Eat On The Run

I was in Ottawa for Easter when I noticed a sign on Montreal Road advertising "Drive Thru Pizza". It was the second day for new joint Drive Pie. Aside from their hook for drivers, they also had a few tables inside for walk-ins. The brochure claimed that the owner wanted to bring back his mom's special dough from the old family store called The Pizza Stop. But there was likely some Middle-Eastern background as well since their "open-face meat pie" were obviously lahmacun. Too bad they weren't ready to make those yet.

So I settled for pocket pies at $2.99. Both my choices were the spinach and feta cheese option. The dough was very soft, apparently a specialty. The spinach was fresh and tasty. But there wasn't enough cheese. I'd rather have a smaller roll or pay more to get more dairy goodness. From the taste, I suspect that this was a variation on fatayer.

New v New

On Saturday, I was at The National Ballet for 3 dance pieces. The last piece, Cacti, was a "loving" critique of contemporary dance. Certainly, parts of it were played for laughs including some ridiculous poses and portentous voice-over from a "modern arts critic". But it was the most warmly received for its kinetic choreography as well as some truly humorous passages. Humour is often missing from modern dance, but classical as well.

The first two pieces were from Balanchine. For this evening, they acted as as bridge to the past since Balachine usually used classical techniques in modern ways. So the Four Temperaments felt of a kind with Cacti, in its focus on technique and non-narration. In contrast, Rubies with its evocation of group dances and village life seemed a musty throwback to a hermetic ballet repertoire.

Quel Horreur

On Monday, I had another encounter with younger purveyors of shiny technology. Once again I'm reminded that they can do flash well, but the basic foundation is usually suspect. Lunch at Jules Bistro at Queen and Spadina was the finalizing period to that thought.

To be fair, this French diner predated all this disruption, all the way back to 2000. And their sizzle isn't that dazzling, but their core is certainly creaky. Any spot that calls itself a French bistro and put out a French onion soup comprising of cuts of carrots and thin blobs of melted cheese should hang its tête in shame. As for the sandwich, anybody can do bland chicken, and they didn't disappoint.

Trunk Food

There's always some new eats in Kensington Market. So when I was passing by on the week-end, I stopped off at Grand Trunk Road, a stall that promised Punjabi street food. The 3 guys behind the counter seemed to be still getting the hang of working a commercial kitchen (no matter how small) but the menu promised fresh local ingredients. The only food available is parota (identical to paratha but made with maida flour) with various stuffing. I opted for butter fruit ($5) and a lassi ($3). It turns out butter fruit was spicy avocado, which went great with the various chutney. I appreciate freshness of the lassi but it had too many "herby bits". In fact, the best part was how fresh everything tasted. Those chutney were much better than in Indian restaurants. The downside, without a place to sit inside, these messy eats are better consumed in the summer.

She Bop

Saturday night at The Burdock, a trio of female singer-producers showed us how to play dance-friendly beats with gusto. Nyssa was first on stage. Her music was more upbeat than when she played The Silver Dollar. But tonight, with her strutting the stage like a young Carol Pope singing about "bad girls" and "life is hard, but I'm easy", some of that dark edge seemed to have returned to her music. Petra Glynt gave us noisy, glitchy tunes backed by her insistent drumming. To be honest, with her small stature, baseball cap, and sly grin, she looked like an old lady who was delighted to discover late in life the wonders of electronic dance music. Headliner Princess Century (who drums for Austra) was disappointing visually. With her standing mostly still, playing long synth chords and triggering tracks, there wasn't much to
look at. It was better to simply close your eyes and experience the drawn-out soundscape.

Sportchek

Friday night, I was at The Harbourfront Theatre for Sporting Life, a remount on the 20th anniversary of choreographer's Julie Sasso's first major work. One attendee was particularly ecstatic, declaring that everyone should have the experience of seeing their favourite work again after such a long time.

I wasn't quite as transported away by this episodic composition examining the violence implicit in typical male interactions. But I was intrigued by several set pieces. The male dancers (and one woman) dressed in the standard suit and tie engaged in often competitive posturing through kinetic and jagged dance. Several times, they were literally racing each other around the stage.

It was the accidental juxtaposition or subtext that I found most interesting. As the Asian businessman held down a struggling Black colleague, sometimes under the gaze of a Caucasian coworker, I thought about recent examinations of the role of other POC in the Black Lives Matter movement or the harmful "model minority" myth. When the dancers donned dresses and acted "feminine", the female performer seemed, to me, to gracefully burst free of her constricted menswear. Meanwhile, the men could not "pass", no matter how much they tiptoed or gyrated. Was it because women are trained (or at least expected) to know how to "be like men" but men are ridiculed if they "act like women"?

Fish Tuesday

On Tuesday, during a heavy snow, I was in the Lawrence and Yonge area for an omakase dinner at new Japanese spot Shoushin. This "shrine to sushi" has been getting rave reviews from all quarters. I selected the $120 middle option. The best way to describe this 6-course dinner is "precise": all details were done with meticulous care. So when the "amuse-bouche" came out: a delicate trio of fried veggies yuba (4 tiny portions wrapped in tofu), a black cod in white soy sauce, and a slice of daikon, the mood for the evening was set. Chawanmushi with shrimp, goma tofu soup, green matcha dessert were all beautifully made.

But how was the fish? I haven't had it this good in a long time. The sashimi platter was mind-blowing especially the octopus. I don't think you can get it this tender without hours of massage. Other highlights include Boston tuna and amberjack. I appreciated how fresh the B.C. spot prawn was, but that gooey texture is a hard sell.

Unlike the sashimi, the sushi came out one piece at a time and was to be consumed immediately. The chef actually politely "admonished" me when one sushi wasn't eaten within the requisite 10 seconds. This presentation allowed chef to play and juxtapose flavour. For example, the procession from lean to medium to fatty tuna. So many delicate taste and texture.

Overall, I liked but didn't love my dinner here. I would come back in a heartbeat for the sushi (perhaps in the $80 lower range). But the rest of the dishes were too much in the same palette. It was like an evening of classical music comprising of all 2nd movements. I wanted the other items to have a little more bombast.