The Body Knows

A few months ago, a friend recommended a Monday evening Yoga class at the same Coxwell studio where I have practiced a few times. I never found the time during my winter sublet but I finally booked a spot now that I was closer. It also gave me a chance to walk through a few neighbours East of Coxwell. The houses along Hanson were interesting. The North side looked organic and part of the neighbourhood. The South side were more cookie-cutter and though I thought they were recent builds, they have been there since at least 2007 (via Google Streetview). The homes on Hillington heading up to Danforth were more modest.

My friend was there and we chatted briefly. They were doing a driving tour around Iceland next week while their unemployed child will be home pet-sitting the animals. The instructor for this class was older but the attendees were uniformly younger than my previous classes. My friend and I probably had at least 30 years on them and I found out why. Teachers here seem to like doing a lot of lunges and twists. But this one also loved toe raises and generally making her Somatic Flow harder. Back when I practiced vigorous Yoga, I would have found it satisfying. Now that I only do gentle morning self-practice (and a bit of running now and then), it was punishing. I sweated buckets, my legs turned to jelly, and over the next two days, my thighs were sore and aching. The only downside to this style was no time for proper alignment.

With my t-shirt soaked through, I abandoned plans to have dinner at Abugida for a quick pizza slice from Pizzaiolo. They didn't have my go-to Bianca so I opted for a Capri. At first, I loved the pesto, feta cheese, and sun-dried tomatoes. Then I discovered the slices toward the centre were spongy and semi-translucent. Fearing uncooked dough, I ditched the remaining slice. I made my way gingerly to Monarch Park, through the pedestrian tunnel, and then down to Little India. There were no intestinal rumblings for this walk home but plenty of propellant. Luckily, no other consequences occurred through the night.

On Tuesday, aggravated at my lost pizza slice, I went to 241 Pizza near Gerrard Mall. Despite what the other 241 pizza's owner said about corporate requirements, this one still had printed signs. At first, the slices tasted great as I sat and watched passer-by. But then I noticed the same spongy feel if not quite as much as Pizzaiolo's. Maybe all pizzas were like this and I never noticed? But I don't recall this mouth-feel at the good 241 Pizza and Fresca. A quick research at home turned up the phenomenon of pizza gum line. No, I wasn't oblivious before; bad pizza makers created this layer of grey, undercooked dough. I won't be back at either businesses any time soon.

Turn A New Leaf

When businesses disappear from a neighbourhood like East Chinatown, they are usually replaced by something trendy. So I was pleased to see that the down-to-earth Vital-Life Vegan Rastarant has opened (about 2 years ago) in a former Asian bakery (Fu Jia Le) at Gerrard and Broadview. On Sunday, I combined a trip to a Chinese grocery store (Galaxy Fresh Foods) and also lunch. I usually walk but with a fine mist still coming down and possible post-meal problems, I opted to use the streetcar.

The owner of Vital-Life reminded me of my friend: an older proprietor who had mobility issues. They were still busy in the kitchen while my friend has mostly delegated that work. Looking over the short menu on a chalkboard, I selected the Jerk Bowl ($18). I've always thought that most of what makes an entree are the preparation and cooking method. After all, Jerk is a process not just the spice, according to AF1 Canteen. So the soy tasted like a typical Jerk dish though I won't claim that it was equivalent to an excellent Jerk chicken. 

There were two negatives though. First, it was too salty. I wondered if the chef/owner had diminished taste buds due to age. Second and paradoxically for a vegan spot, it didn't have enough greens. There were only 2 small slices of plantain, the arugula salad was only a few bites, and my meal did not have the avocado listed on the menu. So Vital-Life was similar to regular Caribbean spots in its lack of veggies. Other Jamaican vegan places that I've visited over the years (One Love Vegetarian, Veggie D'Light, V's Caribbean) offered more than just protein. To be fair, their chickpea curry bowl seemed to be more plant-friendly.

Bombs Away

On Thursday, the grim task of work continued. First, there was a poorly done interview on both sides. For their part, they struggled to reply to questions with confidence. There was a small language barrier but it was mostly lack of assurance and experience. But I could sympathize because my co-worker (and new Team Lead) didn't pose the clearest questions. I have encountered this before on both sides with leading questions: there were expected responses and anything else was considered wrong. Right afterwards, I had a live session with the scattershot co-worker where I had to show them everything. I admit I might have initially sped through the explanations but I had assumed a certain level of competency from people collecting a paycheck.

The session ran late so I wasn't able to eat lunch until 1:30 pm. I stopped off at Atomic Burger at Gerrard and Greenwood which replaced vegan shop Jinglepear Deli. With a 50s retro-futurism aesthetic, the inside was swooping curves, round portholes, a plastic fantastic orange palette and a menu with Space Cadet Burgers and (Onion) Rings of Saturn. I got a regular cadet burger ($11.99) and upgraded to a combo (fries and drink for $5.49). The front counter staff agreed with me that a savings of $0.50 (regular fries was $5.99) would have been a big deal 75 years ago.

The burger was simple (sauce, pickles, lettuce, cheese, bun) and delicious. I actually found two patties (at 3 oz each) was too much meat. Next time, a cadet jr ($7.99) should suffice. There was also a lot of nicely salted fries. In fact, a cadet jr combo plus a second jr burger would be cheap and enough for two people.

Earlier in the week, I had planned to grab a slice from Fresca and hear two bands at Dina's Tavern: see what the passage of time has been for By Divine Right (last seen by me in 2014) and Casper Skulls (idealistically young in 2017). But with another full day on Friday, I was less excited to head West for some evening entertainment. I ended up staying home with a dinner of naan and aloo gobi ($17) from Lahore Grill.

I also skipped a concert on Saturday at The Burdock. That did seem like a good show: quintet Parade featured Laura Swankey and Joyshape had frontwoman Zoe Alexis-Abrams. Swankey was interesting and I have never heard Abrams sing. She was a Facebook acquaintance (when I used to be on there) after our paths briefly crossed. In 2014, we were part of a "flash mob" doing backup vocals for Maylee Todd. In any case, it rained all day and into the night. I stayed in and raided the fridge for such odd combination as rice and fries.

House Bound

Tuesday and Wednesday had me talking with more clients. I did not enjoy these interactions. First, I was pulled into a live meeting because customer support needed some detailed explanation. The good thing was that the other side knew what they were doing. The bad thing was that they only know sort of what we were doing. So questions if I didn't explain enough, but dismissal if I talked too much. Then on Wednesday, I attended another 6 a.m. call. People re-calibrate their status quo quickly and I no longer got "kudos" like before.

For Tuesday afternoon, there was another sad interview. They reminded me of myself 15 years ago when I tried to pivot from a niche job to something more general at a hip start-up. It didn't work out for me though my skills exceeded that of the interviewer. But I was too fuddy-duddy for them. This one wasn't quite as adept and despite his young age, has found himself in a career with limited mobility. No doubt he could transfer his skill-set given time but on paper, it was a thumbs down (literally for the interview software I had to use).

This situation became comically ironic on Wednesday. Despite copious notes, my coworker could not accomplish some tasks I passed to them without being hand-held at every step. I recently learned that they earned a certificate in clock-building. It was odd that someone with such a detail-oriented hobby needed to be spoon-fed at work. Yet here they were on the employed side of the unemployment line.

On Tuesday evening, I went to a nearby Chinese take-out spot called Yummy House at Gerrard and Jones. They were definitely OG having been in the neighbourhood for at least 20 years. I got chicken fried rice ($14) which wasn't quite as good a deal as South Pacific. It had that wok hei flavour which improved daily since there was enough for several meals. Since I was so busy with work, the leftovers from Samosa and Chaat and Yummy kept me fed at home. My fortune cookie said to "keep [my] eyes open, and take advantage of the unexpected."