and all. They’re less common, as they take a long time to break down and have a much hardier flavour and chew.
• Old-Fashioned Rolled: Think of oatmeal, and you’re probably thinking of old-fashioned rolled oats. These are made by taking groats, steaming them, then rolling them into iconic flat petal-like flakes. The end result can, depending on the cooking method, either result in the stereotypical mush or a pleasantly soft, but still well-structured oat.
• Steel-cut: These are the oats of my childhood. Steel-cut oats are groats that are cut, as the name implies, with a steel blade into thinner pieces. They retain their grist, leading to a less mushy and more structured bite. They’re nuttier and more flavourful than rolled.
• Scottish: The Scots take groats and mill them, resulting in a finer grain that ends up a not unpleasant, yet undeniably gluey and creamy texture when cooked. To cook a true bowl of Scottish porridge (which I have learned through in situ experience), you must stir the oats clockwise with a spurtle, a wooden dowel-like utensil that somehow imparts the wisdom of the ancient Hebridean Scots to your oats.
• Quick/Instant Oats: These oats have been both sliced and rolled into the smallest granules (before you breach into oat flour territory), thus allowing them to cook the fastest. You’ll either end up with a bowl of soft, creamy, comforting porridge, or a bowl of pasty gruel. Either way, teeth are not required.

The methodology of oatmeal-making is as variable as the oats themselves. After you have decided upon your oat of choice, the cooking liquid is next. Typically, recipes call for water, milk, or both. All-milk will give you a luxurious bowl of the creamiest, silkiest oats. All-water allows the oats to shine, highlighting their texture and flavour – it’s also the most budget-friendly. To spice up your oats, using coffee or tea as your liquid of choice instantly adds flavour while combining your breakfast and morning caffeine into one handy bowl. Typically (though depending on the type of oat), a 2:1 ratio of liquid to oats is advised. This is negotiable: if you like a soupier oatmeal, add more liquid. If you prefer your oats more toothy, use less. Steel-cut oats, however, benefit best from a 3:1 ratio.

Oats are best cooked low and slow on the stove; however, time may not permit that. If you’re in a dash, add oats and liquid to a LARGE bowl to prevent overflow and keep your eye on it – they tend to explode. Microwave on high in 30-60-second increments, stirring in between, until you reach your desired texture. Note: oats will continue to absorb liquid as they cool; stop cooking just before your desired viscosity.

If you have extra time in the morning, consider toasting your oats on a dry skillet for about five minutes, until golden and aromatic. If you have zero time, consider making overnight oats: add equal parts oats and liquid, plus all desired flavourings, to a jar. Simply refrigerate overnight for a grab-and-go oat. 

Still not a fan of traditional oatmeal texture? Try blending your oats. You can either blend overnight oats into a batter-like consistency or blend the raw ingredients and bake them. (You can also bake oatmeal without blending.)

I believe I never acquired a distaste for oatmeal because my mother has perfected her recipe: steel-cut oats, a generous pad of butter, brown sugar, cinnamon, and vanilla extract. If you’ve never liked oatmeal, it’s because you’ve never added butter.

A tried-and-true formula follows as such: Fat (peanut/almond butter, tahini, butter, olive/coconut oil) + Sweetener (maple syrup, brown/white sugar, honey, agave, molasses, jam) + Flavour Profile (expanded below) + Texture (chopped nuts, fruit, raisins, coconut flakes, seeds, milk/cream, sliced dates, chocolate chips, granola) + Nutritive Bonus (hemp hearts, chia seeds, ground flax seeds, protein powder, shredded beetroot/zucchini/carrot, maca powder, yogurt/cottage cheese).

For a classically sweet oatmeal, think add-ins like cinnamon, nutmeg, allspice, cloves, ginger, cardamom, cocoa powder, turmeric, matcha, orange/lemon zest, pumpkin purée, or vanilla/almond/coconut extract. Combinations range from a haldi doodh (“golden milk”)-inspired blend of turmeric, ginger, cardamom, and cinnamon, to a gingerbread-esque porridge with molasses, cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves, ginger, and allspice. Cook oats with grated apple for a call-back to Quaker’s Apple Cinnamon instant oats. Adorn your oats with dates, olive oil, and flaky sea salt for a sophisticated bowl.

If sweet isn’t your style, try savoury: garam masala, curry powder, cumin, green chiles, miso, tomatoes, pesto, yolky egg, nutritional yeast, soy sauce, hot sauce, avocado, mushrooms, onion, garlic, chives, shallots, chopped meat, cheese, spinach – the list goes on. While savoury oats may sound strange, I highly recommend you give them a chance. Try miso, kale, and soft-boiled eggs or dashi and radishes for Japanese-style bowls. Add a French twist with mushrooms and thyme.

Whatever profile you choose, ALWAYS ADD SALT. Salt awakens the nutty complexity of the oats, elevating them from simple grain to heavenly gold.

If you want to up your protein, stir a raw egg in your oats right after taking them off the stove. The residual heat will cook the egg into a delicious cake-batter-esque custard. You can also add Greek yogurt, cottage cheese, protein powder (…if you must, though the resulting texture may not outweigh the better macros), or hemp hearts.

If I’ve tempted you down the rabbit hole of oatmeal, you may find yourself experimenting with different porridge grains (buckwheat, quinoa, barley, amaranth) and methods (congee, Crock Pot, steamed, fermented). I believe the next step in the evolution of my porridge mania is growing my own oats.

The post Goldilocks Had It Good: An Oatmeal Deep-Dive appeared first on The McGill Daily.

The first two things I noticed after opening the nondescript door of Chez Greenberg (5159 Avenue du Parc) were Jake Greenberg himself behind the counter, donning his signature black glasses, and a jar of silver Hershey’s Kisses next to a childhood photo of Greenberg and his brother. 

The theme of “family first” carries itself throughout Chez Greenberg’s entire history. Beginning as a COVID project in May of 2020, Jake Greenberg took his father’s smoked salmon recipe and turned it into a booming online business – all with no prior experience in the food industry. Greenberg’s great-grandparents originally came to Canada from Poland, setting up Waxman’s Tuxedo Shop in 1927, where Greenberg worked before the pandemic. He named his viral salmon enterprise Zaidie’s, after his grandparents’ restaurant at the Rabiner’s Hotel in Sainte-Agathe. Once the world opened up, Zaidie’s put down roots in the Ripples Ice Cream shop on rue Jeanne-Mance, out of which they sold their now-iconic smoked salmon, bagel sandwiches, latkes, chowder, and cream cheese schmears. Why an ice cream shop, you may ask? The owner of Ripples, Richard Bernett, happened to be a former employee of the original Zaidie’s restaurant and opened up his space for Greenberg to share.

In 2022, however, Zaidie’s shuttered its (physical and online) doors. In his farewell Instagram post, Greenberg implied that the best was yet to come. This manifested three years later in the form of Chez Greenberg, a brick-and-mortar establishment and the new home of “Bubby’s” kitchen. The restaurant was announced in December 2024 and soft-opened in January. The menu began with Zaidie’s signature fare and is continually expanding, now including smoked salmon chowder, canned drinks, and a full espresso bar. Chez Greenberg is a joint venture alongside Daniel Feinglos of Agriculture du Coin, an aquaponics farm specializing in “urban hydroponic farming, fermentation, and mushroom cultivation,” that will eventually sell its products alongside Greenberg’s salmon and bagels.

As the establishment was founded upon the back of its infamous smoked salmon, it was my duty as a faithful reporter to order it. Alongside a cappuccino, I got their BLC (Bagel, Lox, Cream Cheese): a white sesame bagel schmeared with lemon cream cheese and layered with pink ribbons of lox, thick-cut tomatoes, fresh onions, a mountain of crispy fried potatoes, and a sprinkle of capers. They also offer a BLC Deluxe, which swaps the lemon cream cheese for smoked salmon cream cheese.

The bagel sandwich was, in a word, delightful. The bagel was dense, chewy, and toasted (regarding the controversy over toasting a bagel, I am all for it, contrary to popular opinion). The quality of this bagel was a high medium – not quite to the standard of one fresh out of Fairmount’s oven, but certainly no Tim Hornton’s (sorry, Tim). The crust was densely dotted with sesame seeds, adding a pronounced nuttiness. 

The eponymous smoked salmon was truly a delicacy. It was sliced razor-thin, with its edges crisped by the seasoning and the meat perfectly lean and supple. Many a lox is too shy in its fishy flavour; I have often been met with lox that tastes like nearly nothing. This salmon stands apart – the profile strikes a perfect balance, neither too pungently fishy, nor too lacklustre. Greenberg’s inherited smoked salmon recipe is, like all the best things, secret. All that is known is that it’s brined for 24 hours prior to smoking, then donned with a classified seasoning blend and lacquered with maple syrup (making it a thoroughly Canadian affair).

Atop the mille-feuille of fish lies bright, punchy white onions; slabs of tomatoes juicy enough to please Miracle Max; and crispy potato schmutz (latke scraps): all of which marry into a perfect union of textures and flavours. The potato trimmings add a rich caramelized note, while the lemon cream cheese cuts through in a tangy, zesty ray of herbs and sunshine. The restaurant makes “everything but the bagel by hand,” as Greenberg let me know (the bagel’s origins remain unknown). My singular critique would be to add a few more capers, but that may just be my particular affinity for the salty gems.

The cappuccino had a thick foam and was dusted with sweet chocolate powder. The dark-roast espresso kept its nuance of flavour (which is often lost the longer you roast the beans), and its profile balanced well with the sweetness of the chocolate. I will note that it could have been served a bit warmer.

On Instagram, Greenberg stated his intentions for Chez Greenberg as “the kind of place that feels like home, where you’re sitting at the kitchen table, warm and cozy, while your bubby or your mom is cooking up something made with love.” I can affirm that his ambitions have come through in every aspect. Aesthetically, the restaurant is the modern hipster’s paradise (a compliment). An open kitchen is bordered by bar seats where you can watch Adon, Leo, and the other chefs hand-make knishes and latkes. There are hydroponic towers to grow their herbs, scuffed wood floors and exposed ceilings, and a cheeky typewriter below the register. The playlist, decor, and merch curate the perfect point between kitschy nostalgia and something fresh. When he wasn’t working the cash register and espresso bar, Greenberg himself would often call back, “Everyone good?” or roam the floor, chatting up diners and bantering with his crew.

Chez Greenberg is a new kind of local. Built on the heritage of his ancestors, Jake Greenberg is building a space for the Mile End and the greater Montreal community to feel like home. His venture is defined by the strength of his supporters and would not be possible without the love they have for both his salmon and the man himself. I believe the best is yet to come from Bubby’s kitchen.

The post Chez Greenberg: Creating Local appeared first on The McGill Daily.

When you leave a Crespin household, your arms will inevitably be laden with food. As you make the hour-long dance towards the door in a futile attempt to leave, waltzing between hugs and goodbyes and promises to bring over the succulent trimmings next week, you will find yourself carrying tinfoil-wrapped packages of tortillas, containers of green chile, last night’s leftovers, or if nothing else, a sleeve of Ritz crackers. If you leave empty-handed, we probably don’t like you, and if you refuse the food, we assume that we’ve done something to deeply offend you. The food says more about our love than the hugs do.

Family reunions are preceded by my (many) aunts and cousins crowding in the kitchen to form a tamale production line, while pots of posole bubble on the stove and pans of enchiladas crowd the oven. The recipes are less recipes and more oral histories of our ancestors. When you ask how to make green chile, Grandmas will tell you how her mother, Emma, would insist upon using New Mexican Hatch green chiles roasted by hand while tossing in a few spoonfuls of cumin or chunks of diced pork, measuring purely by instinct. When I eat my grandmother’s green chile, I am eating my great-grandmother Emma’s green chile – someone I never met, but accredit my entire existence to. I feel like I know her, if only through making her recipes.

The love language of food is carried by the other side of my family, too. My dad was the first person to teach me how to cook food to show someone you care. He would wake up early to cook us scrambled eggs for breakfast before school; after a long day’s work, he still comes home and cooks dinner for the family. He makes pancakes with a sourdough starter passed down in our family for generations and smoked brisket that takes hours to make. To take the time not only to feed, but nourish another with a carefully crafted meal – that is the ultimate act of love and care.

There is no language more universal than food. Cooking for those you love, communing over a meal, or simply sharing delivery pizza on your living room floor is the purest act of affection. Memories are formed in the passing of dishes over the Thanksgiving table, and in the passing down of family recipes. Relationships are built through shy first dates at coffee shops, wedding rehearsal dinners, and cakes baked for birthdays. The power of food lies in its ability to connect you in immediate one-on-one relationships and wider relationships to your culture, lineage, and ancestors across time and space.

In that way, food connects the world. It creates cross-cultural bonds; you can eat pho and, without speaking a word of Vietnamese, taste the history, heritage, and care passed down from generation to generation that wrote the recipe for the soup in your bowl. Food is a universal translator — not of words, but of feelings, memories, ideas, and stories. We may not share a spoken language, but the world shares the native tongue of food.

The post Love Like A Crespin appeared first on The McGill Daily.

In honour of Black History Month, we’re giving thanks to just a few of the many Black innovators and chefs who have left their legacy on the food world of today.

Edna Lewis: The image of Southern cooking today can be traced back to Edna Lewis and her revolutionary cookbook, The Taste of Country Cooking (1976). A restaurateur, farmer, and teacher, Lewis cooked for the likes of Marlon Brando, Truman Capote, Eleanor Roosevelt, and Gloria Vanderbilt at Café Nicholson, before moving on to write her own cookbook with the endorsement of Julia Child’s editor, Judith Jones. Lewis’s cookbook established many key dishes in Southern cuisine, from shrimp and grits to fried chicken. In 1995, she was the first person to be awarded the James Beard Living Legend Award.

Georgia Gilmore: A true culinary rebel, Georgia Gilmore formed The Club from Nowhere in Montgomery, Alabama, in 1955 after Rosa Parks’s arrest. The secret club raised money to fund the Montgomery Bus Boycott by selling fried chicken sandwiches outside churches. She then testified in the State of Alabama v. M. L. King, Jr. trial in 1956, which led to her dismissal from her job at the National Lunch Company. However, with the help of M.L.K. Jr., Gilmore opened her own restaurant out of her home, where the Montgomery Improvement Association and others gathered during their meetings.

Maulana Karenga: Unlike the others on this compendium, Karenga, a professor of Africana Studies at California State University, did not invent a food dish or tool. Rather, he started an entire holiday: Kwanzaa. In 1966, in response to the Watts riots, Karenga created the holiday to bring together a diaspora of African cultures and traditions to honour African-American heritage. He wanted to “give black people an opportunity to celebrate themselves and their history, rather than simply imitate the practice of the dominant society.” The celebration consists of honouring the Seven Principles (Nguzo Saba): unity (umoja), self-determination (kujichagulia), work and responsibility (ujima), cooperative economics (ujamaa), purpose (nia), creativity (kuumba), and faith (imani). Feasts prepared often include fruit, jollof rice, okra, black-eyed peas, and collard greens.

Madeline M. Turner: In 1916, Turner received a patent for her Turner’s Fruit-Press, a highly innovative design that automatically cut fruit in half and juiced them, all in one smooth motion. While not much is known about Turner’s personal life, her complex design paved the way for modern juicers and other food preparation machines.

George Washington Carver: Arguably one of the most famous Black food innovators, Carver was a professor and the first Agricultural Director at the Tuskegee Institute. Born into slavery and eventually freed after abolition, Carver had to fight for his education. After being denied entry to Highland University in Kansas due to his race, he taught himself agricultural practices on a homestead before becoming the first Black student at Iowa State University (then Iowa State Agricultural College). During his scientific career, he did prolific research on crop inputs and soil chemistry and devised many product improvements to help small independent farmers. While Carver is commonly credited as the inventor of peanut butter, that title actually goes to the Aztecs.

Kate and George Crum: If you’ve ever satisfied your late-night cravings with the crispy, salty delicacy that is the potato chip, you are indebted to the innovations of siblings Kate and George Crum. While working at the Moon Lake Lodge in Saratoga Springs, New York, the kitchen received a complaint that their British chips (a.k.a. french fries) were “too thick and salty,” which prompted the pair to slice the potatoes paper-thin before frying. George Crum went on to open his own restaurant, Crumbs House, in 1860, where potato chips were their house signature and the Vanderbilts were repeat customers.

James Hemings: If Lin Manuel Miranda ever writes a sequel to Hamilton, he ought to include James Hemings. Hemings was brought to Paris by Thomas Jefferson under enslavement, where he received master culinary training before becoming Jefferson’s chef de cuisine. We can thank Hemings for introducing dishes such as macaroni and cheese, meringue, and crème brûlée to American cuisine. His most impactful work, however, was cooking dinner for Alexander Hamilton and Thomas Jefferson on June 20, 1790, during the reconciliatory meal to “save the union.” After buying his freedom from Jefferson in 1796, Hemings travelled across Europe before settling in Baltimore.

Alfred L. Cralle: Baskin-Robbins and Ben and Jerry’s will be forever indebted to Alfred Cralle, inventor of the ice cream scoop. Before Cralle’s innovation, scoopers would use two spoons to carve and mould their ice cream. In 1896, Cralle was granted a patent for his one-spoon tool that moulded, compacted, and served the ice cream scoop all in one, making all future high schoolers’ summer jobs ten times easier.

Frederick McKinley Jones: In 1940, Jones received a patent for his invention that revolutionized food transportation. His air-cooling units installed in food transport trucks gave birth to the frozen food revolution by preserving perishable foods during long journeys. Jones ended his schooling after sixth grade and never received a formal college education. Dubbed “the King of Cool,” his company, Thermo King, produced refrigeration units that were used during World War II to preserve and transport blood transfusions and medicine. King also developed a portable X-ray machine, a soundtrack synchronizer for film production, and a snowmobile. His lifetime of legacy earned him the National Medal of Technology and a spot in the National Inventors Hall of Fame.

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In 2024, social media played a tremendous role in popularizing the trends and tendencies in food, from diets to viral (and questionable) ingredient combinations (re: balsamic vinegar and seltzer). Flavours including pistachio, hojicha, and miso dominated recipes. Social media was overrun by Dubai chocolate bars, the sent-from-heaven Olympics chocolate muffin, Crumbl cookies, and the astounding discovery of cucumbers. “Girl Dinner” fought against high-protein cottage cheese-laced everything, while “sweet treat culture” kept everyone sane. Apparently, one can put anything in a martini: tomatoes, pickles, apples, parmesan, or cotton candy. Frankly, I am afraid for 2025, though I have my eye on a few rising food fashions:

Quince: The culinary world loves a hyperfixation flavour, and quince deserves its due. The unassuming fruit is a mildly citrus-y take on an apple or pear. Its subtle floral nature lends itself well to pairings in both sweet and savoury dishes.

Fermented Seaweed: The wellness world is currently dominated by the likes of bone broth, sea moss gel, and Coconut Cult yogurt. Gut health has been a primary focus, and probiotic-rich fermented foods such as kefir and kimchi have been lauded as your stomach’s saviour. Recently, while perusing the shelves at Whole Foods, I discovered a new subject of fermentation: seaweed (by “new,” I mean “not yet pervasive on social media platforms”). Though I immensely enjoyed it myself, the seaweed does have a distinctly fishy taste that will inevitably bisect audiences; however, as seen by the aforementioned sea moss trend, the Wellness Girls are not easily dissuaded by otherwise-polarizing taste profiles.

Cow’s Milk: Gone are the days of alternative milk: soy, almond, and even oat milk have been the victims of cancel culture, with their supposed environmental and health-friendly claims to fame having been disproven in one way or another. We are on the precipice of a Dairy Milk Renaissance, with a few pioneering content creators proclaiming their preference for the bovine beverage, prompting others to make the switch (myself included). While cow’s milk was initially crucified for its environmental impact (the devastating effects of cow farts) and digestive distress (it’s not the cow’s fault that you’re lactose-intolerant!), the narrative has begun to flip, pointing out its superior protein and vitamin content. Some advocates have taken it further with the highly controversial rise of raw milk, for better or worse.

All Things Retro: Every industry dances with nostalgia in one way or another, and the food world is no exception. With Lana Del Rey’s help, Americana diners became an Instagram hot spot, while Taylor Swift (and a slew of other celebrities) brought fame to New York’s The Corner Store, whose menu cuts a high-and-low balance of haute cuisine (filet mignon, tuna tartare, compressed melon – whatever that is) and reworked standards (five-cheese pizza rolls, their take on a McDonald’s fry sauce, and a Girl Scouts-inspired Samoa sundae). I believe the trend towards the good ‘ol days shall continue; I’d like to see if Aspic will make a return.

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September Surf Cafe
The month of September often clings to the last of summer’s warmth, with sun-kissed days and crisp evenings, slowly introducing comforting breezes and sweater weather. As co-owner Mitch Martin exclaims, “It evokes good feelings!” Arguably my second home, September Surf Café embodies just that. Big windows and conversation-filled air make this Little Burgundy nook the ideal spot to gather, soak up the energetic atmosphere, and eat delicious food. The seating is thoughtfully arranged to create a sense of intimacy and community, making it ideal for catching up with friends. Yes, it gets busy. In my opinion, the bustle adds to its warm and friendly charm (and the line moves fast). Pop by on a weekday for a calmer visit. Start your brunch off with a coffee – or in my case, a rich and delicious matcha. Order the Classic Pancakes if it’s the very last thing you do. Golden, fluffy, with slightly crispy edges, the pancakes sit stacked atop a bed of maple syrup, kissed with a pat of butter and a sprinkle of sea salt – they are truly an experience. The Deluxe Breakfast Sandwich is equally as delightful. Fried egg, smoked ham, and pickles make this savoury treat perfectly balanced and satisfying. What makes September Café so special is that it emulates a feeling of calm and excitement – the kind of feeling that comes back at the start of a new season. The familiar sights of friendly staff, scents of coffee grounds and butter, and sounds of ever-changing conversation evoke a comforting feeling of routine while sparking curiosity about what’s to come.

– Lara Arab Makansi, Social Media Editor

SavSav
“If you know, you know. Ceux qui savent, savent,” says Felix Lam, co-owner of SavSav and former project member of well-known Montreal classics, BarBara and Crew Collective Café. With seven-meter-high ceilings, long plywood communal tables, and funky eats, this Saint-Henri hidden gem is becoming less and less of a secret. SavSav hides at the end of a corridor in an unassuming office building on Brewster Street. Despite its concealed location, this café is a vibrant and eclectic spot that captures the essence of creativity. At first glance, you’ll find people studying, chatting, and relaxing on the comfy velvet couch. The large central island houses a tempting array of pastries, ready to pair with locally roasted coffee or a beautiful ceremonial-grade matcha. Giant windows flood the room with light on sunny days, and the picturesque gold ceiling piece is truly an eye-catcher. Be sure to check out their unique food menu as well: my favourites include the Chicken Salad Toast on crispy brioche, Breakfast Sando with homemade sausage, and the SavSav Bowl with spiced yogurt and thyme-marinated berries. Looking for fresh ingredients and creative chefs? You’re in for a treat. Savsav is the young, modern spot for your next study session or a midday work break. You may get lost on the way and need to ask for directions, but it’s worth it. A true hidden gem!

– Lara Arab Makansi, Social Media Editor

Pizzeria Napoletana
One cannot visit Little Italy without dining at an Italian restaurant – it would be akin to visiting New York and not eating a bagel (or Montreal, for that matter). The charming neighbourhood lives up to its name, and the extent of Italian restaurants is large. However, it would be difficult to go wrong at Pizzeria Napoletana, a restaurant started in 1948 by some of the first Italian immigrants to Montreal. If the mile-long menu frightens you, let me suggest a few courses: start with the burrata, a recipe originating from Bari, Puglia. The decadent ball of burrata is laid on a bed of creamy olive-oil-infused artichokes and ringed with charred red peppers, all of which meld together into a light, bright, and balanced flavour to adorn the complimentary bread knots. Napoletana’s namesake pizzas are modest with their toppings, pairing a few quality ingredients atop thin Neapolitan-style crusts. If pasta strikes your fancy, their Cannelloni Caruso is a stand-out dish: pasta tunnels encasing a meat and ricotta sauce, topped with mozzarella and thick smoked prosciuttino. One cannot dine at an Italian restaurant without capping off the night with a cannolo. If you weren’t aware, the singular form of cannoli is cannolo, though I doubt you’ll be ordering just one. The restaurant is bring-your-own-vino, made easy by their next-door wine store, Miss Napoletana. One could spend a lifetime trying all that Pizzeria Napoletana has to offer – judging by its history, it will continue to remain an institution in Little Italy.

– Luxe Palmer, Copy Editor

Le Santropol
At the end of Duluth Avenue, Le Santropol stands unassuming on the corner, beckoning you in with the aromas wafting from the wood doorframe. Inside the tiny storefront is a deceivingly large treasure trove of little nooks and crannies for you to make yourself at home. The restaurant was founded in 1976, saving a building slated for demolition, and has been a beloved institution ever since. The plant-forward menu of soups, salads, and sandwiches makes room for all types of eaters, vegetarian and vegan included. The Duluth sandwich – sliced pears, cheddar cheese, caramelized onions, arugula, and lettuce stacked atop two slices of the softest brown bread – is intimidatingly tall, yet unexpectedly light and refreshing. The Thai vegetable soup, part of their soup du jour rotation, is the kind of soup you dream about on a cold day or while lying in bed under the weather. The savoury broth is just the right amount of spicy – enough to reinvigorate a weary soul, though not enough to make the nose run afresh. Santropol’s chai is perhaps one of the best chais I’ve had outside of an Indian restaurant. It is clear that they use a homemade spice mix made from whole spices. It is balanced flawlessly: not too milky, richly flavoured, and paired with a sharp kick of ginger that many chais shy away from. It is served in a glass-handled tankard, which is now what I want to drink all my chais from. Le Santropol’s original foundation as an act of love lives on in the attention they give to every detail, from the carefully crafted menu to the warmth and homeliness of the restaurant itself.

– Luxe Palmer, Copy Editor

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Come for the viral demon carousel horse, and stay for the heart-wrenchingly beautiful love story. We Live in Time (2024) knits together the stories of Almut, a flourishing restaurateur, and Tobias, a drifting divorced Weetabix salesman. Their meet-crash (the first in romantic dramedy history, perhaps?) leads to a decade-long saga of enduring love that persists through both the monotony and the drama that life contains. The story is woven in a nonlinear fashion, apropos of the title itself. The film frames the macrocosms and microcosms of time found in ordinary life with heartbreaking grace and intimacy. Life-defining events – career milestones, birth, and death – are boiled down to the small moments that make them up. We experience the long minutes of waiting and false alarms in childbirth, the long minutes of waiting and difficult conversations in death. The film’s magic lies in the little scenes within Almut and Tobias’ life. While the chaotic birth scene in the petrol station was an equally horrific and a beautiful testimony of the goodwill of humanity, it is eclipsed by the quietly touching scene in the bathtub during Almut’s labour, in which she and Tobias share a comically large pack of Jaffa Cakes that sit atop Almut’s pregnant belly. The instant is delicate, intimate, and ordinary; we view these characters in their real lives, intruding on their shared moment. Interludes such as this place the most importance on the smallest memories in one’s life. Time is shown in all different sizes, from Tobias’ stopwatch counting labour contractions to the looming countdown at the biennial chef championship, the Bocuse d’Or. Time  intrudes into everyday conversations:

“Whether we like it or not, the clock is ticking.”

“What’s the rush?”

“Because I’m worried there’s a very distinct and real possibility that I am about to fall in love with you.”

Love is seen in its most desperate and revelatory moments; in its simplicity, served alongside eggs at breakfast; and in carefully choreographed and well-placed scenes of intimacy. 

In the hands of another production, Almut could have easily fallen into the Manic Pixie Dream Girl trap, dancing into Tobias’ doldrum life with her funky hair, spectacular omelets, casual bisexuality, and resolutely independent charm. Florence Pugh obstinately refuses that categorization, bringing incredible life and depth to the character. Almut is not defined by her relationship with Tobias – she has a deep history, defined goals, and is marked by her ambition and drive. Pugh grounds Almut’s headstrong spirit, however, allowing her equal moments of vulnerability and strength. The film’s central question of quality over quantity of time is most apparent in Almut’s recurrent battle with ovarian cancer, which she must face while attempting to balance her family and her career as a chef. Though she views her invitation to the Bocuse d’Or as the pinnacle of her culinary career, Almut’s competitiveness is backed not by selfish aims of obtaining money and fame, but by the desperate desire to leave behind a legacy that her daughter can be proud to claim. 

It is, I believe, objectively impossible for Andrew Garfield to be anything less than the most charming and lovable character in any film he stars in, with We Live in Time being no exception. Tobias joins a long line of Endearingly Nerdy and Bashful Boys who Wear Glasses (joined by Neil Perry, Milo James Thatch, and, of course, Peter Parker). Divorced, living with his father, and working at Weetabix, Tobias meets Almut when he needs her most (as the story always goes). While Almut is defined by her career, Tobias is defined by his unabashed love. He goes all-in on the relationship, accidentally scaring Almut with questions about raising children far too early. As Tobias and Almut fall in love with each other, the audience cannot help but fall equally in love with the two of them. 

Pugh and Garfield, as usual, wholly embody their characters in their signature modes of perfection. Pugh lends an earnestness and profound passion to Almut. Their shared love of food, particularly in how it creates connection and community, is a running theme throughout the film. Garfield embodies Tobias’ earnest love and devotion in an unobtrusive, yet firmly present manner, allowing Pugh to shine without getting lost in her shadow. However, at times, the characters felt slightly formulaic, with their traits and flaws feeling more like stock checklists for the audience to count on their fingers: 

Tobias: 

1. Is organized, devoted to his lists, and most thoroughly a Virgo (he and I are twin souls in this sense). 
2. Has anger management issues and occasional violent bursts of passion.
3. Prioritizes family over career ambitions.
4. Wears glasses (this is a defining character trait of his). 

Almut: 

1. Cooks (quite well).
2. Fights against feeling tied down or limited.
3. Defines her life success by her career achievements.
4. Has cool hair.

The film’s culminating tension falls into the standard trope of frustrating miscommunication and concealment. Almut attempts to hide her participation in the Bocuse d’Or, the stress of which may interfere with her chemotherapy treatment. Tobias cannot fathom her prioritization of her career over their family. The discord between their ideas of a “successful life” leads to one of Tobias’ characteristic outbursts of anger and a dramatic fight that seems to be a requirement for all romance movies. The film avoids overbearing melodrama, however, offering quick resolution and a patched relationship that makes the ending all the more heartbreakingly tragic.

While the film is not as revolutionary and wheel-reinventing as, say, Aftersun (2022), it derives its charm and power from its ordinariness. The emotions evoked feel familiar, delivered in a frame of warm colour and comfort. The events witnessed (except, perhaps, the international cooking competition and the incredible speed at which Tobias healed after being run over by a car) are both joyfully and painfully common. Though a more dramatic and gut-punching sequence could have aided in the final impact of the film, the ending is quietly devastating: as Almut gracefully skates away from her family, the agony is felt in what is unsaid. The audience is nonetheless banded together in their grief, sharing sobs as the soundtrack plays to the rolling credits.

The Daily gives We Live in Time 4.25 out of 5 stars.

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