Ez gezunterheyt at Gruman's

It is not every day that I am speechless, with tears running down my cheeks, in a restaurant.

Somehow, Shauna had found on the internet the fact that Calgary had its very own Jewish delicatessen - and apparently, according to the reviews, one that is every bit as authentic to Bubby's recipes as the most famous of any of them in New York City are.  As an absolute devotee of Montreal Smoked Meat sandwiches - from which she has been deprived since her Celiac diagnosis, she allowed herself a few moments of mourning salivation over the glistening photographs on Gruman's Catering and Delicatessen website, and then resigned herself to making another sacrifice to keep her insides whole.

Maybe they do Gluten Free, though.  Maybe we'll just call and ask.  So we did.  Because on their menu, tucked under a little asterisk under the "Sandwiches" heading, there's the small print - "gluten free bread available".  With all due respect, though, that usually means "Here, Celiac.  Have this little plate while the others in your party indulge in real food."  But no - the charming Australian lady on the phone confirmed that everything on the menu except the regular bread and the potato salad could easily be made Gluten Free.  "Even the meat?"  Yes - the Montreal Smoked Meat is Gluten Free.

So Rae decided it was time to host her parents to Brunch this past Saturday.  "How long are we willing to wait, if it's busy?"  We decided 20 minutes would be the limit.  Well, we walked right in.  Yes, it was humming with activity, but there was still a booth left.  What was immediately evident was how very hard every staff member was working - you have seldom seen such a dedicated, thoughtful, and professional group of people taking this service job so much to heart.  Plate after plate of steaming sandwiches, chicken soup with matzoh balls as big as your fist, and crispy latkes with sour cream paraded past our table as we perused our menus.  Our server was every bit a member of this crack team - fully knowledgeable about the travails of celiac disease, and providing the kind of reassurance that removed all doubt.

We ordered.  Shauna had to have the smoked meat sandwich, with an appetizer of latkes.  The confirmation that these, too, were gluten free provoked an involuntarily loud cheer and a touchdown signal from both Rae and Shauna.

Rae selected eggs benedict served ON her latkes:

And I needed a Reuben.  Now, I can eat just about anything, but for some reason, caraway seeds are the bane of my existence.  I struggled for a moment - to be well and truly authentic, this Reuben MUST have to come on Jewish rye bread, studded with caraway. Nope, can't do it.  I ordered multigrain - I just really needed to enjoy this meal without any distractions.  (Little did I know...)

I thought a sandwich wouldn't quite be enough - so I spied chopped liver on the menu.  I have used the expression often, to underline how I feel about being made to feel inferior by being compared to this lowly dish. But what the heck - it seemed quintessentially "Jewish deli", so I ordered it.  It came with caraway rye toast crisps - which I accepted.  Let me be a bit authentic, anyway.

The kitchen manager showed up at our table to advise that not only had they taken out a clean cutting board and knife to cut the smoked meat, they'd also opened a brand new one from which to slice it.  They clearly take their diner's culinary safety to heart.  He also asked Shauna to tell him what she thought of the gluten free bread.

The latkes arrived.  Rae and Shauna were in heaven.  They were absolutely crispy golden on the outside, and creamy good inside, without the annoying onionness that Shauna has encountered too often.  These were perfect.

My chopped liver came too.  A big ice-cream scoop full, surrounded by the rye crisps, and garnished with a sprinkle of green onions.

I took what I thought was my introductory bite of this staple food.

I could not speak.  My eyes welled up (like they are doing as I type).  I was instantly flooded by the most powerful memory - this was my Oma's dish.  She made it for me, and the last time I had it was over thirty years ago.  I had no idea "chopped liver" was this - this massive connection to my childhood, this essence of my grandmother's kindness.  They say taste and smell have the most power to trigger memory, and they're right.  Shauna thought I was reacting to the caraway in the bread.  But when I could finally talk, to our passing server, I told her what was going on in my head, and asked her to tell Peter, the owner - who was bussing tables, making coffee, and watching, watching the people fall in love with his mother's recipes.  He came over, beaming.  Yes, this is why he does what he does, in her memory.

Rae could not get enough of her eggs benedict.  They were gone faster than either of our sandwiches were. Shauna's gluten-free bun could not long contain the impossibly-balanced pile of smoked meat slathered with mustard, letting her take one or two bites sandwich-style, then collapsing to knife and fork territory for the balance of brunch.  Never mind - the taste was incredible.

And my Reuben was the kind of meal your grandmother expects you to finish before you go home - everything fitting together so perfectly, and practically - not too much sauerkraut, just enough fragrant melted swiss, and the signature ruddy beef center. Lots and lots and lots of it.  No matter that it came on multigrain bread - that caused no-one any concerns, as it turned out.

But for me, the star was that pedestrian globe of goodness.  I bought an extra 200 grams to go, and gave it to my 80-yr. old father that afternoon.  It was his mom it brought to my mind, and I wanted to pass him some memory on toast.

Gruman's also has lox, and brisket, and kosher hot dogs, and chicken soup.  I need to try them all. Repeatedly.  They'll also cater any event.  Hmmm - we have a wedding coming up.

Played me like a violin....

Our original intent, complete with planning and forethought, was to head to dinner in Edmonton at a guaranteed gluten-free establishment, for which that city (with its thrumming and active food reputation) is justly famous.  The Gluten Free Diner, perhaps, or Deluxe Diner, with their drop-dead array of delicious burgers, or maybe back to the redoubtable Cajun delights of Louisiana Purchase.  On top of that were the recommendations sought and helpfully provided by obliging Edmontonians on the Twittersphere - for the four of us up from Calgary for the weekend.

The point was, we weren't really all that hungry, having passed a tasty and entirely happy birthday celebration with Mom earlier in the afternoon, but past experience suggested we really needed to decide on something in advance.  I don't know what made us stuff the best-laid plans into the trunk of the car and start the kind of aimless wandering drive that normally characterizes the best of any vacation - but we did, drifting slowly westward along 104 Avenue.   I suppose the best part about not being that hungry means that it is relatively easy to drive right past Red Robin's and Hudson's Tap House without feeling any pangs - and it became pretty obvious without saying a word that the general consensus in the car was to find something memorable.

We found ourselves in the High Street - that tiny section of Edmonton just off the western edge of Jasper Avenue and 124 Street - replete with quaint boutiques and specialty stores - and the Urban Diner.  We dropped in to look at the menu.  It featured the usual - burgers, salads, pizzas, and "we can do Gluten Free on request".  Nothing against the Diner - out we went, and around the corner, right past Violino Traditional Italian Restaurant (dismissing it out of hand because it looked like the usual expensive place having taken up residence in one of those huge, old, and charming Glenora mansions), and wound up inside Manor Casual Bistro next door.  It had a Chaine des Rotisseurs plaque by the door - and was every bit as promising inside another mansion, yes, but very tastefully laid out with small tables in an expanded living room...

But we walked out of this one, too.  It can be very disconcerting to ask the waitstaff what we might have, as a result of two of our party having a medical requirement not to eat gluten - and see the telltale flash of confusion as you say the words "gluten free", coupled with a long pause, and the questioning word "Salad?"  in reply...  Apparently, Manor Casual Bistro's website claims their specialty is adapting menu items to suit special dietary needs.  Someone forgot to tell this waitperson.  No malice, though - we didn't really feel like a fifteen dollar burger with eight dollar fries.

Back to the sidewalk - where, Violino had decided that perhaps its imposing image might be made more welcoming if their menu was out there for all to see, sheltered in a wooden and glass houselet.  Kenna spotted something immediately, something which made her really excited about a menu for the first time all day.  We peered more closely.  Boneless slow-braised short ribs, woodland mushroom risotto with barolo demi sauce?  Beef tenderloin wrapped with wild boar bacon?  Pan-seared scallop, black rice, pomegranate vinaigrette with a basil chiffonade?

Il Forno, on the veranda...

Let's go see.

First, the usual spiel at the front entry - which was particularly warm and inviting (the entry, not the spiel) - "we have a medical need for gluten free, wondering if you....."

One staff person magically became three, listening very attentively to every word.  The boss (for clearly it was he) didn't even have to let us finish.  "Table three!" he directed the maitresse, then "We WILL take care of you!" to us.

We entered an utterly charming, utterly beautiful dining room.  Chairs covered in tasteful cream linen, with tabletops sensibly squared off in brilliant white paper (to catch the drips of uncaringly blissful diners).  Blonde granite sheathed the walls all around, with antique sidebars and credenzas nestled in alcoves, and beautiful, antique original glass panes still in their frames providing a chiaroscuro view of the sunset outside on the patio, right behind Violino's authentic outdoor brick and stone forno oven.

Our server arrived.  This is one of those rare guys who exudes passion for his job, and his job is your satisfaction.  We repeated our Gluten Free message after a good look at the full menu - and when he told us that everything but two items on the menu could and would be made without gluten, Shauna and Rae were both rendered speechless.  When he went on to ask if they would like some Gluten Free bread to start - which would take about 12 minutes, as it is fresh-baked to order (!) - they actually teared up.

Cocktails arrived, along with a dish redolent with emerald olive oil shot through with winey, redolent balsamic vinegar and a spray of crushed pepper flakes.  We drank, slowly, for 12 minutes.

The bread followed.  It was slim, creamy-colored, with a caramel brown edge, like the finest crepes, and steaming from the oven.  They took a first bite.  More tears, whispers of "It's crunchy on the outside, and so soft inside!"

Worth the price of admission

And complete with its own obviously homemade dipping marinara sauce.  The quandary was whether to go olive oil or tomato - but honestly, this bread stood on its own merits, defiantly, triumphantly wheat free, and finally every bit as delicious as "the real thing".  Which arrived for Kenna and me a moment later - but to be honest, eating an admittedly outstanding loaf of hot sourdough came second to watching the other two enjoy theirs so much.

We could have died happy then.  But our entrees were on their way.  We dispensed with appetizers, determining (correctly as it turned out) that the bread plus entree combo would more than do the job.

Rae determined she was going to have meatballs.  Hand formed veal and pork meatballs, simmered in an authentic Italian tomato sugo, with herb goat cheese, on fusilli.

Vitamin D-enriched

We quietly bet she'd get three meatballs. She had seven.  Did we each try a forkful? Yes, we did.  Did Chef Boy-Ar-Dee let out a final desperate groan and disappear forever?  Yes, one can imagine he did.

Shauna elected the bone-in chicken breast with crab and goat cheese stuffing, with woodland mushroom risotto (those must have been chanterelles, we thought), and roasted garlic lemon cream with her vegetables. The risotto was letter perfect.  Too often, risotto-meisters claim they're serving you the dish al dente, and you get "al crunchy", and find yourself too embarrassed to complain - but these guys had it absolutely perfect in its creamy goodness, with the mushrooms bringing back all the rich scent of a walk in the woods after a heavy rain....

Pollo Altisimo

Kenna had the black and white linguine, with shrimp, sundried tomato, and charred fennel - in a Sambuca cream sauce.  This was remarkably brave for someone who is not that impressed with Sambuca to start with, but she determined that she was going to give the combined liquorices a chance, reasoning that "it couldn't possibly be as in-your-face as the liqueur is".

Linguine Nero Bianco

Smart observation - it was light, delicate, and just the right underpinning to the jumbo prawn tails and sweet rosy sundried tomato shards - something she also said she was not normally a fan of, but this dish won her over.

Speaking of risotto - my plate was the lobster version, with bits of lobster claw, charred fennel, and Grana Padano cheese (a nice touch - every bit as flavorful as Parmigiano Reggiano without the condescension).  And, totally unexpectedly - a whole baked lobster tail nestled right in the middle.  Lobster can be fussy - a bit too chewy if overdone, a bit bland if underdone.  Not this time - bang-on again.  And again - who knew the faint anise of charred fennel could bring out the sublime richness of the shellfish like that?

Aragosta Risotto

The table fell silent.  Shauna advised that she did not want to talk to any of us right now. We did not respond, feeling the same way.  This food monopolized any conversation.  And we eavesdropped on other tables - that one with the socialite ladies out from their own Glenora mansions for the evening, with a celiac among them too...and this one, with the East Indian couple whose meal left them totally relaxed, totally full, and totally happy.

Meanwhile, behind us - our server was matter-of-factly executing a complex sleight of hand.  A giant wheel of cheese, with a hollowed bowl in the middle, was being fed a healthy slosh of Everclear - pure grain alcohol,  which our man then proceeded to set ablaze.  As the cheese bubbled away, he tossed in a large serving of fettucine noodles, blending them expertly in melted asiago, and served with a flourish as the flames died away.  Next time, we are having the fettucine, arteries be darned.  We hadn't seen it on the menu.

Passion fruit

We were too full for dessert, so of course we ordered some.  But just two, with four spoons. Sorbetti - one coconut, one labelled passion fruit, but obviously married to lychee.  As countless Neapolitans, Tuscans, and Venetians have proven over the ages - that's the way to end dinner.