A La Carte

Ken and I don't cook for ourselves much these days. We're just too tuckered out by 6pm to face shopping, cooking, and cleaning. Maybe we should try harder. Sometimes I think so. But it's so much easier to pay someone else to hand over a plate of food.

Sometimes we throw caution to the winds and eat whatever. All day breakfast with really fatty salty bacon. Big, juicy burgers with fries and onion rings. Chinese food glossy with oil and cornstarch. Last time we went to Asian Legend, the lemon chicken was like a sweet, citrusy chicken donut covered in gooey sauce. At a certain point "decadent" becomes "gross".

For my birthday we went to Baton Rouge, the ultimate Canadian slightly-classy pig-out destination. They specialize in grilled meats, especially ribs, served on large oval platters with your choice of sides, usually a pile of fries big enough to choke a horse. This one time I was eating dinner there, and a horse actually came in, gobbled all the fries off my plate in one mouthful, and then choked to death right there on the floor. No one was willing to attempt mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.

Well, it seriously could have happened.

Like I said, it was my birthday. We showed up on a Monday, which happens to be the day for discounts. 10 oz. of ribs usually goes for $19 and 16 oz. is usually $25, I think, but on Mondays the 16 oz. is only $ 20. So of course I ordered the larger portion. That's why doggie bags were invented.

We also ordered up a couple of strawberry Daiquiri's. If you can believe it, neither of us had ever tried one before. They are very easy to drink. I could barely taste the rum. We waited for our food to arrive. Ken took advantages of pauses in the conversation to thoughtfully lick sugar crystals off the rim of his glass.

Ken ordered a second Daiquiri when we were partway through our meal. He said that it tasted stronger than the first one. By the time he got to the bottom of the glass, he was claiming that either they made that one a triple or someone had slipped him a roofie. He did seem a little loopy.

"You've seen me drink!" he said. "I can have six drinks before I get tipsy!" I'm not sure sure about that. The fact is that when you're at home on your couch, drinking to unknot a stiff back at the end of a long day, it's a lot easier to miss how tipsy you're getting because you're not expected to get up and walk around, or carry on a civilized conversation. Ken doesn't drink all the time, don't get me wrong, but when he has one of his nights I do notice that the Most Watched YouTube videos suddenly seem much funnier to him than usual. By which I mean, there is uninhibited giggling. Therefore: tipsy!

But not after only two drinks. This was something unusual.

Fortunately we were within walking distance from home. On the way back I held Ken's elbow just in case. He walked in a gentle slalom pattern, and serenaded me with an improvised song about how there are a lot of condos.

I wonder what the hell Baton Rouge put in that drink.

Questioning Food Authenticity

Ken and I went to Asian Legend, a chain restaurant specializing in Northern Chinese food, for lunch. We were seated next to a squeaky-clean, preppie Asian couple in their 20's. It was obvious from a quick listen-in on their conversation that they were both born and raised in Canada.

The young couple had already ordered, so their food arrived before ours. Ken, always very much a voyeur in restaurants, examined their dishes and tried to determine what everything was. There was a plate of brownish, noodley stuff that was difficult to identify. I guessed seaweed salad, because seaweed comes in a wide assortment of odd shapes and sizes. The preppie guy looked over at us with a friendly grin and informed us that it was bamboo shoots. Not terribly exotic. I've eaten bamboo shoots before plenty of times as part of mixed veggie dishes.

Next up for them was a plain steamed bun. Emphasis on plain.

After that, our food started to arrive. We had a steamed bun stuffed with savoury beef, followed by ma po tofu and a veggie mix. I must point out that our veggie mix included fungus. This is relevant to the story.

The other couple went more down the road of dim-sum, with a selection of steamed dumplings. Nothing fancy. As the food came out onto the tables, there was some interested smiling and chat on both sides about our respective choices. I thought how nice it was to be seated next to such friendly people.

And then. Then the preppie guy turned to Ken and said, with a big smile, "Looks like you guys picked the Canadian Chinese food."

What?

What did he just say? Did he just question the authenticity of our food? Because them's fightin' words. Ken and I are proud that when we eat ethnic, we go all out. Tentacles, seaweed, fungus, gizzard, tripe - we eat all the weird stuff. (For the record I don't enjoy chicken feet. It's too easy to imagine that I'm nibbling on a child's hand. But I have tried them. I'll try almost any food once.)

Ma po tofu is authentic Chinese food. It's a comfort dish - the macaroni and cheese of China. Ken should know - he's half-Asian. Half Japanese, to be exact, but Japan is close enough to China that the cuisine was popular with his Japanese relatives. The authentic cuisine. It's not like we had our table spread with shiny, red Bo Bo balls, egg rolls and fortune cookies.

Anyway, we both smiled and nodded, because what else could we do? Stand up and overturn the table? I would have liked to do that.

After the insulting preppie couple left, Ken and I debriefed. We both felt indignant. Neither of us is Chinese, but dammit, we know how to eat Chinese. You'll certainly never catch either of us asking for a fork.

So there!

Noteworthy Decor

On Wednesday I had a surprise phone call at work. It was a girlfriend who I've known since Grade 1, my super-best-friend from Grades 4 through 8. She's now married to a doctor (who I've known since we were all 16) and just had her third child in September.

They live on the west coast, in Nelson, B.C., so I don't get to see them much. I watch the kids grow up in a lengthy, stop-motion animation of infrequent visits. I knew they were due in town sometime around the holidays, but I wasn't expecting a call that day. It was the best surprise I've had in a long time.

We made plans to meet for dinner that same night. Ken and I drove up to Thornhill where they were staying with my girlfriend's in-laws. As we rounded the corner into the cul-de-sac, I had a flashback to 1989, when I had visited that house once before.

Of course, when we first arrived, my friend and her family had all my attention. Her boys, ages 6 and 3, are sprouting up, and her 10-week-old daughter is as sweet a baby as you'll ever meet. Celeste was awake when we got there, so I got the satisfaction of immediate smiles and snuggles. She's just a wee thing at a shade over 9 lbs, but she can already hold up her head just fine, thank you very much.

I even talked Ken into holding the baby for a few minutes - not his preference, but once she was on his lap, smiling gummily, he relaxed. I don't know what it is with men. Until the second they become fathers (and possibly after that, I don't know) they seem to have no inclination whatsoever towards holding babies. All the non-dads I know say "But I'm scared I'm gonna drop it!"

OK, first of all she/he is not an "it". And second of all, when was the last time you dropped anything? These fellows handle sharp knives and power tools with total confidence. How is holding a baby scarier than using a nail gun? I don't get it.

The boys stayed behind with their nana and gramps. The rest of us drove around the corner to Congee Queen restaurant. It's the kind of Chinese restaurant where you can order a whole roasted pig, with enough advance notice. (Large Pig $185, Medium Pig $ 135). There was so much cornstarch in the sauce that our shrimp dish looked like it was covered in a thick layer of clear-dry glue. However, it didn't taste like glue. We had a good feast.

Back at the in-laws' house, I had a chance to take a look around. It was EXACTLY the same as when I was there in 1989. In fact all the decor was pretty much the same as when the family moved in, in 1981. They actually have a parlor, otherwise known as "the room nobody is allowed to go into". The colour scheme is green and peach, with silver-foil-swirl wallpaper. And lots of silk flowers in peach and minty green - the kind with glitter on the petals.

In fact, there are silk flower arrangements everywhere in that house, as many as three in any given room. It's really quite something to see. It answers that burning question: who buys silk flowers anyway? Apparently my friends in-laws buy ALL of them.

I don't want to be mean. They were very gracious hosts. I just couldn't resist telling the story. I figure anything that makes my eyeballs bug out like that is worth sharing.

Annapurna

When life's been really hectic, I crave the calm atmosphere and yummy veggie cuisine at the Annapurna Vegetarian restaurant. Lucky me, I got to go this weekend. Here's what it looks like inside. Yes, that is a trickling fountain in the foreground.



The restaurant is run by people who follow the spiritual teachings of Sri Chinmoy . All the servers are adherents of his philosophy. I don't know if it qualifies as a religion, because I'm too busy sucking back delicious soya milk smoothies (soy milk, banana, dates, cinnamon, and honey - woo!) to do in-depth research while I'm there. I do know that they teach meditation classes and sell books by the cash register.

Sri Chinmoy's sayings are posted on the sugar packets, and also on the walls under interpretive paintings. They are inspirational and soothing. Here's one:



"Peace is the indomitable response to life's every challenge." I can buy that! Then there are some that are less accessible to the uninitiated...



"The sex of peace is just inside your mind's silence-sky." Err... That one goes over my head, but it sounds promising. I might have spent some time thinking about it, if I weren't so preoccupied with my enjoyment of the fabulous curry lunch special plate (chick-pea and spinach curry, veggie curry stew, and rice with cashew nuts - mmmm! Fabulous.)

On the walk back to the car, I saw some flowers. I'm not so good with flower names. This one is a tiger lily perhaps?



And these unusual flowers - I don't believe I've ever seen them before. What do you suppose they're called?



Phallus Blossoms, maybe?

Zet's

Out by Lester B. Pearson International Airport, there's a 24-hour old-school diner. Check out the propeller embedded in the sign. A family of sparrows is nesting in the hollow hub of the propeller.



It's the kind of place that has a Banquet Burger on the menu. Most of the all-day breakfasts consist of variations on steak-and-eggs. Every meal comes served on an enormous oval platter. And their onion rings kick ass.



Across from the parking lot are the Air Canada hangars. You can see planes parked or taxiing around on the ground. Every day at noon a huge line-up of airport employees forms, all waiting for Zetsburgers with fries and gravy.



I have a soft spot for the airport because my mother's father was a pilot for his entire professional career. He was a test pilot in World War II and almost died in a plane crash just a few weeks before my mother was born. He went on to become a pilot of private jets, and then an airplane salesman. He has more than a few exciting adventure stories to tell.



You can also see planes taking off, depending on which runway is in use that day. If you look up above the gap between the two E's in BEER you'll see a plane that just left the ground.



When summer finally arrives, we'll go for dinner, then park in the strip mall just down the street, at the end of one of the major runways. If the prevailing winds dictate that it's in use, the planes will land or take off just a few meters away. People set up lawn chairs, bring their kids, and make an evening of it. As the jet engines thunder past, just a few stories above our heads, we all ooh and ahh. Dusk sinks to darkness and the airport lights twinkle on. The vast spread of airport concrete transforms into a magical fairyland.

If you're ever passing through Toronto, don't miss it.

Quiet Comforts

My life lately has been pretty darn good. I'm grateful for all I have, and can't make any personal complaints. However, a lot of people I care about are going through tough times. They're suffering, confused, and exhausted. They're also brave, awesome, and inspirational. To the best of my ability, I want to be there to give them support and cheer them on.

I feel their pain. It makes me more serious, quieter. I don't shrug it all off as soon as I leave them. I think of them, pray for them. I have been very aware of the bittersweet quality of life. I try to keep my blog posts on the light side, but sometimes the heaviness is pressing and needs attention.

I have been craving the comfort of peace and quiet. When the demands of the world get overwhelming, I need time to myself to collect my thoughts and get centered. Even input that's usually a welcome break, like TV or radio, is intrusive.

One of my favourite simple treats is to take myself and a book out for dinner at a clean, homey, not-too-busy restaurant. Like my favourite soup noodle joint.



Can you imagine yourself sitting there, listening to Korean soft rock, pouring yourself another tea from the hot-water spigot embedded in the table? It's soothing.

I took myself on a solo date to a bagel bakery, where you can get a sandwich on a bagel that came out of the oven only an hour or so ago. It's a big space with high ceilings and generous windows that allow natural light all the way to the back. When I went in, there was an old guy at one table, reading a newspaper and enjoying his sandwich. There was a young couple with a little boy grabbing a quick bite. A middle-aged woman was sipping coffee and working her way through a crossword puzzle.

I got myself egg-salad on a Montreal-style bagel, and settled in with my book. It was a superior sandwich, not on account of the taste (which was fine) but because none of the egg salad fell out into my lap. Egg salad always squishes out of sandwiches. I don't know how they managed to create non-squishy egg salad, but my hat is off to them.

Little India

The latest census shows that South Asian immigrants have outpaced Asian immigrants as the most numerous "minority" group in Toronto. I put minority in quotes because it seems an increasingly silly name for anyone who doesn't fall into the group of People Who Have White Skin. No one group comprises a majority of our city's population anymore.

Anyway, blah blah blah... I didn't intend to start going on about politics. I wanted to show off some photos I took of Little India, or, as the city has officially named it, the Gerrard India Bazaar.



Ken and I went for lunch at Bar-Be-Que Hut, known to us as The Restaurant Where The White People Go. This is because the curries are tame, and suited to those of us who weren't raised from childhood to tolerate blazing heat.

Ken occasionally gets it into his head to go to one of the other restaurants on the strip, but if there's not a high proportion of white diners, he won't convince me to eat there. This isn't because of any racism on my part, but because I learned my lesson the hard way at the Lahore Tikka House a few years ago.



The Lahore Tikka House is hardcore. We were the only non-East-Indian people there. And clearly it was unusual for outsiders to venture in. We were surrounded by families in traditional Indian garb, and people were openly staring at us.

Of the food, what I remember most was the dahl (curried lentils) that was served still sizzling in a cast-iron frying pan. There was so much hot pepper in the curry that within a few mouthfuls, my lips actually went numb. This only foreshadowed the pain that was in store for me later, as the burning hotness worked its way through every inch of my tender digestive tract.

Bar-Be-Que Hut is much more enjoyable on every level. They even keep a TV constantly running DVD's of upbeat Bollywood dance routines. This is the best example of Bollywood that I could find on YouTube. Bar-Be-Que Hut's discs are even better.



Some other businesses in Little India:







These guys were in the window of the video store. I figure they kind of balance out the photos from my Trashy Girl Fashions post.



There you go, ladies! Feast your eyes.

China Buffet King

Who doesn't love a buffet? This place has always been a favourite treat. Ken and I jumped in the car and zoomed up there, stopping at every red light to rub our hands together with gleeful anticipation.



Part of the fun of a buffet is that you have permission to load up your plate with completely unrelated items, that no self-respecting restaurant would serve together as an official entree. Like deep-fried tentacle with a side of onion rings.



We were actually a bit disappointed. The restaurant is under new management, and they've changed the menu. The dim sum section is gone.

[Just give me a minute here while I get my sobbing under control. *Sniff* Sorry. I'll try to be brave.]

In it's place, there is an expanded selection of Batter-Fried Bits. Chicken, shrimp, pork, spring rolls, etc., all a uniform shade of greasy gold, with gloopy red plum sauce on the side. Yech.

Ken wasn't impressed with the changes. He did select a couple of deep-fried chicken wings, but for the most part he ate plate after plate of brontosaurus ribs. Take a look. Is that not the biggest freaking rib you've ever seen?



I'll let you draw your own conclusions about the cuttlefish in this steam tray. We didn't eat any. They looked a little too... um... anatomical.

Sneaky Dee's

I thought you might like a tour of a favourite haunt of mine, Sneaky Dee's. It's a bar and restaurant in downtown Toronto that's been around since 1990.

It looks tough, but it's actually a very welcoming and comfortable place. It's so weird that no one is too weird to be there. Families with young children and babies dine next to punks, college kids, artsy types, and whoever else has wandered in off the street. Some of the servers are heavily tattooed and pierced: young people who probably can't get a job anywhere else due to dress codes. They're mostly friendly and the food is good.

I started going to Sneaky Dee's when I was in university. Once a week on Wednesdays they held a Bingo night. You could win prizes from the dollar store, and the rest of the profits went to a local food bank. Most of the players were drunk, and there was always a big ruckus when the call was for O-69.

I met Aurora there for lunch. This little beauty was above our table.




Here's what the rest of the place looks like. Note the awesome painting on the ceiling.




Here's a random mural that appeared on the rear wall since I was last there.





If you want to sit in a booth, you'll have to sit in a skeleton's lap. Don't worry, these guys don't bite.




As you can see, every inch of the place is covered in graffiti. It's rude, it's beautiful, it's poetic, and hilarious.

Here we are on the way to the restrooms.




Can you tell which is the men's and which is the ladies room?




Sure it looks kind of like a dump, but really it's great. Their home-style Tex-Mex food is Ummy, and the weekend brunches can't be beat. Who wants to meet me there for a burrito?

My Kind of Fast Food

When I'm too lazy to cook, my fallback is the noodle joint around the corner. You can get a bowl of wontons, noodles and broth there for an even $4. A plate of mystery "veggie" with oyster sauce is $2. That's all it says on the menu: "veggie". It's some type of dark, leafy green.

Beside the dirt cheap menu, the coolest thing about the restaurant is the hot-water dispenser built into each table. There's a little spout that sticks out of the tabletop. Press a plastic lever, and you can fill your teacup as many times as you like. You get one free tea bag and a plastic, Asian-style tea cup as part of your place setting.

This means that the tables are immobile, since each one has plumbing running up the central supporting leg. It's a good thing, actually. The tables are always perfectly spaced and lined up, and none of them wobbles.

The building is owned or leased by a young couple. He runs the restaurant; she's an optician and sells glasses from the second floor. Last time I spoke to him, their second child was due to arrive anytime. That's probably why he wasn't there last night. I hope he has baby pictures to show off next time I'm there.

What's your fallback when you're too lazy or busy to cook?