The Detroit News, June 17, 2000
MUCH ADO ABOUT COOKING
by Kate Lawson
Do too many cooks really spoil the broth?
Not if they're in the kitchen at Chez Soleil Cooking School in Stratford, Ontario, where one person whisks egg whites into a frenzy, another pulverizes herbs in a mortar and pestle, and yet another ferociously kneads a lump of foccacia dough. In fact, what you get when you throw together six eager students and two talented, thirty-something instructors for a weekend is a delicious opportunity to share new tastes, valuable cooking tips and loads of laughs all culminating in one fabulous feast.
Thanks to Chez Soleil chef/owners Liz Mountain and Janet Sinclair, groups of friends, couples and families, as well as complete strangers, can visit this charming B&B for a delightful weekend of cooking and relaxation, and perhaps catch a play at the nearby Straford Festival, home of one of North America's premier showcases for Shakespeare and other classic theater.
"We have only one rule here, and that's that no one leaves the table hungry," says Sinclair. Add a dash or two of Mountain's philosophy on life - "There's spirituality around eating and cooking" - and Sinclair's infectious laugh, and you've got a cooking event that makes Emeril Lagassi's show look tame.
Sinclair's rule is one that six women, including myself, gladly acknowledge during a recent cooking weekend, where we ate, laughed, cooked - and ate, laughed, and cooked some more.
A hint that this experience will be a bit quirkier than your average cooking class is when it's time for our Saturday morning session to get underway. Mountain wrangles her mass of tight black curls into an industrial-size hair clip, dons her chef's coat and heavy-duty Outback Aussie boots ("Have you ever dropped a pan on your foot or spilled boiling water?" she remarks when we comment on their heft) and summons the group with the authority of a drill sergeant and the smile of an impish child.
Then there's the sight of Mountain repeatedly whacking a lump of pliant dough. "First you thank the bread for giving you its life, them you beat the hell out of it," she tells the class as clouds of flour go billowing about her head. "The mystery of bread is in the ingredients: Once you understand them and what they do, you'll make great bread.
But breadmaking is only a small part of the cooking day. During the next few hours, the group, which includes four women from Ontario and another from Ohio, will make homemade ravioli with a butternut squash filling, delicate cheese soufflÎs to go with the salad course, grilled sea bass fillets enhanced with a caper, mint and raisin sauce, and a warm, soft chocolate cake made even more perfect with a generous dollop of homemade caramel ice cream.
But long before the class begins, Janet Sinclir and I are up at first light fueled by some intense cafÎ au lait and off to the farmer's market for some last-minute ingredients and a quick stop at a garage sale.
Sinclair, an interior designer who also attended the Stratford Chefs School, now combines the best of both talents at Chez Soleil.
Thanks to Sinclair's creative eye, the charming, Tudor-style cottage on Brunswick Street, just a short walk from the center of town, is eclectically decorated with lots of what she calls "treasures" from garage sales. The home's true delight are the three whimsically themed guest rooms: "Through the Looking Glass" after Lewis Carroll's novel, done in sunny yellow with a glass block wall in the bath; the "Year en Proven?e" room, radiant in lavendars and blues (with a very, very tacky painting in the closet); and a boldly colorful "Porky and Beth" room complete with harlequin duvet covers and a pair of papier-maché pigs standing guard.
Sinclair also keeps the cellar shelves stocked with homemade vinegars, chutneys, jams, preserves and relishes, which she spends literally hours preparing. (Peeling fruit is a Zen-thing," she says), then graciously brings to the table for the guests to enjoy. (You haven't tasted anything quite so wonderful as her tomato chutney spread on homemade bread.)
Mountain, daughter of a late mayor of Stratford, bought the home seven years ago after returning from George Brown College in Toronto and training in the kitchen at the Windsor Arms Hotel. Her initial plan was to keep the house as a B&B, but when Sinclair arrived five years ago, the women decided to add dinners and catering, which soon evolved into some local classes.
"There wasn't any place for amateur chefs to take cooking classes so we decided to fill that void," Mountain says. Two years ago, the pair added the cooking weekends and included the accomodations as part of the package. Classes are flexible and designed to fit the needs and whims of the guests. Sinclair plans the menu accordingly.
"Janet and I try to live it," says Mountain when talking about their philosophy of cooking and eating. "There's a connection between earth and people." In their kitchen, there's no dishwasher, microwave or garbage disposal. Food scraps go into the compost and the "gray" water in the sink is used to hydrate the garden, which in turn provides the fresh herbs for the kitchen.
"It just keeps evolving - I can't understand people who don't see the connection," says Mountain, who takes a moment (or two or three) during the class to espouse her philosophy of cooking and eating, "Who got her started?" jokes Sinclair from the back of the room.
Every cooking weekend kicks off with a hearty breakfast (ours has fresh fruit, oatmeal-date pancakes and a roster of homemade syrups, jams and preserves). Then it's time to gather around the massive Thermidor range that takes center stage in the kitchen.
The atmosphere is slightly serious yet relaxed and fun.
"I love to try new things, but who's got the time?" says Anne Saunders, and elementary school librarian from Toronto. Our group also includes Pat Kyte and Karen Carlson from Toronto; Kyte's sister, Kathy Parrott from Sarnia; and Suzanne Cooper of Shaker Heights, Ohio.
Everyone gets involved in a different aspect of the food preparation. We use caution in slicing, especially after Mountain tells me, "Don't drag the knife blade across the cutting board." (After chopping something, turn the knife blade side-up for scooping. Otherwise, it will dull the blade.) She also delivers homespun advice such as how to measure by hand ("pour a quarter cup of flour in your hand to get the feel of it.")
We pair up in teams to make the ravioli for our first course. It's a painstaking process of carefully incorporating the egg into a well of flour and stirring, stirring, stirring - in one direction only or the dough will seize - until the mixture forms a soft dough. Mountain offers encouraging words. "Patience is a virtue," and we take heart. This labor-intensive yet delicious dish is probably not something that I'd re-create at home.
I take a turn at the stove to caramelize the sugar for the ice cream; Carlson peels the roasted squash for the ravioli; and Kyte grinds almonds.
After a lunch of grilled vegetables, homemade bread and fresh fruit, the group takes a break and meets back at the house at 5:30 p.m. for the final stages before our 8 p.m. dinner.
Back in the kitchen, aproned and eager, we set to work right away. Parrott carefully grates and measures cheese for the soufflÎs, while Saunders and Carlson put the pasta through its paces on the pasta roller until there's a 3-foot-long sheet of dough. Carlson arranges dollops of filling along the dough and others press and cut the edges. Cooper is vigourously beating the egg whites for the soufflÎ and creates fluffy white mountains of meringue. Mountain and Sinclair handle the last-minute steps.
The table is set in pure Sinclair style, from the antique linens and silverware to the delicate wine glasses and candlelight. The wines we've brought for the dinner are poured, and we take our seats as Mountain plates up the first-course ravioli and Sinclair serves.
A chorus of oohs and aahs fills the room. The ravioli is silken, the soufflé light and full of flavor atop a bed of mesclun greens, the sea bass is so buttery it melts in our mouths and even the skeptics who feared the caper relish agree it's delicious.
"This is my favorite part," sighs Kyte, and we all raise a toast to our hosts and each other and agree that, yes, this is mighty perfect.
"We have a great life," says Sinclair with some slightly smug satisfaction. "Yeah," echoes Mountain. "Work is what you call it when you'd rather be someplace else."
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