Went out for dinner tonight with some friends from UVIC Law who I haven't seen in a long time. Feeling we had to keep up our UVIC, granola, save-the-earth stereotypical image, we went to the Naam on West 4th, one of Vancouver's oldest natural food restaurants, where you can get tofu and fried rice, tofu, curry and fried rice, or tofu, vegetables and rice. All vegetarian. We sat out on the patio, amidst small twink lights, lovely music from a woman playing a guitar on a small stage, and alot of people wearing hemp clothing.
I had a very nice veggie burder on a multigrain bun (baked in-house) with something approximating homemade mustard and miso gravy (?), with lots of nice fresh veggies. I sound condescending, but I actually like veggie foods. I used to be a frequent visitor to Green Cuisine in Market Square in Victoria, which did all yummy vegan food. I just don't know that corporate law, workin'-for-the-Man me (I love you, the Man!) really "fits" at these hippie joints anymore. The Blackberry definitely wasn't welcome.
Anyways, dessert menus made the rounds. I'm off sugar, except for fruit, most wheat and generally most foods worth eating at the moment for health reasons, and so I thought I would just look at the menu and pine, when one item caught my eye: "Noh pie."
Noh pie is described as such: "no sweet, no dairy, no wheat, banana-date-cashew cream pie."
No sweet, you say? As in, no added sugar?
"That's right," confirmed our waitress. "It's just fruit and nuts."
Yes! Acceptable dessert! To a girl in the midst of a painful breakup with sugar and alcohol on the forbidden list, this seemed like a godsend. With oh-so-much optimism, I ordered it with a cup of fair-trade organic coffee. My friend Parm ordered a piece of carrot cake.
Our desserts and coffee finally arrived and I was dying with anticipation.
The carrot cake was half a foot high, and coated in a luscious layer of cream cheese frosting. It looked delicious. I sniffed at it disdainfully and turned to my own plate. My Noh Pie, in startling contrast to the carrot cake, looked like grainy brown mushy banana pudding. I was optimistic that it would taste better than it looked. I dug my fork in and took a generous mouthful as my friends attacked the carrot cake.
My friends all paused, forks in mid-air, to watch me as I tried my Noh Pie. I chewed (or rather, swished) thoughtfully. It was like eating oatmeal, rotten banana, and babyfood, all at the same time. My face must have confirmed to my friends that the Noh Pie was indeed too good to be true.
"Well," I said, after I managed to swallow. "You should all try it."
They all put their forks down and seemed to back away from the table. "No, really," I said. "Try." I passed the pie to Parm, on my left, who looked at it dubiously. Seeing her hesitation, I said, "It doesn't matter what it looks like. Just close your eyes and put it in your mouth."
(This comment was met by much laughter by my girlfriends for obvious, dirty reasons)
Parm tried. She almost gagged. Then she looked at me, and in a show of support, made yummy noises and she worried down her mouthful.
The Noh Pie passed around the table, with most people looking like they'd rather spit than swallow (yes, more lascivious laughter followed this comment, which was actually made by someone following my Freudian slip). All it took was one look at Paula after she hesitantly tasted the Noh Pie to know exactly how SHE felt about it. Ruby, on my right, who had watched the much-maligned dessert make its way around the table, tried to evade the pie by distracting me by talking about shopping, but she failed and I forced her to try it.
"Maybe I should put some in my coffee," I suggested. "You know, to sweeten it."
"Errr, maybe," said Ruby, ever the supportive friend. "Or maybe you should, you know, try that out before you commit. Pour a little coffee here in this saucer and mix it in."
"What?" I scoffed. "You don't think that would be good? You don't like my idea?"
"Errr...well," hedged Ruby. "I'd just hate for you to ruin a good cup of coffee."
And that was the essence of the Noh Pie. Good in theory, dubious in practice, and definitely not worth a cup of coffee.
The Naam has lots of delicious real pies. Blueberry. Peach. Strawberry Rhubarb. I'd suggest if you hit up the Naam, order one of these and leave the Noh Pie well enough alone.
I had a very nice veggie burder on a multigrain bun (baked in-house) with something approximating homemade mustard and miso gravy (?), with lots of nice fresh veggies. I sound condescending, but I actually like veggie foods. I used to be a frequent visitor to Green Cuisine in Market Square in Victoria, which did all yummy vegan food. I just don't know that corporate law, workin'-for-the-Man me (I love you, the Man!) really "fits" at these hippie joints anymore. The Blackberry definitely wasn't welcome.
Anyways, dessert menus made the rounds. I'm off sugar, except for fruit, most wheat and generally most foods worth eating at the moment for health reasons, and so I thought I would just look at the menu and pine, when one item caught my eye: "Noh pie."
Noh pie is described as such: "no sweet, no dairy, no wheat, banana-date-cashew cream pie."
No sweet, you say? As in, no added sugar?
"That's right," confirmed our waitress. "It's just fruit and nuts."
Yes! Acceptable dessert! To a girl in the midst of a painful breakup with sugar and alcohol on the forbidden list, this seemed like a godsend. With oh-so-much optimism, I ordered it with a cup of fair-trade organic coffee. My friend Parm ordered a piece of carrot cake.
Our desserts and coffee finally arrived and I was dying with anticipation.
The carrot cake was half a foot high, and coated in a luscious layer of cream cheese frosting. It looked delicious. I sniffed at it disdainfully and turned to my own plate. My Noh Pie, in startling contrast to the carrot cake, looked like grainy brown mushy banana pudding. I was optimistic that it would taste better than it looked. I dug my fork in and took a generous mouthful as my friends attacked the carrot cake.
My friends all paused, forks in mid-air, to watch me as I tried my Noh Pie. I chewed (or rather, swished) thoughtfully. It was like eating oatmeal, rotten banana, and babyfood, all at the same time. My face must have confirmed to my friends that the Noh Pie was indeed too good to be true.
"Well," I said, after I managed to swallow. "You should all try it."
They all put their forks down and seemed to back away from the table. "No, really," I said. "Try." I passed the pie to Parm, on my left, who looked at it dubiously. Seeing her hesitation, I said, "It doesn't matter what it looks like. Just close your eyes and put it in your mouth."
(This comment was met by much laughter by my girlfriends for obvious, dirty reasons)
Parm tried. She almost gagged. Then she looked at me, and in a show of support, made yummy noises and she worried down her mouthful.
The Noh Pie passed around the table, with most people looking like they'd rather spit than swallow (yes, more lascivious laughter followed this comment, which was actually made by someone following my Freudian slip). All it took was one look at Paula after she hesitantly tasted the Noh Pie to know exactly how SHE felt about it. Ruby, on my right, who had watched the much-maligned dessert make its way around the table, tried to evade the pie by distracting me by talking about shopping, but she failed and I forced her to try it.
"Maybe I should put some in my coffee," I suggested. "You know, to sweeten it."
"Errr, maybe," said Ruby, ever the supportive friend. "Or maybe you should, you know, try that out before you commit. Pour a little coffee here in this saucer and mix it in."
"What?" I scoffed. "You don't think that would be good? You don't like my idea?"
"Errr...well," hedged Ruby. "I'd just hate for you to ruin a good cup of coffee."
And that was the essence of the Noh Pie. Good in theory, dubious in practice, and definitely not worth a cup of coffee.
The Naam has lots of delicious real pies. Blueberry. Peach. Strawberry Rhubarb. I'd suggest if you hit up the Naam, order one of these and leave the Noh Pie well enough alone.