People always talk about Christmas holidays as a time for gluttonous food consumption and gorging, and I always used to kinda nod in agreement, with more of a “Yeah, sure” than anything emphatic.

Don’t get me wrong, I come from a long line of foodies, and the Chen household is known for its culinary ridiculousness. I have dozens of friends who’ve said my Dad should open a restaurant, and he’s even been interviewed on the CB ‘n’ C about his “Taiwanakopita” invention (spring rolls that are folded like spanakopita triangles, and baked instead of fried)… Adrian Harewood LOVED them. So yes, we eat. Often. And well. And a lot.

Then three years ago, I went out west for a visit to John’s family — who are wonderful and welcoming and hilarious… and they schooled me. I ate like I’ve never eaten before. It was like a dream that went on for days and days. We would be stuffed and getting up from one meal, just to make our way to the next event. Homemade meals that I thought only Martha could pull off, restaurants that made me sit up straighter, wines whose names I couldn’t pronounce, meats that I don’t see on menus in Ottawa, fries that were made out of 8 different potatoes… I was overwhelmed and wished I had an extra stomach. My “eat till I’m 80% full” rule was out the window and in another country somewhere.

And then there was the po’ boy — cooked up like a pro by John’s bro-in-law.

I always though a po’ boy was a type of sandwich (didn’t you???). Oh no. It’s this super fluffy, crepe-like cloud of deliciousness, covered in an sweet fruity reduction… Who knew? John and I were so impressed with the thing, I asked him to pose with it:

On Christmas day, I’m going back for my third year out to Calgary and Banff, prepared with my buffet pants — which have a stretchy waistband to allow for all the incredible intake that I will most certainly be doing while there. Oh boy… bring on the po’ boys!!!!

in the memory bank Calgary, Christmas, food, po' boy, Taiwanakopita