Milestones

I usually wait for the end of the year before writing a retrospective. But with Omicron restrictions, it is unlikely something important will happen next week to up-end this year's narrative. However, there are 2 milestones that are worth reviewing.

In 2002, a mildly embarrassing event happened to me. I was also unemployed because of the dot com crash in 2001 and still living in a roach-infested rooming house. An even-keeled person would laugh it off and spin it into an amusing anecdote about "all things come in threes". Unfortunately, I've always been anxious and neurotic so this one-off has lingered with me ever since. I don't know if it contributed to my teeth-grinding and insomnia, but it definitely boosted the baseline of my everyday anxiety level. Furthermore, I had vacationed in other countries like France and Vietnam prior to this. It's no coincidence that I have rarely traveled outside of Canada since then.

Well, almost 20 years later, it happened again on Christmas day. I can find it funny this time round, at least at the conscious level. But I'm sure that the frightened monkey in my unconscious has grabbed hold of the experience and is chittering away in the background. It's going to be "interesting" to see the eventual outcome. I don't think I'll become a hermit who never leaves their apartment, but fingers crossed.

The other milestone was changing jobs in 2015. People find new employment all the time but I joined my previous company in 2005. So that was a significant move which is now coming up on 7 years. In other words, almost another decade has passed. As I get older things seem to "change" in the blink of an eye and I remember "recent" events that, upon further reflection, actually occurred before this job change. So each time, I become discombobulated upon realizing that it has almost been 10 years that, for example, I was looking for love in all the wrong places, was once part of a Yoga "family" and not just practicing in a studio, and had my pulse on the local scene.

Update (01/01/2022): It's early days but the "simia clamosus" voice seemed to have double-down on routine. On the good side, I have been practicing yoga daily since this post. On the bad side, the number of "everything in its place", "every step in its time" rituals have increased. Also, I'm getting stomach issues again.

Root Chakra

On Tuesday, I returned to the Astanga studio to try a lunch-time class. The trip was mildly disappointing on two fronts. First, the class was once again the Primary Series but condensed to fit into the hour-long format. I would be quite bored if I had to always practice the same sequences. Second, despite numerous restaurants along Bank and various side streets, most seemed to be closed. I wasn't sure if this was typical or due to the empty office buildings due to the pandemic.

So after wandering around for a bit, I found Mad Radish at Albert and Metcalfe. It had the "clean Scandanavian" look and healthy food choices of these types of eateries. But embedded in, and surrounded by, bland corporate edifices made it felt like an airport cafeteria. In addition to its own menu, there were also burritos from Luisa and pizza from Revival. I wasn't sure if these were separate ventures sharing space or merely different brands but from the same corporation.

In any case, I stuck to the main menu and ordered a Santa Fe bowl ($13.95) with the cilantro-lime tofu. It turned out to be a good lunch with a flavour profile reminiscent of Urban Herbivore. Here it was mouthfuls of kale, cabbage, mixed greens, corn, black beans, and tortilla strips. However, the latter does have the edge because sprinkling mixed seeds on a salad bowl adds to a meal.

In Olden Days

With the re-opening of music venues, folk trio The O'Pears announced a last-minute Christmas show at the Cameron House only 10 days beforehand. This annual tradition has been wonderful when I was able to attend. Being in Ottawa, I was happy that they would live-stream it on Instagram.

So on Monday night, I settled snugly into bed awaiting its start. I was initially worried since there was no broadcast for a while. Finally at 9:45 pm their live feed appeared showing Meg Contini, Jill Harris, and Lydia Persaud on stage fiddling around with some cables. They'd probably decided to skip the opener. The venue sounded full with lively conversation and clinking glass in the background. But a hush quickly fell when The O'Pears began with A Candle Burned. In fact, this quiet reverence stayed throughout their set (as opposed to the usual bar chatter) punctuated by loud cheers between songs.

I can definitely understand this awe. These 3 women wrap you tight in their intricate and wonderful vocals on their original material (Terrified, Long Winter, Morning Song) and covers (Joni Mitchell's River, Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas). If there was a drawback to Instagram, it was that a phone with its tiny mic couldn't fully convey the spine-chilling power of their harmonies. Despite the short notice, they were able to wrangle a backing band with Christine Bougie (electric/slide guitar), Ben Whiteley (bass), and Steve Lavery (piano).

The fun of live concerts was all the unexpected touches. First, we learned that Meg was now a mother to a brand-new baby. Second, Jill got them producer credit on Pentatonix's cover of River. The former's version was, shall we say, "highly inspired" by the latter's arrangement. Appreciation was better when it comes with tangible benefits. Finally, we were treated to two great pop covers. From her collaboration with Queer Songbook Orchestra, Lydia brought over The Emotions' What Do The Lonely Do At Christmas. And when the O'Pears came back on stage because of raucous demand for an encore, despite no rehearsal and 7 years since they last sang it, they nailed an uptempo rendition of Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy. Amazing!

Twists and Turns

I have been wanting to attend a Yoga class in Ottawa though I'm quite happy with my self-practice. But since the re-opening after the pandemic shutdown, studios have increased their fees by huge amounts. I've seen upward of $60/class in Toronto last fall. Here most places seemed to have settled around $30. Add $7.50 for transit and I'm looking at close to $40. This was too pricey for classes that were likely "less difficult" that my home practice.

But Astanga Ottawa was keeping their old prices. Along with free transit in December (to win back riders from months of LRT problems), this made for an affordable option. So on Tuesday, I headed downtown to Bank and Laurier for an early evening class. It was a good practice with an attentive teacher though I'm not a fan of working through the Primary Series. I prefer more flow and custom sequencing. It was also a hard practice for most people: even the vinyasas between postures can be physically challenging with so many repetitions. So I didn't like watching some of my fellow yogis, who really should be taking slower classes focusing on proper alignment, struggle.

Afterwards, I went across the street to check out Roast 'n' Curries. This small Indian eatery had several tables with diners (friends in their 20s, a couple on a date). After looking at the menu, I opted for the Matter Paneer Combo ($17.69). The curry came on a bed of basmati rice with salad, samosa, and a drink. Overall, it was mediocre food. First, I still can't get over Ottawa's tendency to include salad with dressing for Indian meals. Second, the curry was acceptable but mostly bland. Finally, the naan was pretty bad. They do offer tandoori dishes like chicken here (the "Roast" part of the name?) but I don't think they actually have a tandoor oven. It was closer to a Middle-Eastern flatbread than a soft and fluffy naan. Its' dense texture and hard crust was not fun to eat even with big dollops of curry.

In Training

I don't write about my train trips between Ottawa and Toronto because I'm usually working on my laptop or listening to music. But on a recent trip I had extended chats with my seatmate, something I haven't done in years.

Both were older women around my mom's age. After years of work and raising a family, they were enjoying their retirement. They seemed to be in excellent health. The one heading to Toronto on Friday to visit her daughter and grand-kids in St. Catherines (after 2 years because of the pandemic) was an active walker as well as cyclist in her Lincoln Heights neighbourhood. That area is currently under major construction but it does have numerous cycling trails to scenic parts of Ottawa.

She confided that she was likely to move back to Duluth with her childhood sweetheart (now husband) in a few years. I guess that would make visits to her daughters (Brockville and Ottawa) less frequent. I told her that her 18-year-old grand-daughter should move to the downtown Toronto campus next year. What's the point of moving to the big city to study at the suburban Scarborough campus?

On my Sunday trip back to Ottawa, I commiserated with my fellow passenger because we were both bumped by Via Rail to a later trip. She actually had a "2 hour delay" because without access to email, she didn't realized that the original ride was canceled. So she had shown up bright and early at 9:30 a.m. to sit for hours in the departure area.

This lady seemed perfectly suited for Toronto. In Ottawa, she was renting an apartment in the Ottawa South area for its walkability. For this trip, and previous ones, her daughter would rent her an AirBnB spot in a vibrant neighbourhood. This allowed her to do some exploration on her own. This time around, it was The Junction around Keele and Dundas. She often went to Toronto to see Arts and Crafts show like The One of a Kind exhibition or The Distillery District with her daughter.

I suspected that a smaller nest-egg (and more familiarity with the Ottawa Valley) might be dissuading her from considering a move to The Big Smoke. But everything from food to transportation is actually less expensive in Toronto with the exception of rent or real estate. But it is possible to even keep that cost down by having roommates. She had an older sister (who really should be moving out of her Etobicoke house) and a daughter living there. On the other hand, both had spouses so that would complicate cohabitation. In any case, I kept these musings private and just recommended The Bloorcourt area for her next stay. As an avid pedestrian and lover of small businesses, she would love Bloor St. from Lansdowne to essentially Yonge, a walk of some 30 blocks full of interesting sights.

Whether Tis Nobler

Saturday night, I left my guest room to go to The Danforth Music Hall for a seated concert. This venue was usually standing for me except for a show with KD Lang, Laura Veirs, and Neko Case. I was shocked that it was so empty even though I saw on social media that the promoter was still posting about available tickets. But it turned out that, unlike Ottawa, most Toronto people didn't bother showing up for the opener.

The first set feature Luke (Luka) Kuplowsky in a trio set-up with Karen Ng (clarinet, alto sax) and Josh Cole (bass). He played mainly from his new album Stardust including Rough Times and City By My Window. Kuplowsky also adapted Ars Poetica II from Ukrainian poet Bohdan-Igor Antonych. There was only 1 song from his "romantic" days, the earnest Love Is The Eternal Weight. I haven't loved his descent into sad-sack indie but Ng and Cole gave interesting texture and interplay with pop/jazz riffs and solos.

The audience was appreciative but just polite for Kuplowsky. However, a foursome of 20-somethings behind me were quite critical ranging from being mildly negative (a girl who worked at The Burdock and has seen several of his "Team Building" songwriter showcases) to downright dismissive ("totally cheesy" stated a dude who apparently got some back-pats for his songwriting back in college). They were mystified that Tamara Lindeman (The Weather Station) declared that Stardust was one of her favourite record this year. Musical tastes are, of course, personal. But someone who has slogged at it for almost a decade to release several albums featuring musicians/friends from the local scene possesses something (if only belief and perseverance) that an "I had potential" cynic lacks.

The almost-capacity crowd was larger and different (especially a lot of older folks) from Lindeman's previous shows. I suspect they were attending because her latest album Ignorance was on numerous albums-of-the-year lists such as Rolling Stones and The New York Times. Tonight was her biggest backing band including Karen Ng, Kieran Adams on drums, Johnny Spence on keys, Ivy Mairi on vocals, and Ben Whiteley on bass. Dressed in black, they provided a complex, kaleidoscopic foundation for Lindeman to gently nestle her complex lyrics about heartbreak (Separated), suburban ennui (Subdivisions), and apathy (I Tried To Tell You). Anxiety around climate change made many appearances both literal and metaphorical. None more so that in Robber, where Lindeman donned her "disco-ball mirror" jacket to sing truth to power ("He had permission/ permission by laws/ permission by banks"), while the band propelled the song forward and Karen Ng drew huge cheers with a blistering, manic solo.

Lindeman revealed that she had come down with a cold but was determined not to cancel her biggest hometown show. Luckily, she didn't lose her voice for tonight. Her precised, measured vocals was somehow both intimate but also clinical. Like someone dissecting their life experiences to examine and reflect on every detail. After the rousing Robber, the set wrapped with a quiet 3-song encore. It wasn't unexpected as The Weather Station's discog was mostly lyrical folk-pop. So the audience and myself was delightedly surprised that Lindeman closed with a muscular Thirty, rocking enough to get feet stomping.

The Fisher King

Saturday morning, I headed over to the Bloorcourt area to visit a friend. We caught up over brunch at Eggsmart. As a cook, she was initially impressed with my Loaded Veggies omelette ($12.99) until she realized that the skillet, being plastic, was only for show.

We talked about changes to the neighbourhood. I remarked that though it's only been 6 weeks, several new stores have opened. Some I have kept an eye on during their renovation: Indian restobar Mumbaikar and Hogtown Vegan's Hunny were up and running, Orote turned out to be fine-dining Korean, and Gladrags Atelier (Atlantis Restaurant) has settled in. Others were unexpected: Rebecca Gallery now housed Lilith's Garden, Wise Bagel (which I knew was closing) has become an expresso/wine/dj spot called Now and Later, and bar/chicken joint Open House morphed into Royal Comedy Theatre (the bro-like tagline of "uncensored comedy" has me eyeing them skeptically). The buildings at the corner of Bloor and Dovercourt (including defunct Nova Era and a number of new, but short-term, businesses) now carried a discrete logo from condo developer Sierra.

My friend knew of Lilith as she had bought a custom "jean jacket" from them. She heard that the previous buyers of those buildings had off-loaded them since they couldn't develop high-rise condos over the subway line. Well, on their website Sierra still envisioned a tall condo here. On a more personal note, her eye problems haven't improved. A burst blood vessel back in October has now become serious enough to require specialist intervention. And her knees were finally receiving MRI examination. Depending how things go, she may not be able to run her restaurant. So she was talking to some folks about selling her business.

I bid her farewell to do some local shopping for Christmas gifts (Jill and the Beanstalk, Ziggy's at home, Red Pegasus) as well as food (Daily Dumpling Wonton, Bonne Nouvelle) to bring back to Ottawa. I kept to small items because of luggage requirements but I couldn't resist some larger toys for my nieces.

After dropping off my purchases in my room, I headed over to nearby Barbara Hall Park for Chanukah In The Village. Hora Machine was playing klezmer music while volunteers gave out sufganyot (Hanukkah doughnuts). I couldn't stay for the candle-lighting because I wanted to try Si Lom Thai Bistro. That was a bust because the restaurant was full so I ended up at Sehzade Kebab House. I brought back to my room a spinach and cheese pide ($13.99).

Apparently this spot has been savaged on Yelp for its pricey but terrible kebab, doner, and other questionable versions of Turkish food. My reaction to the pide wasn't as bad but yes, this was rather bland fare. Not even close to the good stuff or even the mediocre ones. I would certainly prefer a cheap ($8) but tasty panzerotti from 241 Pizza.

As I finished up, I realized this was my second dinner in a tiny room in what was likely a rooming house before becoming a boutique inn. I did live at one at College and Dufferin when I first moved to the Big Smoke. Perhaps in old age, I will eventually end up in another one again? If any such places might still exists in Toronto in a few decades, it would have to be in the East End.

Pressed For Time

On my way back to the guest house from Christmas shopping, I dropped by Torch Sushi for some to-go dinner. I selected their Mix8 set ($21.99) though if I had realized that it came with seaweed salad and edamame, I would have chosen the standard order ($17.99). Here they have combined Aburi (torch seared) and Oshizushi (pressed) sushi. Overall, this was a good meal because sometimes with non-Japanese joints it can be a major miss. The fish had good texture and a smoky flavour. The rice was moist and not tightly packed even though it was pressed into cube form. However, the cheese cake with the set order was heavy and cake-y.

After a short unwind, I headed over to Lee's Palace to listen to some punk bands. For a Dan Burke show, it actually started at a reasonable time. So I entered at around 8:50 pm to hear the first band warming up into their first song.  Anticipating some loud music, I had my earplugs tightly jammed in so I couldn't say what most songs were about tonight. Sham Family was grunt punk which is to say some heavy chords and a lot of short, shouty lyrics punctuated by occasional screams. Shitbats from Hamilton did lindy-hop punk. I have no reason to call their style this (publications name them garage surf) except that a certain rhythmic jauntiness in their songs encouraged vocalist Cat Clyde to shimmy and shake. In any case, they alternated between Ramones-like speedy tracks and bluesy tunes that Clyde imbued with an Amy Winehouse vibe. None more so than a mash-up that started with Dusty Springfield's Spooky and segued into a mosh-pit friendly "eff you" middle section.

I used to sometimes skip out on headliners if they came on really late. But now at my age, even the prospect of an 11-11:15 pm start time was too daunting.  So although Wine Lips' release of their psych punk album was the reason I got a ticket, I left the young crowd (with a smattering of grey-haired ex-punks) to their partying and headed back to the inn. The next day, I had one more reason to lament decrepitude. Despite being always diligent with ear protection against loud music, it was obvious that my left ear hear at about only half the volume of my right ear. No more pretending that cheap earbuds or weird Youtube mixing was the cause of my "off-center" and unbalanced sound perception.

The Old Vic

On Friday, I headed to Toronto for the week-end. I booked a 2-day stay at Victoria's Mansion near Church and Wellesley. First, this guest house was slightly cheaper than a chain hotel. Second, it would give me a chance to check-out this East End neighbourhood.

The train ride was sold-out but arrived about an hour late. Because of track construction, it had to detour via Go tracks through Markham, north Toronto, and the Don Valley instead of the usual route along the lake. This was for sure the less scenic ride to downtown. With an actual passenger next to me, I got to talk to a pleasant older lady. Originally from Duluth, she had spent 40 years in Ottawa raising a family. She was on her second marriage after recently connecting with her childhood (grade 5) friend. Her plans to extensively travel after retirement was scuttled by the pandemic, although she snuck in a 3-week European trip 3 years ago.

Whether Victoria's was ever a mansion, it has been a heritage building since 1984. It looked like one of the bigger Toronto homes. But inside, it was divided up into 11 rooms so although the queen and studio rooms were likely larger, my standard single was tiny. But it had a good-sized bathroom (bigger than my old apartment's). The renovation looked recent if shoddy: loose laminate strips, uneven bathroom tiling, TV cable shoved under the rug instead of being fastened along the wall. On the other hand, I saw rusty water stains on the underside of the sink bowl. So even if the reno was newish, its upkeep didn't bode well for down the road.

The cleaning seemed also mixed with everything looked clean overall. But then there was no liquid soap in the shower. I found soap scums on the sink, tiny flakes of potato chips on the floor (from the previous guest?), and dried leaves trapped in cobwebs by the radiator (since the summer?!). The mouse trap in the corner was a concern or maybe the weeks of dust on it? I nit-pick for two reasons. First, $130 (fee + tax) is still not that cheap and undoubtedly I am expected to tip the cleaning staff daily. Second, I was looking for a place in case I wanted to stay for several weeks. Did I want to give this dame more dimes?

I walked along Yonge from Wellesley to Eaton Centre to do some Christmas shopping. Then I made my way back on Church. Both streets have lost much of their charm with the few old buildings left surrounded by new condos 20-times taller. Only from about Alexander St. was there a few welcoming blocks of small businesses and restaurants.

Festivus Miracle

On Thursday, I got off at the Lyon LRT station and walked to The Bronson Centre. This neighbourhood reminded me of the likely fate of Sherbourne St. in Toronto: a few turn-of-the-century buildings surrounded by tall complexes, some decades-old and now looking a bit run-down and others new shiny 21st century constructions. Which would make The Bronson the equivalent of The Phoenix. But it turned out to be a smaller Danforth Music Hall.

This used to be a Catholic high school until it became a community centre for non-profit businesses and the auditorium was turned into a concert venue. When I first walked through the doors, things did not look auspicious. As far as I could tell, there were 2 single-unit washrooms for several hundred people. But once inside the main space, I was impressed by a great sound system including line array speakers and a large stage. It was actually better than The Danforth by having front fill speakers and the soundboard positioned at the halfway point. I hadn't heard such clear and balanced vocals, especially from a larger venue, in a while. But this improvement was actually a recent pre-pandemic renovation.

I was here to see Dwayne Gretzky, the cover band supergroup. As much as I enjoyed their New Year's Eve and 99-songs livestream,  in-person music hit a different sweet spot. They book-ended their set with Fleetwood Mac's Don't Stop and The Chain. In between they covered the 70s (Waterloo), 80s (Video Killed The Radio Star), and 90s (Walking On Broken Glass). The mostly middle-aged crowd loved all these classics but I prefer when Dwayne include more non-Dad Rock numbers. I had an early morning trip so I couldn't stay to see if they did songs newer than 1995 in their 2nd set.

All the members are consummate musicians which is why they haven't transitioned into tired bar band. But I thought Lydia Persaud had the best presence tonight. She commanded the stage when she sang lead vocals. I suspect this magnetic quality was due to the fact that unlike her buddies in Dwayne, she still performs in numerous non-Dwayne shows as background harmony but also singing her own music (including opening for Martha Wainwright a few days prior).

It took Dwayne Gretzky almost 10 years after their inception before they finally played in Ottawa in 2019. It was a good crowd tonight but not at full capacity. They did experience a Dwayne's first: some Christmas songs were added to this "Holiday" show. Ottawans need to up their participation. After all, this band is gearing up to play at History, the new 2500-capacity venue, on New Year's Eve.

Tropical Island Breeze

I was making my way along Ogilvie near St. Laurent when I saw a Mexican restaurant in a small strip plaza. Kukulkan on Montreal Road which was located in a similar spot didn't last too long. I returned to try it out for a Wednesday lunch.

Expecting something nondescript and likely not as trendy as the location on Wellington, I was pleasantly surprised by the inside. La Bonita was decorated with (fake) cacti and tropical trees, with the walls being covered with Mexican-themed tchotchke including old rifles and pistols, as well as many photos of movie stars and musicians. It felt like someone's cluttered, rather busy, but ultimately charming house.

I opted for the Caldo Tlalpeño ($8.50), 3 tacos ($22), and 4 churros ($7.50) for dessert. The soup was delicious with tender chicken, rice, and chickpeas. The fresh onion and cilantro added some minty crunch. The churros were also tasty, freshly fried and coated with sugar. They came with caramel and chocolate dipping sauce. The tacos were alright but I was expecting a bit more flavour. They were certainly more expensive than Toronto because honestly, a side of rice wouldn't add much to the cost. The Mole Con Pollo had good chicken but was a bit bland. The vegetarian Nopales fared better with a nice mix of cactus, guacamole, and mushrooms.

But the main issue was that these tacos lacked that corn aroma. This was also a problem with Ay Dios Mio. So I suspect that Mexican vendors in Ottawa don't have a good supplier. It's true that some taquerias in Toronto grind and make their own tacos and tortillas. But these are trendier places. Humbler (i.e., POC) spots still put out quite good product because they buy from specialized businesses. While waiting for my food, I have seen those delivery trucks pull up. It was clear (i.e., by their business name as well as the packaging labels) that these wholesalers procured everything from tacos to sauces directly from south of the border.

Upstairs, Downstairs

I was at The NAC on Friday to watch a 3-piece recital from BC Ballet. Ballet companies usually don't tour Toronto with the exception of some well-known Russian or American troupes. Possibly deterred by the presence of The National Ballet? So this was my first time seeing another Canadian ballet company. It turned out to be mostly underwhelming.

The most exciting piece was a new work from Crystal Pite titled The Statement. This was the main reason I was in attendance. It seemed perfect for the Nation's Capital since Ottawa is synonymous with politics and machinations. Set around a boardroom desk, a company has discovered that their attempt to extract financial profit in an area mired in regional conflict has back-fired. Now the business unit involved need to do spin control and the higher-ups were also there to make sure they said the right things or, failing that, somebody will take the fall.

I saw a post online that made things retrospectively obvious to a non-dancer like myself. Some people dance to the beat and some dance to the lyrics. Pite's choreography had the four performers moved to the speeches and inner thoughts of the protagonists. At first, these steps that gave expression to every word and phrase seemed almost cartoonish or parodic: tiktok dance memes taken to extreme causing the audience to laugh good-naturedly. But as both the dancing and the situation got more and more dire, we became engrossed with the work. Its theme was timely and the choreography was exciting and provocative. The standing ovation when it finished was well-deserved.

The book-end pieces were less interesting. Artistic Director Waleski's GARDEN was anemic and for me, hit all the tropes of contemporary ballet: an "evocative" classical score (Saint-Saens' Op. 14), various pas de deux and trois, people standing around or running on stage and then running off, and dramatic lighting. I also noticed more sloppiness in the dancing compared to The National Ballet. Their closing signature piece Bedroom Folk was also a let-down from The Statement. It was almost entirely unison dancing with a "ballet-meets-Fosse" choreography set to EDM-esque music. Ironic since despite her quartet piece tonight, Pite is the one known for using unison and formation dancing in large ensemble to overwhelming effect. There was no such awe with Bedroom, which dragged on for too long, except perhaps that these dancers can dance on-beat for 20 minutes. 

Visions

Wednesday had rainy weather but I decided to head to Saw Gallery on Nicholas St. for a concert at night. Though I grew up in Ottawa, I don't know it as well as Toronto because I didn't explore as a teen. So I was surprised to find out that the street was tucked in next to the downtown Rideau mall. Walking through it and looking at the few old buildings that remain, I caught a glimpse of how an Ottawa that had chosen to preserve its heritage might have looked like instead.

It was a much younger crowd than at the NAC but (perhaps an Ottawa trait?) they were also right on time. The downside was that, unlike in Toronto, showing up early here still meant waiting in a long line. I don't know how grungy this space was before its 2019 renovation, but it looked good with the bar and seating area facing the courtyard and the stage at the back hidden by a half-wall. This was a bonus as it forced the audience to cram together into a smaller area (than the official 280-people capacity of the entire venue) and generating more crowd energy.

Not that tonight had a lot. The audience were enthusiastic but both bands played more chill-vibe music. I saw Ada Lea a few years as a solo act. With a full band, her music had more texture and layer. But her specialty was introspective lyrics. In fact, I think her new songs were even more melancholic with lines like "can't stop me from dying" and "somebody hurt me badly, now I’m stuck in a rut". Head-liner Dizzy is also more sway than dance but they have upped their groove and melodic guitar riffs on the new album The Sun and Her Scorch. Singer Katie Munshaw still specialized in airy vocals and soft words. There was enough catchy beats to get the crowd moving.

Though the concert was sold-out tonight, I was surprised that Dizzy's 2019 Juno win of Alternative Album of the Year for their debut record didn't result in a larger venue. Their mini-tour will end in Toronto at The Opera House which can hold close to 1000 people.

Alone Together

I headed out for a show in Ottawa at the NAC (National Arts Centre). The downtown core was devoid of people but that's not pandemic-related, just the city being itself. Ironic then that the head-liner Andrea Ramolo tried to hype the audience by extolling the excitement of "going out in Ottawa on a Saturday night". They were prompt, though. The smaller 4th stage venue was filled with about 70-80 people who all got there before Sarah MacDougall opened at 8:30 pm. But maybe the NAC has a no late-comers policies for all its venues?

I haven't seen MacDougall in about a decade. No doubt she has played in Toronto numerous times but our paths never crossed again. I don't remember her guitar-playing back then but tonight it was an interesting combination of resonant finger-picking and ringing chords. MacDougall was deft with imagery both evocative: "You were made from wolves" (We Are Fire) and grounded: "let's jump on the Number One/All the way to Saskatchewan" (It's A Storm). The pandemic has been a two-edged sword for her. MacDougall built a studio in the house she inherited from her grandmother in London, Ontario. The lock-downs gave her time to hone her production skills; so much so that she produced Ramolo's latest record. But she couldn't go to Sweden to see her mother, who had a bad case of Covid, until this past August. As a travelling musician finally able to tour, MacDougall closed her set with the wistful Ramblin'.

Ramolo's latest album Quarantine Dream was written and recorded during this turbulent time. She played the entire record, accompanied on piano/synth, with songs about challenges during the pandemic: musician friends who couldn't work (Road Kill), being cooped up alone (End Of Time), aging (My Way Home), and missing life pleasures (Italian Summer). But it was also about re-assessing priorities: "there's so much to be fighting for" (Quarantine Dream), "We can't be free/Cause we're not all free" (Free).

Ramolo finally addressed her "childless woman" situation despite wanting to be a mother (Morning Glory). This desire came from being raised by a wonderful one who, despite a double mastectomy, came to her album release at The Paradise Theatre this past Thursday. She gave a strong performance tonight but my past experiences (and a few anecdotes she dropped about that release show) convinced me the Thursday concert was more powerful. Not only was there a full band at The Paradise, but Ramolo also had numerous guests (who co-wrote or played on the record) and many friends in the crowd.

On a related note, I've complained before about the Toronto crowd and their propensity to form a stand-offish U-shape in front of the stage. I don't know if it was the sit-down cabaret setting or the demographic (mostly older and white) tonight, but this crowd was even more staid. On the other hand, it was a capacity crowd most of whom did not know either artists.

Doomed

I spent the last 2 weeks inside with only short trips outdoors for exercise runs, groceries, or visiting a relative. Ottawa seems to encourage cocooning, probably because most of it is urban sprawl. Also, I have been suffering mild stomach problems. I hope my decades-long love/hate relationship with my digestive system hasn't taken a turn. It would be ironic indeed to develop IBS or a similar issue just as I have resolved to do more traveling post-Covid after years of staying put. But recent symptoms in older relatives point to a likely genetic predisposition, so my fate could be sealed.

Speaking of fate and omens, I enjoyed immensely Denis Villeneuve's Dune on Friday at the theatre. It wasn't the enigmatic puzzle some claimed. I did read the novel a few weeks beforehand because I believed these rumours. The book itself was also straightforward with simple ideas. I'm not sure why so many people online bounced off the supposedly obtuse and convoluted vocabulary. These folks should avoid Jack Vance if they think Herbert is hard. Perhaps a lifetime diet of speculative fiction has trained me on obscure or invented words. In any case, the lurid wikipedia synopsis of the remaining novels convinced me to stop at the first book.

On Saturday, I ordered from Chahaya Malaysia: Sayur Masak Lemak ($16), Beef Rendang ($18.50), and jasmine rice ($7.50). The vegetables and tofu sheets in coconut curry packed quite a spicy kick but not much else. The beef was better with tender, flaky cubes. I would have preferred the basmati rice with raisins (Nasik Myniak) but they got my order wrong. This is why I dislike tipping on take-out orders because I essentially rewarded a screw-up. Overall, like all Ottawa restaurants so far, an acceptable meal without much superlatives.

I hold some fond memories of this place though I haven't been in years. Decades ago, when it was located in the fashionable Glebe area, Chahaya was one of the numerous restaurants my crush and I visited. Nothing came of that unrequited love except my appreciation of cuisine other than unlimited pasta at The Olive Garden. Looking back, I can't believe how young we actually were.

A quick search revealed that they have a well-off (both doctors) life, raising a family in a semi-rural area near Ottawa. So that wouldn't have worked out. My only regret about living in the big city of Toronto is that I didn't spend time living in even bigger cities (e.g., New York, Paris) for a few years.

Not Strictly Ballroom

Friday night, I went to The Great Hall for my first show in a larger venue. There was still a pandemic limit of 230 people but James Baley promised an extravaganza. I had seen them doing harmony for other artists as well as opening for U.S. Girls. They weren't just a singer but also active in fashion and other artistic pursuits. So in the Conversation Room, the Baley team has created a multimedia experience. From looping clips playing on old TVs, to a video projection under gauzy curtains, to various mannequins sporting custom design, it was a glimpsed into various facets of the artist.

The main concert hall was laid out with closely packed chairs. But during the show, about half the attendees stood on the 2nd-level balcony, probably to better dance and groove. So there was plenty of room on the ground floor.

Ceréna opened the show with a high-energy solo set. She reminded me of Regina Gently, someone else who could also engage the crowd and dial up the temperature. I wonder what they could both do with a live band and not just backing tracks.

I was expecting a night full of fun and sass from Baley. They definitely delivered that with appearances from 2 dancers and guest vocals from Twysted (Saviour, Banishment). But it was the emotional content (Call On Me, Clean Me) elevated by the sublime harmonies of Lydia Persaud, Ky Charter, and Zaki Ibrahim that stood out. Lit by a projected orb that was in turn the moon, the sun, and colourful gradients, Baley gave a wonderful performance. Tonight obviously took a lot of preparation and they were overcome with tears when the audience demanded an encore.

The Great Hall had huge crowds about a decade ago when there was a question mark about how many people it could legally host. Although the full renovation in 2016 restored its grandeur, the city bureaucrats drastically reduced its capacity during certification. Since then, I have never experienced the same level of energy here until tonight. The queer, BIPOC, and Black crowd whooped, clapped, and danced throughout the evening. I was sad that because of an early rise tomorrow, I couldn't stay to enjoy the after-party ballroom scene down in the basement venue. But it was a fantastic show to say farewell.

Curse of the Munchies

The stretch of Little Italy between Grace and Clinton has hosted several street food restaurants. But whether it was the tasty Moroccan vendor B'saha or the inedible Masalawala, none lasted long. The latter was recently replaced with Tut's. This seems to be a second location from the original on King St. It certainly tempted me more than the recent Nile River on the North side so I stepped inside on Friday for lunch.

I was nonplussed by the Asian staff but I recalled that even stalwart Portuguese Chicken Guy (a recent English renaming) has now hired Asian and non-Portuguese workers. Looking over the menu, it was clear that the combos were a better deal than a la carte. I opted for the smaller one ($11.50) with 2 sandwiches, dukkah fries, and a drink. I chose meat options because the veggie selections had tahini sauce which I'm allergic to. Both sandwiches were excellent with the Ferakh containing grilled chicken (although it had stronger than usual aftertaste that reminded me of Egusi) and the Soguk having tender beef sausage. But care must be taken with the soft, Bao-like eish fino bread. A woman near me had her sandwich fall apart as she tried to extract it from the container. The fries were crispy with the dukkah spice adding fragrance and flavour. They were as delicious as my favourite style of fries: Indian masala fries.

Given the quality of food and the strong foot traffic from both drop-ins and delivery pick-ups during my visit, I think Tut's will last longer than previous attempts on this block.

So Then

Thursday night, I went to the Ossington Strip for dinner. I do miss the Karaoke bars and modest shops that were here but you can't fight progress. I walked past old-school record store Rotate This (although it was also a recent transplant from its long-time spot on Queen St. W.) as they were closing up. I recognized some familiar faces and thought that they must really love music. To come back after more than a year to a job that probably pays minimum wage, and involves long stretches of standing around without customers, well there are other retail positions. Its contemporary Soundscapes on College St. has closed up shop. But there are always new contenders (Dead Dog Record, Grasshopper).

Japanese sushi bar Shozan Room never caught the buzz of the other restaurants so there was a table free right by the window. I enjoyed looking at the pedestrians passing by as I had some Kinpara Gobo ($9), Squid Tempura ($6.50) and a 10-piece chef's choice ($34). The Kinpara or burdock root was good though I've only ever had it as a small side dish with lunch during my yoga training. It was perhaps too much roughage as an appetizer. The squid came out as a mass of tentacles skewered on a wooden spit. It looked intimidating but turned out to be a nice balance between crispy tempura and chewy squid.

By its appearance, the 10-piece sushi plate obviously used better-quality fish. It was a wonderful main with good rice and mouth-feel. But I have only been eating cheap sushi (like here) over the last year. So the rich flavour and texture were a bit overwhelming. A thought occurred to me that paradoxically you'd want to start with the cheap, bland stuff for a newbie. Because I can't see someone who hasn't had sushi being able to eat this or would want to try again.

Bar None

Wednesday night, I headed over to Houndstooth at College and Ossington. This bar existed briefly in Chinatown before taking over a former Portuguese bar (Carlos) that closed in 2013 (briefly replaced by Lifetime Sports Bar until 2015). I remembered the old clientele since I've often wondered how did the mostly male, mostly older locals choose which side-by-side Portuguese bar (Carlos or Rosa Branca) to patronize. Rosa Branca is still around for those men but it was obvious Houndstooth is catering to a young, white crowd looking for a cheap dive.

Before the pandemic, I thought the new joint wouldn't last long even if it had an espresso bar during the day. But either word finally got out or the street patio program was a blessing because Houndstooth has filled up since then. It was amusing to see two different groups hanging out next to other. Lately, the owners even got around the ban on live music by having bands played inside while they angled the speakers out the window. Now with indoor concerts allowed at reduced capacity, you could sit inside.

Tonight was a different vibe with Emilie Mover doing a solo set. Given the noisy, more punk shows played here, I wondered how she will be received. Rather wonderfully, as it turned out. There were a few chatty folks at the back near the pool table and arcade games, but the really talkative ones stayed outside on the wooden benches. The rest of us enjoyed her great fretwork and dulcet voice on some old tunes (Be So Blind, Out of Shape, Alex) and some new ones (New York City, Water, Paradise). The latter song was dedicated to her new love who, Mover informed the crowd, she won over after chasing after him in spite of advice columns and internet posts. Appropriate for this location's past, she played a fast Chuve Chova. Townes van Zandt's Only Him or Me made an excellent closer but at the crowd's urging, Mover played as an encore Walking Through. She quipped that this song, being used in an Amazon commercial ("Alexa, play some morning music"), paid for her pandemic period.

Unlike the recent show at Monarch Tavern, there was no attempt to check vaccination receipts or do crowd management. This is likely the situation going forward as we get back to "normal". So I hope we get those vaccination numbers up. In any case, Emilie Mover is my favourite singer/songwriter. Given how rare her appearances are, and usually only in Toronto or NYC, this could be the last time I see her live. So kudos to Houndstooth for an excellent sound mix tonight.

Counting Down

On a bright, warm Tuesday, I went over to The Revue Cinema for a slow-burn psychological drama. Oscar Isaac played former soldier William Tell, convicted of prisoner abuses in Iraq, who has been released from military prison after 8 years. He now spends his days staying in motels and travelling from casinos to casinos, winning just enough at cards to fly under the radar of their security personnel. Outside of some casual acquaintances he meets on the gambling circuit, Tell has no human contact. He likes the fixed, non-changing routines but the question is whether or not this constitutes "living"? Well, that certainly hits close to home (not the violence or incarceration parts).

Even when The Revue was part of the Festival Cinema chain of repertory theatres, I only attended a handful of times. My preferred venues were The Paradise and The Royal. The Paradise shut down but has recently undergone a renaissance thanks to the deep pockets of its current owner. The Royal continued as a film editing studio during the day and movie theatre at night. Since the pandemic, it might have permanently converted to an Italian restaurant/market. As for the Revue, today was my first visit in more than a decade.

It seems that the people of Roncesvalles Village has supported it, financially and otherwise, as a not-for-profit cinema. Looking over its offerings for October, there were of course plenty of spooky movies. But there were also new movies, classic flicks, even silent films with live accompaniment. It was interesting fare and I should have come by more often.

Heading backing to Little Portugal along Dundas St. W., I noticed a photographer with quite a fancy set-up standing on the bridge spanning the rail-lines. I wasn't sure what he was looking but it was likely the skyline. Spread out below me was the old buildings of now gentrified Brockton Village. In the distance, the high-rises and CN Tower shimmered. The sunset lit everything in a warm orange glow. It was a beautiful view of Toronto.

Conjunction Junction

I was looking for a place to eat Monday evening when I found out that Kanto had opened a small restaurant in The Junction neighbourhood. I had previously only eaten at the shipping container at Dundas and Bathurst. Given the cooking limitations there, I have wondered what kind of food they could serve with a full kitchen.

It was bad luck that the proprietor opened in March 2020 just before the lock-down. They lamented about all the challenges that have happened over the last 18 months. They wanted to only do delivery for now (despite the hefty 30% cut by the various companies) but people wanted a dine-in option. So they compromised and had a small street patio and communal benches inside with cafeteria-style order instead of full service.

I looked over the menu at the counter and settled on fish balls ($5.50) and Bangsilog ($12.95). The first was a bigger item than the 3 pieces shown in the picture. In fact, there were close to 10 freshly fried but fluffy dough balls with a hint of fish inside. As for the entrée, I've had the fried rice and milk fish (bangus) dish before at La Mesa. I mentioned it to the owner who described that restaurant as fine-dining.

It was true that it was more home-cook here than kitchen razzle-dazzle. The rice was tasty but didn't have that deep, fragrant, garlic flavour. At first, the milk fish was a bit soft and so had a much stronger sea tang. But the rest of it was sufficiently firm and flaky. In the end, I quite enjoyed the food here. I promised I'd be back to try the filipino congee but given my tight schedule, I don't know if I can find the time.

Local Zoning

Sometimes I promise myself to return to a business to try something else but stuff happens. But with things winding down, I did make it back to Frank's Pizza House on Sunday to try his calzone, especially since BlogTO (or at least Tanya Mok) recently considered it in the top 10. I have never visited the Corso Italia neighbourhood on a quiet day so it was surprising how empty it felt. Many Toronto areas do slow down by Sunday evening but with 6 lanes of traffic (4 for 2 cars and 2 for the TTC streetcars) on St. Clair, it seemed almost desolate compared to the cozier Little Italy along College St.

I ordered online a baked calzone ($9.95) with some toppings ($1-2/each): black olives, hot peppers, onions, and capers. I arrived just as I received a text message that my food was ready. Settling in on a park bench near Earlscourt Park, I was flabbergasted by its size. This was an excellent calzone: a crisp crust with a hint of salt filled with plenty of gooey cheese. The toppings added little bursts of flavour but I didn't detect any capers though. Also, I didn't really taste anything but dough and cheese until the last 25% of the calzone.

This was my (minor) problem with the meal. Perhaps a price of buck or two means that a proprietor simply can't afford to use that much ingredient. And the sloshy inside will likely settle at one end so you'll end up with uneven stuffing. If so, I would be happier if the calzone was smaller with a cheaper base price. That way, every bite will include the toppings.

Art Of Noise

On Saturday, I decided to make a short visit to The Music Gallery for day 2 of their X Avant XVI Festival. Over the course of 8 hours, various artists will explore drone music, as a "sonic washing" with the idea of "sustained tone as a healing modality". This might be the brainchild of the centre new Artistic Director. In fact, I had encountered them about 2 years ago during my month-long yoga training. Despite 8 hours of class, Sanjeet Takhar was still up late organizing and attending raves. So they seemed good fit with this organization known for its experimental music programming.

I arrived at the midway mark just as Short Bloom was starting their set. Over a cycling, drifting sonic palette, they played around with various accents and short sustained melodies, mostly from an electric guitar. Since there wasn't much to watch, I laid down on one of the mats and focused on my breathing. Near the end, there was a section that had a lively bounce but in general, it was perfect music to enter into a meditative state.

I sometimes complain about the lengthy gap between band sets. They solved it by simply having two stages and blending one set directly into the next one. It certainly fitted with today's intent. But Kat Estacio's material was harder to zone out to. Using several effects pedals, they looped sounds of struck bowls, gongs, and cymbals over electronic buzz and glitches. I didn't mind the gurgling boops, beeps, and clacks but the repetitive clanging got a bit much. For some reason, I felt like I was in a scene from Charlie Chaplin's Modern Times.

I left before the end of this set in search of dinner. I thought about returning for the conclusion but decided it would likely put me to sleep (given my lack of nighttime energy).

You Do You

I met up with a friend on Friday to celebrate their birthday. Originally, I wanted to take them to Soos or another restaurant on the Ossington strip. Mostly to show its lively bustle compared to when they lived downtown and this area was Vietnamese and Portuguese businesses. But every place I called beforehand was full-up so we needed luck for a walk-in spot. They were late though and we would have lost our hypothetical reservation anyway. Also, the drizzle that turned into pouring rain would have killed the patio vibe.

In any case, they had a hankering for sweet pancake from Hodo Kwaja so we headed to the wallet-friendlier Koreatown. We chose Doo Roo Ae which was almost directly across from Hodo. Looking over the menu, we opted for the Spicy Tteok Bokki with cheese ($15.95) because they had seen it in Korean dramas, LA Galbi ($26.99), and Gam Ja Tang (pork-bone soup) Hot Pot ($29.99).

The tubular rice cake strips had a satisfying chew and the melted cheese added richness. The beef ribs was fragrant and though good, they could be more tender. I've only ever had Gam Ja Tang in a bowl so was impressed when they brought out the portable gas stove to cook/reheat it in a deep pan. But I didn't like it as much. A lot of the soup boiled away, leaving the meat exposed and made for a drier dish. Part of the enjoyment is slurping up the spicy broth. But the main draw of a Korean restaurant for me was banchan or the set of pickled and fermented side dishes that came with most meals. Doo Roo Ae didn't disappoint and my favourite part of the entire meal was sampling all 8 sides.

In a few days, their sister was heading to Texas pretty much on a whim in my opinion. How else to explain someone making the decision over a single month to sell all their belongings for enough funds to "move to the U.S.". Canadians can't actually work there or even stay for more than 6 months. Without a work visa, how could this be a permanent relocation? But then again, this person has always gravitated toward get-rich-quick schemes.

The Sum of It All

I was at The Monarch Tavern on Thursday for my first live indie show since March 2020. With individual tables scattered throughout, it had a loungy look different from its more neighbourhood bar vibe (though The Monarch was never a dive like The Silver Dollar). This socially distanced set-up was more fiction than fact since you share tables with other people and there was plenty of mingling. But since vaccination proofs were required, as well as being masked if you walked around, it felt safe enough.

Nyssa was the opener and her set of queer Americana was taken mostly from her album Girls Like Me such as Go Away Evil and Misty Morning. She also debuted some new material like The Mystery about a "pansexual love triangle". With her hair now dark instead of platinum blonde, there was a Carole Pope vibe with her look. Nyssa was compelling enough to get an encore call from the audience (Champion of Love) which reminded me of her last equally fun set at this venue. So much so, in fact, that Sir Babygirl asked Nyssa to tour with her in the U.S. after that show.

With Tallies first song, I immediately thought of The Cranberries. Sarah Cogan's singing had a slight lisp that sounded oddly like an accent to me. Yet even after that brain-fart, my impression didn't change. With a pulsing bass and shimmery guitar chords floating over top, their songs from their debut album had that same wistful pop feel. I was tired (even 10:30 pm was now past my bedtime) but Tallies' music contained enough interesting details (despite no straight-up hooks) that I stayed until the end.

Black and Blue

On Wednesday, I got off my train from Ottawa and headed to The Paradise Theatre. The Toronto Blues Society was hosting perhaps its first ever book-launch. Josephine Matyas and Craig Jones, a travel writer and musician respectively, chronicled their 6 weeks camper-van tour through Mississippi. Part travelogue, part historical archive, Chasing The Blues traced the roots of the Delta Blues through slavery, brutal sharecropper conditions, as well as the geography of both the richness (fertile topsoil) and the peril (flood of 1927) of the Mississippi river and its lands. Matyas and Jones also let the voices of current caretakers of the Delta Blues speak of their experiences and memories.

As interviewed by Richard Flohil, I was impressed by their ready knowledge. As someone who struggle to remember names of coworkers and friends if I haven't seen them, I was envious of their ability to quickly recall people, places, and events in abundant detail. They also touched briefly on both the economic and racial situation in present-day Mississippi which hasn't improved much in the intervening decades.

Both Flohil and a TBS presenter jokingly talked about the (now) mostly white audience for Blues music given its debt to Black Americans. So it was ironic that the majority of that white audience didn't stick around for Harrison Kennedy (Chairmen of the Board), a music veteran who now resides in Hamilton.

Throughout his solo set, I was struck by how much the Blues was about rhythm and beat. Whether with shakers, spoons, harmonica, banjo or guitar, he kept each song propulsively moving. Most of his tunes weren't about love or breakups (though Keep Your Coat On cranked up the sexual heat), but working-class conditions, social injustices, and human frailty. Kennedy was also a fun storyteller. His covers (Imagine, What's Going On) included his own stories about those well-known musicians. And over his long career, he has met many. His own songs were also prefaced with various family and professional anecdotes from a hard-drinking grandfather to a hound-dog cousin to missing out on a Grammy (which went to Clarence Carter) because a producer thought the Chairmen of the Board's song Patches was too country for their soul sound.

Despite being 79, his voice was strong and he had energy to spare. So much so that the presenter had to discretely ask him to wrap up his set after about an hour. For Kennedy, only "20 minutes had passed". He was still passionate about music and revealed that he was working on his next album.

No Time To Fry

On Friday, I headed to the movie theatres at Blair and Ogilvie to see the latest James Bond flick. I haven't seen any of Daniel Craig's Bond movies but it wasn't hard to intuit some of the backstories. It was reasonably enjoyable but there were 2 sticking points for me. First, most plots do tend to fall apart once you give them some thought. But this one seem to be more about wiping the slate clean for the next Bond incarnation as opposed to giving characters plausible motivations and organic development. Second, the bittersweet ending for Craig's Bond was a typical patriarchical/male fantasy which doesn't really correspond to positive experience for real-life people.

The movie played just before lunch so afterward I made my way to Gloucester Centre for a quick bite in the food court. The heydays of this mall were long-gone and if it weren't for its two anchor tenants, Walmart and Loblaws, it would be even sadder inside. But then the other Ottawa alternative, car-friendly strip malls, wasn't better. I opted for a Bagan, a "family-style" Indian spot, and chose the palak paneer ($9.95).

I was surprised that they fired up the burners but it made sense. Prepared food sitting under heat lamps go to waste if you don't have enough customers. It reminded me of unassuming but delicious Vatica, a vegan Indian location near my old workplace. The lunch was good though not as tasty as the latter. Vatica also offered a better deal. A one-option lunch would be under $7 there and for $10, you would get 3-choices plus fresh naan (it was $15.95 here).

This solidified some thoughts I've been having between Ottawa and Toronto. Namely, the cost-of-living was actually lower in the big city. From groceries and eating out, to transportation cost whether car or transit, everything was cheaper in the Big Smoke. The major advantage of Ottawa, cheaper real estate, wasn't true for everyone. A long-time resident may pay sub-1K rent, but a 1 bedroom in Ottawa will cost you around $1400. That may be a bargain compared to Toronto's $1700-2000 range. But in Toronto you have choices. Basement apartments, roommates, somewhere further away from a subway line or a downtown neighbourhood (or all three), you can find ways to bring your rental expenses down to $600-900 a month. A quick look at Craigslist posts for Ottawa and you'll realize no such options exist.

So paradoxically, if you are strapped for cash or living on a lower income, you'd be better off heading to the big city. The hard part is getting that first toehold if you don't know anyone. I haven't even touched on the larger number of job opportunities. This view may sound pollyannaish given the tent encampments that have sprung up in Toronto's parks, ravines, and underpasses (and the billion-dollar backlog of Toronto Public Housing). But even these homeless scenarios demonstrate that people feel they are better off living in Hogtown.

Yo No

On Thursday, I headed once again to The Rex for some Jazz and then later to a trendy Vietnamese eatery. I suspected that the 5:30 pm show with Jessica Lalonde won't be as fun as Marie Goudy's set but I have enjoyed Lalonde bel canto-trained voice in the past.

It turned out I was right. Her set consisted of more or less Jazz standards (Day In Day Out, Blue Prelude, Squeeze Me). It's technically impressive that Jazz musicians can play competently along to charts but it didn't thrill me that they were still discussing transitions and arrangements before the show. So I wasn't surprised that the playing was filled with walking bass, sax fills, plinking piano chords, and other stereotypical Jazz tropes. I'm not too enamored with Leonard Cohen so Dance Me To The End of Love wasn't improved as a Jazz cover (Madeleine Peyroux). I liked Lalonde's singing and I hope that she'll collaborate with composers (for example, her singing with John MacMurchy) on new music with a bit more vitality.

There was no reason to stay for the 2nd set so I headed up McCaul Street past OCAD to look for a dinner spot. I briefly considered stopping by Manpuku which I haven't visited in 2 years. But I heard some buzz about Dzo, a contemporary Vietnamese diner at Dundas and McCaul. With its bright, plastic lanterns, pulsing music, and young clientele, it exuded a night market meets trendy club vibe.

The papaya salad ($15) was good but it was too large as a starter. I would have preferred a smaller but cheaper (say $8) option. I was tempted by their Mi Quanh because most Vietnamese restaurants do not offer this central Vietnam noodle dish. But I was more intrigued by their Bo La Lot (betel leaf-wrapped grilled beef) Tacos ($19). That turned out to be a culinary disaster.

The wrap was more flat bread than corn shell. But that was an acceptable misstep. The main problem was the over-salted beef: I almost stopped after 2 bites. And instead of letting the smoky and unusual flavour of grilled betel leaf be prominent, some cloying hoisin-like sauce was slathered on. With the final bill including tax and tip close to $50 (and $25 for music/beer at The Rex), tonight was a disappointing hit on the pocketbooks.

Heading home, I noticed that the stretch of Baldwin between McCaul and Dundas was still lively with restaurants. Though with the addition of more Asian spots to mainstays like Ryu's Noodle Bar and Koh Lipe, there is a shift away from European fare like Café La Gaffe.

Come For The King

The casualties of gentrification include laundromats and neighbourhood Chinese-Canadian restaurants. The admittedly dingy China Ocean supplied myself with beef with blackbean sauce and other no-fuss dishes for years. With its closing, replacement stores bistro bar Briik and now cannabis vendor Green Merchant did not improve the area. Now, King's Chef (formerly House of Ann, formerly House of Cheung) is the only such resto left on Bloor between Lansdowne and Yonge, a stretch of road that otherwise has hundreds of other businesses.

So before both the restaurant (and myself) disappear from Toronto, I ordered a lunch dish from the location on Thursday. Despite its modest price, the shrimp with mixed veggies dish ($11.50) was a "galaxy of prawns". In fact, as I kept digging (and eating) into my order, more would surface. There were 20 or so large shrimps by the end. Along with the stir-fried veggies and liberal application of hot sauce and soya sauce from the packets, this was quintessential "big-city living (eating?)". Sure, these places are (used to be?) everywhere in even the smallest North American town. But walking by to pick up your order, that's urban, baby.

My fortune said: We must overcome difficulties rather than being overcome by difficulties.

Jazz In The Time of Corona

I thought to try my least favourite things before the end of the month since I'd probably wouldn't spend time during my limited visits to Toronto doing them and Jazz is on that list. There's something about most shows that feel dated and stale. However, I did enjoy the orchestral jazz that Marie Goudy composed for her 12-tet. It will only be her quintet on Sunday night at The Rex, but I did also enjoyed their playing previously.

The contemplative The Huntress was a nice start to an enjoyable show of new material. It turns out that during the pandemic Goudy also fell in love. So she joked that half of her new songs will be uptempo and life-affirming and the other half will be existential despair. Tunes like Made For Me, Hold On To Me, and Planes and Trains were definitely written for lovers. Meanwhile, a song like Dance To the Stars had a psychedelic, "what-is-life-even?" quality. In fact, without the constraint of overarching themes and motifs like her symphonic Bitter Suite, Goudy's music ranged from romantic "movie theme", to sexy blues, to swinging tropical.

As with her last show pre-pandemic, I felt her solos were strongest possibly because of her familiarity with the music. But her quintet stepped up tonight. There were stretches where one great solo would be the impetus to push the next player to new heights. Perhaps not playing for the 100th time Jazz standards set their creativity on high.

Singer Jocelyn Barth seems to be Goudy's only collaborator vocally. I still have a hard time squaring that circle. Barth's full-body emoting (she should sing Kate Bush or Tori Amos) was an odd contrast to Goudy's melody and lyrics (which strays into Tony Bennett meets musical theatre territory). It kinda works but was also distracting.

Overall though, I enjoyed their first set. I didn't stay for the 2nd because I'm not much for late nights anymore. But nothing reinforced Goudy's exception proves the rule than the easy jazz cover of The Girl From Ipanema playing in the background as I was leaving.

Off-beat

New bakery Là Lá Land was closed last Friday in preparation for their grand opening. So I headed back this Friday to try again. Five young Vietnamese entrepreneurs wanted a real store-front to sell modern desserts with Vietnamese flavours.

Though their IG posts showed long line-ups at other times, there was no wait for me this Friday. The tiny space at Bloor and Spadina was mostly kitchen with just enough room left for a front counter with a display case and two seats by the window.

I was intrigued by their savoury bent such as adding salted egg to croissant or pork floss to roll cake. But I was full from my Fresca pizza slices so I chose a more "typical" sweet dessert: a coconut mini-cake ($14). I noticed it was pleasantly less sweet than most North American desserts. The creamy top layer was fragrant with tropical flavour. The other layers of sticky rice and ground mung-bean reminded me of chè (Vietnamese dessert pudding). It was a good dessert though not impactful. Perhaps the durian version had a bigger punch.

I hope Lalaland will succeed. I applaud their owners' passion and drive but I see a few obstacles. First, less-sweet desserts are a hard-sell to the North American palate. Second, savoury desserts (as opposed to "appetizers") aren't common. Third, their location is a crap shoot. A few blocks West is pedestrian-friendly real estate in The Annex but around here cars have taken over the road. Finally, they'll also need to expand beyond their Asian clientele (a white woman came in behind me and spent barely 20 seconds looking around).

Of The Chill People

Instead of watching the first all-teen U.S. Open final since 1999, I was invited to enjoy a friend's updated backyard. Since I hadn't seen them in over a year, it was churlish to refuse. But our plan for me to watch the match on my laptop while they made banh xeo (Vietnamese crepe) didn't happen. We were engrossed catching up on personal news. I only had one of genuine interest: for the next while, I won't be spending too much time in Toronto.

They had spent thousands more since last time in DIY renovations to re-build their deck, add new fencing, trellises, as well as shrubbery and flowers. There were also luxury, spa-like furniture such as chaise longue, a hammock, and a pair of hanging chairs. This was in addition to tens of thousands in fixing up the main floor as well as the basement. But all of it transformed a tiny house in a working-class, industrial neighbourhood into a welcoming home.

Though they were of modest immigrant background, they didn't squirrel away every dime. Maybe they will have less money for retirement, but I couldn't help contrast this attitude with some of my family members. These relatives did not beautify their house despite decades of residence, but only spent money on essential items like roofs or windows. Recently, they paid for some landscaping and a vegetable garden. The pleasure they've gotten from this frill made me think how much more enjoyment they might have gotten from their place over the years with a few more non-essential luxuries.

A few weeks later, I visited another friend for a home-made Sunday lunch. I wondered how their early retirement was going. First, they had become a plant parent. Second, they delayed their return to university (because of the pandemic) but had enrolled in several classes including language lessons at Alliance Française. Third, they will be travelling cross-country by train to Vancouver in November before Via Rail mothballs this trip. The sole source of irritation was the late-night comings and goings of delivery people who were subletting the nearby frat house for the summer.

As we chatted, I thought about their life. On the surface, they seemed to be similar to myself: unassuming, introverted, averse to crowds. Yet they had quietly built an admirable existence: living in NYC for several years in the late 90s, spending weeks in silent meditation retreats or at half-empty Cuban hotels in the off-season, mastering Hebrew and Arabic to study ancient Judaic philosophy (and the latest Middle-Eastern tweets), the early retirement, and so on. They showed that you don't have to be "busy at living" to be living. I need some of that silent strength of character.

I followed Lowther Avenue and Barton on my way home passing by leafy streets, vintage homes, Huron Street Playground, Gwendolyn MacEwen Park, and St. Alban's Square. The condos at 387 Brunswick Ave., formerly The Loretto College School, also caught my eye. I liked these renovations more than those that only keep the front façade.