While we nosed and sipped our Armagnac, the vibrant colours of the clouds slowly faded, and the sky darkened. The more we discussed what to write and where to post each part, the more I realised there was no way to keep Cynthia from knowing the identity of our blogs.

Finally, I shrugged and said, "I think the Phantom Foodie should again post the major part. VanEats can add support and reinforcement."

Lorne nodded. "I was just thinking that, Kate. Most of the questions were about what I had meant by fraudulent and how to identify it. I can give an overview on surimi and slime, and you can add details and explain the punched ray and shark disks."

Cynthia looked back and forth between us, her eyes wide and her mouth open, and when Lorne had finished speaking, she said, "Never suspected. Your wine columns are always linked to dining, Lorne. Always with good words about my clients. Never thought beyond that. But you, Kate? VanEats is my favourite blog. Never crossed my mind it would be you."

I shrugged. "Now, two know."

She smiled and bobbed her head. "And with the similarities between it and the K ate column in the Courier – that's you, as well, isn't it?"

"It is." I chuckled. "Awareness of my identity is spreading like wildfire – with my editor, now three know."

While I nosed my snifter, Lorne smiled and said, "Outed, but I'm only up to two." Then pointing to the patio door, he continued, "The evening has begun cooling; we should head inside. Besides, we need to focus on writing. Post while this is still hot."

Half an hour later, Lorne looked up from his Google doc and said, "This is ready for a final read-through. Need your emails to send the Share."

I pointed to his screen. "Easier and quicker for us to read it there, Lorne." I shuffled my chair closer, Cynthia moved from across the dining table to settle on his other side, and we read:

The Phantom Foodie – Post 438

An update on my previous post. You were so successful as snout-in-the-trough reviewers that the restaurants have now stopped offering enhanced quality and free dining. Playing this game will now give you nothing but having to overpay for fraudulent food.

Many of you have asked what I meant by commercially prepared and microwave or deep-fryer ready – the food I referred to as fraudulent in the previous post.

Think about the texture of childhood hotdogs and bologna – baloney, as we used to call it – smooth, grainless, salty and almost gelatinous. Think about the texture of the breaded, par-cooked cutlets, patties, fingers and nuggets in the supermarket discount cases. These are reshaped slime.

Slime may be a harsh word for it, but it's mechanically deboned, ground, sieved and converted into a smooth paste often referred to by its Japanese name, surimi, which appears to be derived from スライム (suraimu), their word for slime. Most of the remaining flavours and aromas are chemically removed, and the paste is re-flavoured to match the profiles of the end products.

Surimi from Alaskan pollock is commonly moulded, dyed and flavoured to imitate lobster tails, lobster pieces, scallops, crab legs, prawns and shrimp. And when the pipelines for these more exotic products are stuffed, the remainder of the slime is shaped and flavoured as ordinary breaded fish sticks, patties and so on.

Making imitation lobster, scallops, crab and prawns costs about the same as making ordinary fish patties or sticks, the ingredients differing only in the selection of food colouring, starches, flavourings, binders, preservatives and stabilisers. But for the sake of image, the selling prices are far from similar, though still only a fraction of the price of the genuine.

So, how do we know if it's surimi? Having experienced the genuine, the appearance, texture and flavour of imitation will instantly raise a red flag. Here's a quote from a post on chowhound.com:

"Any chef, gourmand, or other human person with at least one functioning taste bud will tell you the flavor of imitation crab is duller, saltier, and the texture far denser and more rubbery, whereas real crab is bright, fresh, and naturally sweet-tasting, and flaky to the touch."

This applies to all imitation shellfish. But surimi isn't limited to fish; chicken, turkey, pork and beef are also used in making it, though in North America, the Japanese word, surimi, is replaced by terms such as mechanically deboned meat (MDM) and mechanically separated meat (MSM). These are also called white slime or pink slime, depending on the meat.

Making slime involves grinding the carcasses left after the manual removal of meat from the bones and forcing the resulting slurry through a sieve under pressure. The purée that emerges includes bone, bone marrow, skin, nerves, blood vessels, and the few scraps of meat that had remained on the bones.

This slime is then flavoured, moulded and cooked – think hotdogs and baloney. But also think of breaded cutlets, schnitzels, nuggets, fingers, cordon bleu, and so on. If any of these have a texture resembling hotdogs, you have slime.

But there is nothing wrong with this – unless it is passed off as genuine cuts of meat, either through deceptive descriptions or pricing. Or both, which is what I had seen at the restaurants that prompted my previous post.

I looked up from the computer screen, smiling. "You nailed it, Lorne. Just enough to inform without damning."

"Thanks. How's yours coming?"

"Another minute or two. Need to tweak the ending."

A couple of minutes later, I slid my computer in front of Lorne, and we all read:

VanEats – Post 512

I've written about surimi before in this blog, discussing ways to inexpensively add colour, flavour and protein to salads, soups, wraps, pastas and pizzas. What I hadn't mentioned is the ease of deception.

Fortunately, Canadian labelling regulations keep the retail food market in check with the need to clearly indicate that surimi products are imitations of lobster, scallops, crab, or what have you. But some restaurants push the boundaries or step over them.

After seeing yesterday's post on the Phantom Foodie blog (phantomfoodie.blogspot.ca), I reexamined my recent dining experiences. Two weeks ago, I was served a dish described as seared scallops. My first slice into one showed me a horizontal grain, not the vertical I had expected. The bite found the texture denser than I know scallops to be, and the flavour lacked the subtle delicacy I've come to love.

It wasn't bad – but the feeling of being duped made the remainder of the dish difficult to enjoy. My companion's appetiser was similarly disappointing, and we abandoned the partly-finished dishes, paid and left.

My research today into fake scallops found a variety of ways they are made, including being shaped from surimi, either moulded or punched from sheets with a cookie-cutter-like device. These methods would yield 'scallops' of identical size and shape, rather than the randomness of natural scallops.

But the texture of surimi is not what my 'scallops' had, so I dug deeper, finding that imitation scallops are also made by punching discs from stingray wings and shark bellies. Here are links to two blogs which show more research and greater detail: doctordavidfriedman.com/blog/scallops-the-most-counterfeit-food and therustyspoon.com/what-are-fake-scallops-real-scallops-vs-fake-scallops/.

So, where does this leave us? If the menu calls them imitation, and if the price matches the reduced quality, there is no deception. I found the menu and reread the description: Genuine Jumbo Ray Scallops, seared to perfection and served with flame-roasted red peppers. $42

Seems legit with the use of 'Genuine' and the high price, but by adding 'Ray', they technically weasel their way out of deceiving. Also, 'Ray'Scallops' may be mistaken for 'Bay Scallops', which are a well-known variety of genuine scallops. 

This menu needs careful reading, and I've asked a friend, an expert in the fine dining arena, to analyse it for me. I'll add a link to it when it has been posted.

Cynthia looked up from the screen, smiling. "Excellent. And a great lead into mine." She pointed to her computer. "But nowhere near finished; I'm still sorting out how they dance around the legalities."

"Show us what you have so far, and we can all work on it together."

She moved her computer, and we read:

An adaptation of the classic French speciality, Lobster Thermadore. Served in a porcelain dish to avoid the awkwardness of eating from a shell. $45

>They don't state that it contains lobster – genuine or fake – only that it's an adaptation of the French classic dish. Served without shell shows that it is most likely made with fake lobster.

Genuine Jumbo Ray Scallops, seared to perfection and served with flame-roasted red peppers. $42

>The use of Ray shows the scallops to be cut from stingray wings, and the use of genuine is to fool those unaware.

Genuine Jumbo Kamaboko Scallops, lightly breaded, fried to golden succulence and served with a colourful trio of flame-roasted peppers. $39

>Kamaboko is the Japanese name for cured surimi, which is often moulded in loaf or sausage shapes. So, it seems these are scallop-shaped slices of slime.

A rich, spicy Bisque of Kanikama Crab from cold Alaskan waters. $19

>Kanikama is the Japanese name for imitation crab, and of course, the pollack used to make the surimi comes from Alaska.

Chunky seafood chowder combining the flavours of Lobster, Crab and Scallops. $23

>The key words here are 'the flavours of', allowing diners to believe the chunks are genuine.

Cynthia shrugged. "That's all I've written so far. Spent most of the time reading through the menu, wincing as I recognised the deception."

"This is perfect, Cynth." I patted her arm. "The meat dishes can be handled differently because they can legally use chicken, pork or whatever in the descriptions without too much dancing. We need only to tell diners to be wary of dishes with breaded meat and watch for the slime texture."

Lorne nodded. "I agree. But it's late, and we've had a traumatic day. Kate and I will post ours now – we can finish yours in the morning to add fuel to the renewed fire."