[alex]

One thing TC REALLY enjoyed was good food.

In fact, his taste could be termed as truly gastronomique.

He would sometimes rattlle-on about how to prepare all sorts of foods, from fish to fowl, for hours, it seemed. He would also recommend me to visit his favorite butchers, in the York Region, north of Toronto...Some fine advice,there. He didn't steer you wrong.

One item he loved was a great steak. So did I, bit I never had the opportunities that he had to visit all the world-famous Steak Houses he did, in all his travels.

So, we would compare notes. I would tell him about all the usual places in Toronto...He would often counter with: "uh...well...it's ok, (lonnnng pause) but if you really want a good steak, try the Chop House, in Chicago, or a Kansas City Steakhouse...any Morton's is consistent, but pricey". One day, when I finally did get to Chicago, I tried the Chop House (on Ontario Street, of all places). He was right. The meat was fantastic. The guy knew great food.

I used to drop by with Smelt...lots of them...(these are fish about 5 inches long, which you catch with a big net, when they are on their annual three or four-day spawn, which typically happened anytime from late-April through early May.)Lots were fresh, caught only hours before. Some I smoked with applewood, hickory or alder. Tasty? Wow! TC and others appreciated this delicacy. TC used to compare them with Grunion, which he tried in California, when he had lived there. These Smelt were similar in size, but their meat was sweet clean, he claimed. High praise, from a connessieur of Tc's experience.

Being one who would always return a favour, Terry dropped by the cottage on afternoon to go catch some fish. He brought two big, beautiful steaks which he emphatically stated he would cook. He also produced a clear jar of his mystery sauce...the contents of which, he refused to reveal. He refused to even let me take off the lid and sniff it.

So, into the fridge these magnificantly-marbled steaks and glass jar, did go and we went out in my boat. Two hours later, we returned. No fish were caught or harmed. My throat was raw from laughing at some of the jokes and stories TC related. We were both hungry.

I lit the barbeque which was on top of the flat-topped cement boathouse (more like a fort, it was) and Terry took over. Over a Molson Stock Ale-or-two, we waited what seemed to be a very long time. Terry said: Its got to be hot. I mean, really hot. Be patient...After I while, I was ordered off the roof of the bothouse. He said "magic is gonna' happen".

After no more than five minutes, Terry came down the stairs with the two steaks: steaming and smelling wonderful.
We sat down on the picnic table and started to eat them. Incredible:never had I tasted a steak that good, except, perhaps, at the Chop House. He claimed it was a combination of intense heat, which sealed in the juice and his mystery sauce. No matter how hard-pressed, he refused to divulge the contents of this liquid.

About one-third of the way through our Steaks, the phone rang. I went inside the house to answer it. It was Roz, wanting to speak with Terry. I went to fetch him.

In the time it took for him to get inside the cottage, my usually-trusty hound of the time, a polite and well-mannered Manchester Terrier by the name of Tommy, grabbed both steaks from the picnic table. They were literally inhaled, with a speed not witnessed before... kibble or table scrap, hungry or snacking. And then, he bolted for parts unkown.

The meal was concluded with my garlic-potato casserole.

Tommy, knowing of what he had done, was not to be found. When he was found, hours later, I could swear he was grinning.