Working Nine To Nine

I worked remotely in Ottawa, but unlike Toronto, it wasn't practical to take a break by eating out at lunch. On Monday, I gave it a shot by returning to Dough Re Mi. Only 3 tables were occupied so having 4 employees (baker, owner, and 2 servers/baristas) didn't made economic sense. The pastries and desserts looked fresher today but I was here for the Manakeesh, a Levantine flatbread. There were several options and I was pleasantly surprised that they were all under $10. Honestly, the price seemed a little low nowadays. I wouldn't be surprised if in a few months they increase by a couple of bucks.

I chose the za'atar and cheese classic ($5.25), and after a few minutes of reheating in the domed oven, it was brought to my table. The "middle-eastern pizza" was divided in half with each ingredient per side. The za'atar was tangy and it took a few bites before I started to enjoy the flavour. The cheese portion was an instant hit, slightly salty with a mild taste. The bread was good but not excellent because it was a bit on the dry side. Baking it to order might take longer but would it give more fragrance.

On Wednesday, I headed over to the Frys Guys for poutine. I visited them a few weeks ago to ask about their first ever camping trip which, unfortunately, took place during a torrential August long week-end. Business was a little slow so we had a long chat. One reason they became an owner of a chip wagon was the freedom to just chill during down times. They have worn many hats over the decades: nail tech, board assembler for Alcatel, hair stylist (courtesy of EI's retraining program during the dot-com crash), and now slinger of fries and hot dogs. It was often several different jobs for every day of the week. Though that was no longer necessary, they still switched over to doing nails during the winter months. This was the secret of the "model minority" myth, a lifetime of pivots, making do, and a work network of friends that allowed an immigrant to own a modest home and keep the kids in school.

Tuppence A Bag

With a forecast of all-day rain on Wednesday, I headed out in the morning to grab a breakfast wrap ($7.95) at Uncle Sid's. The street was full of parents dropping their kids off at the elementary school. There were a few cars but most came on bike or foot. This was the beauty of a dense urban neighbourhood. The downside was the gentrification, as can be seen by all the houses with new porches, windows, and other renovation. So I couldn't identify the ground-floor apartment of an acquaintance from my YMCA Yoga days. She paid rent as a personal Yoga teacher and a nanny (for mostly rich people's kids). I wondered if she still lived around here.

I asked the shop owner (the son-in-law of Mr Siddiqi) to cut my wrap. Stuffed full of sausage, eggs, and hash brown, half was more than enough. I could save the other portion for my trip back to Ottawa. I didn't get much work done before lunch from meetings. The company All-Hands lasted 90 minutes and I'm still not used to this gung-ho American spirit. I briefly encountered it from a short stint working remotely for a California start-up just before the dot-com crash. 26 years later and I'm still baffled. The chicken chengazi leftovers was reward enough for sitting through all the talking heads.

I went out again in the late afternoon and met an old man on the sidewalk. He told me with his strongly accented English that he knew my rental's owner didn't speak much English either. But he wanted to buy some "seeds" for his own garden. Looking over the verdant lettuce growing in the front-yard, I promised to forward his request, which I later did through AirBnB to take advantage of its automatic translation. On Tuesday, the tailor at Sew Perfect in Dufferin Mall promised that he could repair the hole in my backpack by restitching the panel. But upon my return, a different worker stated that, in his opinion, this was not possible. Well, one of these two was bad at their job.

I stepped inside Mont Bianca because its sandwich board touted Pappardelle Bolognese as a daily special. Since my last visit, they have changed the vibe to be less sports bar and more trattoria. But the price has also gone up. At $24, a dollar cheaper than Taverniti North, I wasn't disappointed that it was unavailable. I opted for the Rucola ($17) because the last few days lacked any greens and the Tonnarelli ($20). The salad was tasty with sharp pecorino, earthy mushrooms, and juicy cherry tomatoes. The main ingredient of arugula was only so-so. Most bites were bland, some were bitter, and only a few had that perfect balance of fragrant crispness. The hand-made pasta was nicely al dente. Its square-shape cross-section gave it a chewier feel than spaghetti. Chef couldn't hide with the simple cacio e pepe sauce. It wasn't quite at the level of Enoteca Sociale but it was decent.

Before I left, I lamented with the server that it used to be $10 for Pappardelle at Davenport and Christie. She actually knew of Annabelle's since I couldn't recall the restaurant's name. She pointed out that her and a roommate once shared a 2-bedroom for only $1500. In 2026, a two-plate meal with tax and tip set me back $50 and a 1 bedroom was $2100 or more.

In with the New

Tuesday morning, I visited my dentist but it was a dental hygienist who worked on me, possibly the same one from two sessions ago. They were diligent but slower at 45 minutes than my dentist who usually take less than 15 minutes (but charges for 45 minutes). This time they didn't ask about my brushing habits.

I had skipped breakfast because of the large dinner at Pho Linh. I was hungry early on but by lunchtime, I had a normal appetite. So a veggie slice ($5.50) from 241 Pizza was more than enough. Two school-age teens behind me, perhaps being their first time here, marvelled at the portion size for the price. The newer Freshslice advertised a cheaper (but smaller) slice at $3-3.50 but was empty inside. Maker Pizza has thrown in the towel for a Bangalore take-out called The Dum Spot. Mumbaikar also gave way to Byriani Flames and decades-old The Empire has bowed out to Grille and Wrap Express. The latter was still a shawarma place but they also offered rice, fries in addition to typical ingredients. The only winners were the landlords.

With the temporary closure of the Gladstone library branch, unhoused folks had to stay out in the sun. One woman slept in front of the A&W fast food joint; the one with the shopping carts sat on the side of the library with, alarmingly, a squirrel clutched in one hand; the old man, after my donation, told me to "keep loving her". Lovely advice but no one has ever asked that of me.

In the evening, I headed to the College Park for fancy food-court dinner at BHK Roll. Chef Saha was working so I got the delicious Chicken Chengazi ($21). The Jollof stall has closed, the Chinese Noodle spot only had 2 customers, and a Korean BBQ was set to open next to BHK. The only one doing gangbuster business was the combination Taco Bell/KFC.

While waiting for my order, an older Asian man nearby harangued someone on the phone to not be a "stupid Chinese" because there was no financial security here. The smart ones were heading back to Hong-Kong, Malaysia, and other Far East cities after a few years of scrimping and saving. Given how competitive it was over there, I would have thought the ones here were those who couldn't "hack it" over there. Case in point, before I left my long-time apartment, I talked to a new boarder who was making a go of it here (even during a pandemic) because Singapore work culture was brutal. Back at my short stay, I heard two young, Chinese women preparing dinner in the kitchen. Were they living in this rooming house to save up and return to the motherland?

In with the Old

On Labour Day Monday, I headed to Toronto. The last time I travelled during a holiday, the bus was packed. Although it was mostly full this time round too, I did not have to share a seat. This wasn't the first time some Mennonites boarded in the West End. They were likely heading back to the Kitchener-Waterloo area. But I wondered if they were visiting like-minded communities around these parts.

They weren't the only folks with a hankering for the past. Four young women, on their way to a concert in The Big Smoke (probably BabyMetal), also carried "vintage tech" in the form of a digital point-and-click camera and a CD player. The sad thing was that these were later models and not the shiny new hotness from my days. Those might be considered antiques.

At Kingston, with Fat Bastard no longer in "retail jail", I ordered a veggie burrito ($9.99). I also used its larger washroom compared to the bus. I blamed the harsh lighting because a ghoul stared back from the mirror. Early retirement? I looked like I was already a few years into regular retirement. 

I was back in Bloordale but I wasn't staying at the usual spot. However, this new location did share something in common with the former. That street included the gentleman's club named Club Paradise. My new AirBnB stay was on Margueretta, which also had a sinful den called The House of Lancaster. With the closing of Brass Rail Tavern and Club Zanzibar, Bloordale had the last two strip clubs in Toronto.

When I saw the second floor layout (plus the fact that the owner's hosting history was only 4 months old), I knew this was a rooming house. When I heard people knocking about in the kitchen next to my room, I guessed that there were still long-term tenants. This admixture was reminiscent of my stay in Montreal but even more intrusive. A quick search on the website showed that the owner had stop actively listing my room (no available dates for the next 4 months), probably due to noise complaints. A separate basement unit was still available though. The room itself was larger than some bachelor condos, but the other units on the second floor didn't seem as spacious. Mine would likely be the dining and living room in a normal house.

All in all, this reminded me of my 7-year stint in a similar situation back in the day. Unlike that room, this one had its own bathroom. The downside was its slovenliness. If you aren't fanatical about cleaning, don't be an AirBnB host. Also, why did I live for 7 years in a rooming house?! I was making decent enough money at a start-up. To be fair, I left that company unwisely and spent the dot-com crash years working a lower-paying IT gig. Still, even that wasn't poverty wages.

Perhaps this walk down memory lane also led me back to Pho Linh. This venerable Vietnamese spot was my go-to spot in those first few years. My main complaint with the "3-colour rice" dish (steamed egg, pork chop, and crunchy pork skin) wasn't the $17.50 price tag. It was that the portion was huge. Give me a half-portion, knock off $6, and I'd be thrilled. Though most people come here for the beef soup, this item was a secret gem because one, the flavours were quite good and two, they actually use "broken rice" (with its quinoa-like texture) while other restaurants usually substitute steamed rice.

At Lansdowne and College, I was surprised that the former car wash was already torned down. But it has been a year. Attached to the construction fencing was a sign touting mixed use retail and 9-story apartment building. A group of snarky teens passing by, looking around at the older homes, remarked that they must have taken a wrong turn into the ghetto. I must looked like a local indigent to go along with the area.