Montreal 2: Pierogies and Dim Sum
November 6, 2007
So after sampling some borscht at St. Viateur on Northern St. Laurent, my appetite had awoken but not bedded down. So I knew there was only one place to go - The Main. This restaurant was my standby during my previous life in Montreal: an old Jewish deli with Quebecois flare, it has an extensive menu of sandwiches - including tongue and smoked meat - as well as poutine, matzo ball soup, vareniki (pierogies), blintzes, cheesecake and full-sour dill pickles. They also have unbelievable hamburgers; throughout university, going to the Main for a mozzaburger, dill pickle and Diet Coke was the perfect hangover remedy.
Montreal post 1: Bagels and Borscht
October 30, 2007
I’m back in Canada again. Don’t ask, it’ll just make you sad. And strangely - instead of being in Toronto with my family, I’m in Montreal (a city I lived in for five years … five years ago) having a mini-vacation. Again, don’t ask - suffice to say, in two days I’m heading to Toronto to take care of some sad family affairs.
But for now, I’m making lemonade with lemons, visiting old friends and old eating favourites, and it’s interesting to hunt down my previous tried and true eating experiences on a cold, 5-year-old trail. This seems to have affected bar selection most, but I had a few nasty surprises when I tried to track down that old hole-in-the-wall eating place only to find it closed. Fortunately, there appear to be some institutions that continue to stand the test of time.
Staffordshire Oatcakes
October 18, 2007
Sometimes I labour under the impression that because I’m living in the UK, I shouldn’t be living my exclusively urban lifestyle - jamming myself into tubes, attending free festivals in parks, exploring art-house theatres and perusing most major gallery exhibitions in the city. No no, I should instead be ruggedly walking through highland fields in wellingtons, with a troupe of dogs following me as I look stunningly rugged in a mackintosh. Actually, I imagine myself not so different from the Queen - in, well, The Queen - when she saw the buck and urged it to run away.
Pommes Fraîches
October 17, 2007
This past Sunday, J., our friend R. and I woke up at seven in the morning to have possibly the most wholesome day of all time — we went apple picking and antique hunting in upstate New York with our friend G.
Morning Coffee: The Oft Overlooked Necessity
October 9, 2007
I have a new job, dear-readers. With it has come a new commute, and although I could view this new commute as a new soul-destroying trudge, I prefer to see it as a new trail to blaze within London, with new delights to discover along the way.
One of the most pleasant has been the sight of the two ‘caffe mobiles’ which await me every morning as I exit Highbury & Islington Station. My new commute is much longer, and after exiting the station I have about a 15- to 20-minute walk before arriving at my office. The caffe mobiles, like shining beacons of Italian civilization, serve as a pleasant rest stop and mental refueling station as I make my way towards the start of my day.
Butter. ‘Nuff Said.
September 13, 2007
I live relatively close to a slightly more upscale area of London than my own neighbourhood – Queen’s Park. It has a lovely park (duh) in which I jog, the nearest Starbucks, lovely tiny bookstores, my doctor’s office, a Pilates studio, and all the other necessities for a neighbourhood of upper middle class Londoners.
Certain lazy Sunday mornings, I love to walk over to this area of London to browse the cookbooks in the bookshops, have a lazy coffee with the paper at Baker & Spice, and visit the tiny weekly farmers’ market they hold in the yard of the local primary school.
She Eats Seafood by the Seashore
September 2, 2007
Oh man, oh man, oh man, dear readers. I’m beat. This city is possibly killing me slowly. Or at least my life these days is feeling a little bit like a death by 1000 cuts.
As most of us know, city living can be hard. We pride ourselves on being able to roll with the punches, dodge the urban land mines and come out on top: surviving and having fun in the dog-eat-dog worlds that are London, or New York, or wherever for that matter.
But these days, the city is wearing me down, my friends. Each Friday, I roll myself home feeling like I’ve just finished round 20 of a heavy-weight title match with Mike Tyson (Boxing metaphors in a food blog?? Times must be desperate). I hibernate and seclude myself most of Saturday and Sunday, and prepare myself for more black eyes and bruised kidneys on Monday. Its been tough. The weather has been bad, I’ve been working too much, my family is far away, my friends are moving away — and well, isn’t that enough?
Ah, but last Saturday the sun came out and I decided to go to Brighton, a seaside resort about an hour outside London. It was a long weekend, the temperature was above 17 degrees and just going beyond the city limits lifted my spirits both literally and figuratively.
To Market, To Market
August 29, 2007
The first Friday and Saturday of the month are fast-approaching, friends! It can mean only one thing: the previously mentioned Whitecross Street Food Market. I know, I’ve teased you long enough. It’s time to look at what they had on offer last time, and plan co-ordinated visits in a timed fashion in order to make good on all bargains and delicious items on offer.
Trendy Poor and Oxtails
August 20, 2007
Jerk chicken, coleslaw, rice n’ peas
Last week I took the bus through Hackney (along Kingsland High Road) with my friend C. Looking through the bus window at all the delicious-looking exotic vegetable shops, halal butchers, and the chaotic Ridley Road Market, I was thinking that if I were to move to a different neighbourhood in London, I might like to go to Hackney. It seemed so full of life, rent was slightly cheaper, I could cycle to work – what more could I want?
My friend C is a Londoner born and bred, and she immediately scoffed. “B, only this street! I mean, yeah, this is great, this is ‘trendy poor,’ but go two blocks away and there is nothing and you take your life in your hands walking home from the bus!!” Right, I thought. Good to know.
For those of you who don’t know, Hackney was named worst neighbourhood in the UK last year on a national TV programme. It is a complex area of London - in the heart of new development for the Olympics, but still home to some of the city’s most deprived citizens. But we hadn’t come to Hackney to debate gentrification and issues of mixed communities. We came for the Caribbean take-away from Peppers & Spice.
As we lined up outside (Peppers & Spice always has a line) to grab our take-away, I got to thinking about the term “trendy poor”. I mean, I wanted to live in Hackney as it is a neighbourhood with people from a variety of different cultures and backgrounds, there are many independent local businesses I could support, the restaurants around it are inexpensive and diverse and I would be able to get to work easily. But all of those reasons seem to fade away when you consider the lives and struggles contained in this neighbourhood as just a fashionable flash in the pan for a middle-class, educated, suburban Canadian like myself. What’s a girl to do?
Wishes, Whitecross and Street Food
August 8, 2007
Sometimes if you’re a very good girl, and you want something really badly, and your want is pure and genuine and innocent, the Gods see fit to shine their light upon you and grant your wish.
I wanted street food in London. When visiting N in NYC, I think I spent 35% of my time whining at the lack of cheap, authentic and accessible ethnic street food in London, 20% of my time getting ridiculously excited about hot dog vendors and pretzels, and 10% of my time gazing longingly at the numerous random street food festivals you randomly encounter in New York City.
It wasn’t fair - in fact, it is a true injustice to a city that is supposed to be experiencing a new culinary awakening and influxes of new citizens from all over the world that they aren’t sharing their delicacies on every corner. And yet, a mere week after returning to London from New York City, and after living in London for almost a year, my wish came true. I was taken to Whitecross Street.
