The inaugural selection is on the shelves, and we’re really impressed with our first Pro Picker, David Haman’s choices. David is the owner and chef at Woodlot, our neighbourhood restaurant. It’s one of the best places to eat in Toronto, and lucky for us, just a few blocks away.

I asked David because I like the way he cooks – comforting, seasonal and interesting, but never weird. Also because he’s the guy I want to run into when I’m buying something new at the grocer’s. He instantly explains the best way to cook it, thoroughly and rapid-fire. And then he shrugs like it’s no big thing.

He makes cooking sound so easy. And it is! Come see what our expert recommends: these are the books that helped make a great chef.

Song: Love Thine Enemy, Cass McCombs. This is a simple, repetitive song just for dumdums like me. I like the boppy guitar.

Album: Smoke Ring for My Halo, Kurt Vile. I listen to this over and over and over and over… I may never stop. I may not be ABLE to stop.

Movie: Because there was no major Katherine Heigl release this year, I’ll have to go with The Skin I’m In, directed by Pedro Almodovar. Simply wow.

Book: Everyday and Sunday, a cook book from the UK. Compact, unpretentious, non-didactic, completely under the radar.

Place: Hayes Valley, San Francisco. If I could afford to move Good Egg to the Bay Area, I would. Sorry, but it’s true.

Athlete: Mesut Ozil, German National soccer player. This guy has eyes on the back of his head. I can’t wait for Euro Cup 2012.

Food: Pistachios. Who knew they were so good? Also, Brandon Olsen’s liver mousse at The Black Hoof.

Object: Black butter dish from Bauer Pottery. Makes morning toast feel very grand. Plus it’s shiny!!!

Person: My sister.

DECEMBER HOURS: 11 – 7, Monday to Friday, 11 – 6, Saturdays and Sundays.

And this Monday, December 5 we’ll be open extra late, as late as you need us (note: Project Runway is on at 10 p.m.). After 6, gift wrapping is on the house, drinks are on us, and the smiles are free (with thanks to Pam Kosoy for that last idea).

A portion of sales will be donated to Stop the Mega Quarry. Save the veggies!!!

And also, eat more kale. Seriously. Try roasting it until slightly crispy around the edges, then sprinkle with lemon juice, or a very runny tahini dressing. Good with fish or tofu. XXX OOO and HAPPY HOLIDAYS from Good Egg.

But nothing gives me as much pleasure as a salad. I’ll happily spend hours getting one just right, and when asked to dinner parties, will offer to bring a salad over dessert, 99 out of 100 times. There is virtue in a salad, and I take moral excellence very seriously. The beauty of a salad is that it need not take more than a few minutes, but if one so chooses, can take an entire day to perfect. It’s a totally malleable dish with no real definition.

Tonight I was craving a bowl of moral excellence. After hanging out at a friend’s restaurant for hours, grazing on wine and morsels of unrelated experiments the chef gave me to sample, I was eager for something simple, healthy and unified.

I made a basic vinaigrette, heavy on the dijon, and tossed in a a dollop of Greek yogurt. With that at the bottom of the bowl, I added chopped cauliflower (cut 1 – 2 cm), thinly sliced celery, grated carrot, toasted cashews, handfuls of parsley, and gave it all a toss. Just before sitting down to watch back to back episodes of Conan, I tossed in a couple handfuls of pea sprouts and grabbed a fork.

Conan killed it, and so did my autumnal salad.

Maybe to make up for not going, on Sundays at my house throughout my childhood, my dad would play Ravi Shankar. He’d fix brunch, one of the best meals of the week, while listening to heavy instrumental music. He’d move on to jazz – MJQ or Miles (I loved this section), then classical while we ate.

Over brunch, my nerdy dad would quiz me about composers (doesn’t this explain everything about me?), then moved on the Beatles while we cleaned up. The rest of the day we’d rock out to the Stones, Jimi Hendrix, Country Joe, Janis Joplin, Joe Cocker, CCR, etc, etc. I studied the record sleeves, and capped things off with my own Puff the Magic Dragon album, which to everyone’s delight I’d sing along to. With a mic.

Foodstock this past Sunday, felt like the Sundays of my childhood. Good food, caring (and quirky) people, great music. Unfortunate weather, but it looked like everyone was having fun. There was palpable excitement in the air, along with the euphoria-inducing scent of wood burning. Plus lovely people handing us rilette on chunks of bread, sprinkled with salt crystals.

I hope the feast in the woods returns next year. And I hope for different reasons. And I really hope they get Sloan to play.