Kung Hei Fat Choi

Chicken with Chestnut

To mark the end of the lunar year, my colleagues and I went to the Mississauga Chinatown to celebrate with a New Year's Eve lunch on Thursday. It has been a long time since I've been here, but everything looks about the same: the red gates and golden roofs, the wall of dragons.

But Best Friend Restaurant is probably new in this location as its various plaques and certificates ("King of One Dish 2010") had primarily Markham designation. One wall had a 4 panel paintings of the epic Journey To The West (with the Monkey King) but done in a comic-book style. We settled down for a multi-course meal ($88.88). It took a while for the first dish, Chicken with Chestnut, to arrive but then they came in quick succession. The meat was so-so but I really enjoyed the dense and rich chestnuts.

The seafood chow mein noodles and the fried rice with chicken and fish (an extra $11.49) were tasty but typical. I was tempted by the stir-fried goat but it was a bit tough and gamey. Faring better was the steamed fish and the mix mushroom with tofu dishes, both were soft and tender. The two outstanding items were the lobster in szechuan sauce and the pork pettitoes. The lobster, covered in sweet sauce and ginger, was a bit messy to eat. Its bed of rice had soaked up all the wonderful flavour. The pork (trotters) looked a bit daunting, large and still on the bone, sitting in a dark stew. The extremely fatty skin cover also made it an unusual sight in your standard North American meal. But once you sliced it apart, the meat inside was juicy and tender. The skin was rich but mild, surprisingly lacking that strong, earthy fattiness flavour that could be a turn off. All in all, it was a satisfying way to usher out the old year.

Qu'est-ce que c'est cuisine indienne?

Tuesday night, I went down to the TIFF Bell Lightbox for the quintessential French New Wave movie Au bout du souffle (Breathless) as part of a Jean-Luc Godard retrospective. Unlike 3 years ago, the theatre was packed to see Michel Poiccard (Jean-Paul Belmondo), a charming Italian-French roue who professed that "between grief and nothing, I choose nothing." It was a wonderful 90-min immersion in 60s Paris: the bistros, the streets, the cars. But what makes the film so mesmerizing is the American student Patricia Franchini (Jean Seberg). She is probably the uber-pixie with her large cat eyes, chopped blonde hair, and slim figure wearing a Givenchy dress.

Afterwards, I quickly headed over to Khao San Road. But the restaurant was also packed: every seat taken, even at the bar. Yet there was a line-up of about 10 people. Discouraged, I headed further north to Queen St. Luckily, one the "Cheap Eats" places that was inexpicably closed on Saturday was open. So I stopped into Saffron Kitchen for a bite.

Though they had dishes from both North and South India, I opted for the rarer Sri Lankan dish Kothu Roti ($7.50). Inside a bowl of chopped fried roti, you find a mixture of onions, green onions, cabbage, basil, and in my case  lamb. It was a filling meal but unfortunately, one of the blander versions I've had. Although I asked for spicy, it barely had any heat. Also, the distinctive South Asian flavouring is quite muted and lacking fragrance.

Sixteen Candles

On Sunday night, the cold had let up but the heavy snow started coming down. Instead of staying home to watch the Grammys, I headed over to Lula Lounge to see a capella group Retrocity. Tonight's was a "Sweet Sixteen" anniversary show and promised to feature a wide variety of 80s songs. As such, the members ditched their usual 80s costume for formal black and white, though there were sly nods including Rubik's cube key chain, lace gloves, and "window-blind" sunglasses.

The first few songs were particular fun for Retrocity as the original singers were sitting in the audience: Martha Johnson (Black Stations/White Stations) and Lorraine Segato (Parachute Club medley Rise Up and At The Feet Of The Moon). This led to a running gag where a singer would gesture out into the audience during a bridge: "And now ladies and gentlemen, George Michael". They didn't stick to the usual hits though there were plenty (I Need You Tonight, Everything She Wants) but sang quite a few "new" material: Pink Floyd (Comfortably Numb, Money), Crowded House (Don't Dream It's Over), The Cure (Close To Me). Of course, there were lots of major crowd pleasers. Their first set ended with Bohemian Rhapsody and they book-ended their second set with their 80s rap medley and Chaka Khan's I Feel For You. It was an evening of infectious music that would have been perfect if the sound mix was better.

Break Out

Sunday lunch is usually a vegetarian grain bowl or spaghetti and meatballs, with the occasional filling Indian thali platter every couple of weeks. I decided to see if the oddly named Habits Gastropub at College and Dovercourt could be added to this rotation. The room has a definitely lounge feel with dark wood interior, high chairs and tables. In the back, there is a stage to host local music a few nights a week.

I chose the Chef's Fave ($14). Today it came with shredded short ribs and bacon along with the standard poached eggs, hash, and chipotle hollandaise. Both the ribs and bacon were tender. The eggs and hash were all right. Overall, the dish had a sweet taste from both the maple-infused bacon as well as the sauce for the ribs. It was an average brunch and for now, probably won't be added to my regular rounds.

Blustering Snow, Warming Bowl

For lunch on Saturday, I had planned on checking out a few of the Cheap Eats profiled in alt-weekly Now Toronto. But after wandering around for the better part of 40 minutes, I still hadn't eaten. One restaurant was inexplicably not open despite the sign, though there was someone behind the small kitchen. Another was not to be found, since I had looked in the wrong spot. With the wind, snow, and slush, I was getting both hungry and chilly. I then remembered a sign about a new noodle house in the window of a short-lived vegetarian place at College and Bathurst.

It turned out to be Isshin Ramen, a new joint by the owner of Kingyo Izakaya. The decor was typical of these places, though the full-length mural of an Asian dragon was eye-catching. Prices were on the low-end of the scale with the takiyaki being under $5. I ordered a ramen + rice combo ($10.95 + $3.50). The bowl was fragrant with ground pork, slightly seared fatty cha su pork, bean sprouts and wood-ear mushrooms. Their specialty was "twisty thick noodles", which were more substantial and chewier than other spots. The rice came with 3 halves of soft-boiled eggs over a bed of rice, onions, and tiny slivers of seaweed. It was a rich and satisfying lunch in a convenient location. Given the reasonable prices, I will have to return for the fried chicken, octopus balls, tofu and other dishes.

In Da Club

It has been years since I've been to the Clubbing District. But Friday night, I went down to Adelaide Hall to see the Motown band The Big Sound. Their monthly show has temporarily moved here after The Great Hall has gotten into a kerfuffle with the city's licencing over its capacity permit. Apparently, despite its large space, the Great Hall is not officially allowed to carry more than a few hundred.

Well, I don't know how much two-level Adelaide Hall is rated for, but it's tiny in comparison. Though the venue filled up, there were no line-ups outside compared to the two adjacent clubs; lucky for everyone on this frigid night. The sound system was top-notch with speakers everywhere and not just at the front of the small stage.

Having been around for 2+ years, The Big Sound finds itself in an odd position. To grow and maintain interest for its 28 or so members, arranger Christopher Sandes continues to add more songs to its repertoire. Yet that means that the really popular Motown hits are played less and less. This friction could be found in tonight's audience. Yes, they danced and cheered given the energy of the performers and the infectiousness and quality of the music. Yet most of the songs were "unknown", leading to feelings of puzzlement and diffidence (e.g., "Do we know this song? ... I guess not"). Not surprisingly, the few familiar tunes were greeted the most enthusiastically.

Those Days Are Over

Friday night, I went down to the Bluma Appel Theatre to see the Canadian Stage version of the hit play London Road. In 2006, 5 prostitutes were murdered by Steve Wright near Ipswich county. The folks living on the notorious "red light district" of London Road had the media glare shone on them. Afterwards, playwright Alecky Blythe conducted interviews with the residents and created this "verbatim theatre" piece about their lives during and after the time of the "Suffolk Strangler".

This meant that only the various distinctive accents and comments were reproduced, quite ably by this Canadian cast, but also ordinary verbal tics, interjections, and pauses. This gave a realism of time and place to the show. In addition, Adam Cork had set a majority of scenes to music while maintaining the verbatim, documentary nature of the speech. This often resulted various phrase fragments sung and repeated in overlapping staccato rhythm and melody.

In general, the acting was top-notch. The "All-star" cast deftly inhabited not only the main residents but also 52 other roles including reporters, coppers, prostitutes, and other town-folk. I was less enamoured of the songs. Their common structure grew tiresome and only a few (for example, a song about Wright having lived there for only 10 weeks) were transcendent. The rest sounded too much like the Schmoyo Brothers' Autotune The News and its ilk (Bed Intruder, Sweet Brown). The playwright should have stuck more to theatre, where most of the pathos and humour were generated, and included only a few songs for emphasis.

Bigger On The Inside

When Caribbean Queen (home of spicy Jerk chicken and patties) moved across the street, the old spot was taken over by a resto-bar called The Emerson. Given the cramped interior of the old Queen, it's inconceivable that all that space was behind the kitchen doors. The new digs must have been created by joining several adjoining spaces.

When I stepped inside on Wednesday night, it was one of the largest local restaurant I've been to. Given the gentrifying Bloor and Lansdowne, there were nods to hipsterism: road bikes, fishing rods, model airplanes and other knick-knacks were mounted to the walls. But the overall feel was old-style pub with dark wood tables and benches. The Emerson offers a daily special but I decided to skip tonight's Parm sandwich and got a pan-roasted Artic char ($18) with a side of butternut squash gratin ($5) and roasted mushrooms ($5). The fish came out evenly cooked with a good mouth-feel but the skin could be crispier. It sat on a tasty bed of spinach and caramelized onions. But the beurre blanc left no impression.

The sides were a good complement. I was a bit disappointed with the gratin; I thought the squash would be more flavourful. The mushrooms were generously portioned and had a nice give. But the dish was all button mushrooms: good taste from the blandest choice. I would have preferred a smaller plate with more variety and, yes, pricier options.

Chilling

As another cold snap gripped Toronto, I headed down to The Horseshoe on Tuesday for NuMusic night. Amazingly, there was a good crowd on a night made for staying home. But sadly not for opening act Alan Snoddy. Stuck with the early 9 pm slot, this country crooner and his trio got a polite but unengaged audience. If Mellencamp sang new country songs, he might sound like Snoddy. It mostly didn't work for me because he wasn't as good as the former and also, I like country but not new country. With his large pompadour, maybe he should be exploring either Chris Isaak or rockabilly territories.

In Toronto for the 1st time in 2 years, Quebec psychedelic rock outfit The High Dials filled up the front with some old fans. But they mostly played new tunes with only 2 numbers from the old catalogue. Backed by swirling synth and guitar, their sound evoked that Brit mod feel. I enjoyed their set but thought they could have been tighter.

Hands & Teeth has everything to hit it big: catchy power pop (and occasionally harder rock), lovely multi-part harmonies, and good-looking band members of both sexes. Fronted by a 60s-a-go-go-esque Natasha Pasternak, who wore a mid-riff baring top tonight, they put on a high-energy set. The great sound at Horseshoe really brought out the quality of their songcraft. Yet after several years on the local scene, they still haven't achieved that critical mass.

During their set, a guy wearing a giant pixelated human head (Eric Testroeste?) stood in the crowd as part of some guerilla video shooting. It was a bit surreal. I left before Erika Werry and the Alphabets took the stage.

Two Wild and Crazy Guys

Saturday night, I went to COC's new production of Cosi Fan Tutte directed by Atom Egoyan. A projection of The Two Fridas hung over the stage before the show. During the performance, aspects of this painting: the scissors, the opened chest, the sisters linked by blood and vein would be referenced in the staging.

Using the alternate title "A School For Lovers", Egoyan has situated the piece within a private prep school/college. The centerpiece, a giant, glittering curio cabinet filled with scientific geegaws, drew immediate applause. With eager minds and pressed uniforms, the students followed Don Alfonso (Sir Thomas Allen) around as he decided to do an "experiment" in the form of a bet: whether women, as represented by Fiordiligi (Layla Claire) and her sister Dorabella (Wallis Giunta) also in the school uniform, could stay faithful. So their fiances Guglielmo (Robert Gleadow) and Ferrando (Paul Appleby) pretended to leave for war, and returned disguised as Albanian suitors.

Egoyan turned up the sexiness and comedy. There were times when I thought "Gee, sexy schoolgirl" just like in his movie Exotica. The comedy, including some slapstick, was often initiated by the cynical  maid Despina (Tracy Dahl) who was also in on the deception. After jabbing a giant electric prod into the behind of a costumed Ferrando, she should be called the Butt Doctor instead of Dr. Magnet. Gleadow also had fun as a Fabio-esque Lothario.

Egoyan also included the twist that the sisters were in on deception from the beginning. The men had first entered as Albanians wearing literally giant puppet heads with swirling mustaches. But as they removed the heads, a metaphorical unveiling as Gleadow and Appleby were physically disguised the same as the heads, Claire and Giunta "saw" through the costumes. But given the libretto, this stayed a missed plot point, especially in the 2nd act when the sisters struggled with their new emotions. Maybe next time the COC could be daring enough to actually change the libretto to match.

The mood of most the evening was light and breezy rom-com with much laughter. It ameliorated some of the risibleness of disguises, ardent protestations of love, and almost equally swift turn-abouts. Claire and Giunta drew cheers for their arias, but it was the antics of Dahl that won over the crowd.

Always So Gah For So Little

After the holidays, I always have gift cards to places I don't often go. This year it was to Swiss Chalet. Remembering that one was located in the new and fancy Dufferin Mall, I stopped by on Saturday for lunch. Despite its updated looks and nicer stores including H&M and Marshalls, this has always been a working class mall with its No Frills supermarket and Walmart. My guess: this was why Boston Pizza failed after less than a year despite the fanfare and renovations.

Swiss Chalet has taken over the space, located next to the south entrance. It does get a lot of foot traffic with primarily young families. But the restaurant is so big that it looks perpetually empty from the outside. Most dishes are priced less than $20 and even $15. Certainly has the trendy places beat on price, but not the ethnic restaurants in the neighbourhood. I ordered the chicken and shrimp ($13.49).

The taste of that Swiss Chalet dipping gravy was instantly familiar though it has been a long time. The chicken was good but not as tasty as the local churrasqueiras. For one, the skin was nowhere near as crisp. The shrimp on its bed of rice pilaf would have been serviceable, but like many restaurant dishes, much too salty. Perhaps I'm used to the lower sodium in my own cooking, but I can't believe people find these entrees palatable.

Beat It

Friday night at The Silver Dollar promised to be more dance-y than your typical Indie show given the acts on the bill. Amazingly, it was relatively full (50 or so) even for the early set; probably due to the promise of free beer before 10. Indeed, you got 1 drink ticket at the door with a promise of more if you wanted. But after a sip of the skunky Pistonhead, I left the rest untouched.

Twist was a duo comprised of members from Holy Fuck and the BB Guns. Though their drum sampler did provide thumpy beats, their guitars and lyrics were mostly taken from the Indie songbook. Reasonable on other nights, but did not provide enough butt-moving energy. Nyssa was the highlight for me. This one-woman act, assured and mesmerising on stage, was Nine Inch Nails circa Head Like A Hole but sexier. Over industrial beats, her husky voice painted despair and hopelessness. But the repeating refrains and insistent rhythm got the crowd dancing along, an unusual sight on the local scene.

I would have stayed for the campy fun of Jef Barbara and the unusual Lido Pimienta but the amateurish talk-rap and drone-sing of Bizzarh killed the vibe for me. When one of their friends, complete with baseball cap and arm signs, told the sound tech to "turn it up" (their iPod backing track), the look he got was priceless.

Hapa! Fight!

I was in the neighbourhood on Wednesday to catch an early showing of "Ip Man: Final Fight" at The Royal. I took the opportunity to dine at Hapa Izakaya a few doors down. This Vancouver import came in with the wave of Japanese eateries that colonized Toronto a few years back. Though other outposts went with modern Japanese, Hapa fitted into the clubby Little Italy vibe with dark wood and loud music. Since I was there before 7, I was able to take advantage of "Hapa Hour" (5:30-7:00) and ordered from a list of 10+ izakaya dishes that were up to 50% off.

First up was the Tuna Avocado Dip ($4.24), which was mashed up at your table. It was a tasty mix of chopped ahi tuna, avocado, and tuna. With such a dense dip, it was challenging to scoop up with the crunchy plaintain chips. An OK start but oddly bland. Next up was the highlight of the night: a plate of Curry Mali ($3.49). Little squid tentacles, battered and fried, were crunchy with just a hint of spices. Very tempting to keep putting one after another in your mouth.

The 3rd dish was a heaping mound of Karaage ($4.49) or fried chicken. This was a good dish, but this item has been done much better elsewhere. It was also a bit too salty, especially the bed of noodles that had absorbed all the juices. Finally, I had some Spicy Baja roll ($4.99). This North American take on sushi came with cheddar cheese, jalapeno poppers, pork belly, and serrano chili sauce. The combination actually worked except that the pork was too dry and salty; I was expecting the really fatty cut of most pork belly dishes. It was a good meal that came under $20. I wouldn't be as sanguine if I paid full price though.

New York State of Mind

Recently, I was lamenting the bland burritos found in Toronto with the exception of venerable New York Subway. After the show at the Factory Theatre on Tuesday, since this small diner was just down the block, I decided to grab a cauliflower jumbo burrito ($6.95).

With its recent renovation, it has lost a bit of its charm. The large polyester diner booths which went perfectly with the black-and-white prints of NYC landmarks have been replaced with boring formica tables and wooden chairs. On the other hand, the service was as slow as ever; the price you pay for having only 1 server who prepares everything on the spot. The good news: the burrito was as large and tasty as before. The bad news: they have toned down the Indian flavour so it wasn't quite as distinctively fragrant. Ironic since they have expanded their menu with numerous Indian dishes including Butter Chicken rolls and Indian-style roti.

From Russia With Love

I returned to the Factory Theatre on Tuesday night for another production. This time, it was a musical adaption by Comment Descent (Scott Christian, Kevin Shea, Wade Bogert-O'Brien) of a Chekov's short entitled A Misfortune.

Ivan (Jordan Till) proclaimed his love for Sofya (Trish Lindstrom) who vehemently denied any romantic feelings for him. She returned home to her older husband Andrey (Rejean Cournoyer) who reveled in comfortable routine and prudent living. This man sang a paean to mortgage payments when his wife proposed a thrilling vacation. Later that evening, they were visited by Masha (Kaylee Howard) and Pavel (Adam Brazier) as well as Ivan. This passionate couple showed another side of matrimony. They scandalized their hosts and each other by singing salaciously of hypothetical (or not) affairs. Though they have grown somewhat bored of married life and itched for novelty, they were still in love. Ivan, on the other hand, insisted that true love did not permit strayed thoughts or equivocation; the moment must be seized. Which view of love will Sofya finally chooses?

This was the best show of this year's Next Stage Festival. The performance was engaging and dynamic with numerous sly digs between the characters and the songs had clever and witty lyrics. Though all actors had strong performances, Howard and Brazier stole the show with their louche wit and lusty manners. Lindstrom and Till didn't quite sell the may-or-maybe-not romance, as they both seemed stuck with broad-stroke characters. Lindstrom carried a stunned/agog expression for too many scenes and Till's hair-pulling tortured soul got tiresome. Cournoyer put in a subtle performance as a stick-in-the-mud patrician, but who was aware enough to perceive that dependability, stability, and trustworthiness could be unexciting for a young wife and a source of gentle derision from his cosmopolitan neighbours.

Not a PITA

Sunday night, I headed to the East end for a home-made dinner. As the host likes to make everything from scratch, I was looking forward to some good eats. His toddler was helping him rolling out the dough to make middle-eastern pita. Having kitchen skills from a young age should hold the boy in good stead .

As it was the first time at making this flatbread, there was some question about when to remove the pita. Too early and it will be under-cooked and insufficiently fluffy; too late and it will be dry and cracked. The first few tasted great, warm and fresh from the oven, but resembled some sort of oddly shaped whole wheat bread. But the remaining got the balance right and resulted in thin, fragrant shells.

Along with the pita was an arugula salad with pink grapefruit, some lightly spiced chicken coated with a sweet harissa-based sauce, and a pan of sweet potatoes and pressure-cooked chickpeas. All were great but the last was my favourite. It was hearty and perfect for a winter's eve; I almost wished for the colder weather from earlier in the week. What made the dish for me was the occasional burst of basil which cleansed the palate for the next bite.

We over-indulged in dessert, though. What started as some Dutch stroopwafel from Schep's with oolong tea led to home-made bourbon-soaked fruitcake and finally organic chocolate, chocolate shells from Soma, and gritty Mexican-style dark chocolate.

Cloudy With A Chance

I often eat at Hey Meatballs! in Little Italy but couldn't find the time last week even though it was National Spaghetti Day. But I was able to make it this Sunday for the usual spaghetti and meatballs ($12). This hearty plate with 3 large meatballs will keep you full all day. Recently, they have upped the ante on their hot sauce. In addition to the green sauce made from jalapeno, which most people find more than sufficient, they have added a jar of red scotch bonnets. I've tried it a few times but it's simply too hot. With the jalapeno, you can control the level of spiciness by the size of your dollop. But there's no such finesse with the bonnets.

Today, the other tables had mostly first-time visitors. They all ordered the Rodfather, an Italian sub stuffed with meatballs. It's a fine choice, but rather messy. Oddly, I find it too rich compared to the spaghetti. Though the latter is covered with oil and sauce, the former with the buns slathered in melted butter feels more excessive.

For The Grill Of It

It's odd how some businesses come together. In the predominantly Portuguese area around Dovercourt, there is a grouping of Caribbean businesses just a few steps north of Bloor. But with changing times, they are slowly disappearing. Replacing the two Island diners is a Churrasqueira grill house with a take-out side called Nova Lisboa and a dine-in spot named Yauca's Lounge. Since the Lounge hasn't open yet, I stopped by Lisboa on Saturday to pick up some dinner.

I opted for the Ribs dinner ($9) comprising of potatoes, rice, beans, cabbage, and 4 ribs. The ribs were grilled but were average, tending on the dry side. No doubt from sitting in the heating tray. The rest were stick-to-your-ribs fare. This is OK take-out food, though I hope the lounge will have a better selection. Hard to see how it could compete with the extremely busy churrasqueira just up the block. The latter sits on prime space, just off the subway exit, and benefits from lots of foot traffic. This one, though only a few metres off of Bloor, is sufficiently tucked in as to be easily overlooked.

Stories We Tell

On Saturday, I went back to the Next Stage Festival for another show. This time, it was a retelling of Scheherazade by Nobody's Business Theatre. It was obvious immediately that it was a modern take, as a "Bridezilla" took center-stage to recount in details all her materialistic wedding choices from music to food to clothes. Her story was odd though, as it started with an exceptionally nervous father-of-the-bride, and the details got darker.

It turned out to be a nightmare of Dunyazade (Heather Marie Annis) on the eve of her sister's wedding to Shahriyar (Steven McCarthy). However, Scheherazade (Lindsey Clark) had a plan to not become his 1001st dead wife. On the pretext of telling a last story to her younger sister, Scheherazade will attempt to stay her beheading with a new story every night.

Appropriately enough, every scene was actually a story, if sometimes only known after the fact. This led to multi-level of story nesting, though the play did not draw attention to this structure. Similarly, the true events (as imagined by playwright Johnnie Walker) underlying all the tales about Shahriyar, his 1st wife, djinns, and others were also revealed in pieces for the sharp-eared audience member. But this understanding wasn't central to the plot.

The big take-away was all the filthy smut. The stories including Scheherazade's tales as well as the various back-stories (for example, Shahriyar's unfaithful wife) were told with as many 4-letter words and sex acts as possible, and enthusiastically acted out with glee. This led to some amazed laughter from the crowd. But it wasn't all comic romp, since a situation involving a thousand dead women, a tyrannical king, and a desperate new bride was, well, pretty effed up. This was a fun play to watch, although with its triple-X content, would probably not be playing at the larger PG-friendly theatres in town.

Ghandi Is Dandy (Sort of)

After seeing a Next Stage Fest play, I stopped by Gandhi to get a late dinner on Thursday. You can tell that this roti place gets a lot of customers, aside from the constant stream of pick-ups, by the efficient way they fill your order.

I opted for the chicken roti ($8.95). From the listing, I should have realized this was "mainland India"-style ingredients. So my stuffing is the spicier Indian curry. I love Indian dishes but for roti, I prefer the Caribbean curry; the flavouring is milder and less oily. The version at Gandhi is drier and the shell is thicker. Overall, this makes for a good but not mouth-watering roti. I'm surprised that this shop scores so high in polls and top ten rankings. Unlike the customer behind me, I won't be going out of my way to make a stop here.

Shanghai Nu

Thursday night, I dropped by the Factory Theatre for the Next Stage Theatre Festival. It was the opening night for the sprawling cast of On the Other Side of the World, a memoir of the Jewish ghettos in Shanghai during World War II.

Ostensibly taken from the diary of Ursula (Ashleigh Hendry), an 11-year-old Jewish refugee from Germany, it chronicled their journey from an increasingly violent Third Reich in 1939 through to their departure from Shanghai in 1947 for America. This Eastern metropolis was the destination for tens of thousands of Jewish escapees as it remained open while other countries were closing their borders to Jews.

Shanghai was both opulent and strange as well as dirt-poor and squalid. For Ursula's parents, Irene (Debra Hale) and Martin (Nicholas Rice), and others including the Schulmans (Liza Balkan, Sam Rosenthal), it was a nasty cultural shock. Ursula quickly acclimated, learned some Mandarin (though it would have been Shanghainese), and made friends with the local merchants (Dale Yim), an itinerant monk (Ray Jacildo), concubines (Phoebe Hu, Eunjung Nam), and even an amah or nanny (Susan Lock). She found her first love in another Jewish refugee named Wolf (Jordan Kanner). Martin partnered with a local businessman to start a painting company. Only Irene had a hard time with her diminished circumstances. But as things started to improve, the Japanese (Minh Ly) came in, rounded up all foreigners, and restricted them to ghettos.

The staging was excellent. The cast moved and wheeled screens, crates, poles, and dozens of other props through intricate set-up to suggest a train, a ship, the streets of Shanghai, and various rooming houses. A small trio of cello, erdu, and pipa added some evocative music. But the overall story was superficial. With such a long time frame and so many characters, we were treated to a whirlwind narrative and didn't spend much time absorbing any given situation. Since this was not a true story but a synthesis from actual memoirs, playwright Brenley Charkow could have tightened the script.

The actors were good though now and then they were saddled with speechifying. I thought giving some actors Asian accents a misstep. Though the businessman spoke perfect English (better than Martin's pidgin according to Ursula) and the monk had an Oxford accent to go with his English schooling, it wasn't clear why the other Chinese characters did not. The fluent "English" of the Jewish refugees was presumably German, so it made no sense to have some Asian actors speak with an accent when in real-life, everyone would have. In some scenes, it made them overact with hammy and risibly caricaturist lines.

Diva Tuesdays

After an early evening nap on Tuesday, I decided to brave a second night of freezing temperature. This time, I went to the Painted Lady to see some local female singers on Viva Tuesdays. But first, I ordered a quick dinner from the bar. Some of the dishes sounded rather unappetizing such as the White-trash Tacos (Fritos and Cheez Whiz). I finally settled on a pulled pork sandwich ($11). It was average fare and the cutting board presentation made eating the salad a chore.

Sarah Burton started the evening with some countrified music. Though there were some bland country-pop songs, most of her tunes were gritty and bluesy. The bassist did an admirable job laying down the groove, and even played most solos, but her music needed a bigger (live) band to really give it some muscle. In contrast, Kendal Thompson was all about the smooth urban pop sound. She had a good voice and kept the melisma under control. Her set comprised a few originals and 2 covers including Beyonce's Halo. But her songs had the verbose, prose-like lyrics of many modern pop songs which as a genre, lack that evocative poetry.

The stand-out tonight was Suzana D'amour. Having just returned from Berlin after 3 months, her trio evoked that European combination of musical theatre and pop. Her songs, a number of which had French verses, were dense and lyrical. Though the arrangements varied from slow waltz to fast ditty, her emotive voice and frequent hand gestures anchored the set in the tradition of Piaf or Minelli. This was a veteran performer with an assured stage presence. She should consider making Berlin and Europe her permanent base. Her brand of "cabaret" pop is likelier to fill halls there (see Canadian songstress chinawoman) than here in indie-rock Toronto.

Brace Yourself Before You Face Yourself

On the eve of an extreme cold caused by a polar vortex, I made my way down to the Drake for the long-running free music showcase Elvis Monday. There were other hardy souls at the venue, though it was nowhere near capacity. Tonight, it was Dorian's (Austra, Spiral Beach) Birthday Edition.

In keeping with the lethargic vibe, Our Founders book-ended their sets with two chill synth numbers. But the rest of their music was a mix of pop combined with jazz-influenced rhythms and chords. They had odd avant-garde touches without alienating the audience. They covered The Everly Brother's Always It's You in memory of Phil. But despite their exhortation for slow dancing, there were few takers. This could explain why there have been numerous negative articles about the dating/singles scene in Toronto.

In contrast, Hiawatha was an acquired taste. Playing sludgy noise that did not vary in tempo and volume, the simple, crashing chords and thumping drums, backed by dissonant effects, drove most of the crowd away. But they came back as Tasseomancy was setting up.

Before the Tasseo sisters came on to do their gothic folk-pop, the drummer strummed and sang Until It's Time For You To Go (Buffy Saint-Marie). His sweet, acoustic cover melted a few female hearts, judging by their faces. Tonight was the perfect night for this band's dark and moody music with lyrics such as "Won't you come home with me tonight/Cause I don't wanna be alone" and "It's getting late and I'm feeling cold". But they were mischievous in their banter. After they tried to sell the merits of Dorian ("He really wants a girlfriend"), they dedicated a song to JDate (and Dorian). But given the typical male/female diffidence seen earlier, Dorian could continue to have romantic difficulties in this cold city.

Although there were 2 more bands (Donlands and Mortimer, Luka) on the bill, the clock was approaching 1 a.m. I needed skedaddle home for some beauty sleep.

Use Your Hands

After checking my calendar, my self-imposed 6-week hiatus from Indian eats was up. So I went over to Madras Masala for some South India on Sunday. With the expansion of Banjara, this spot next-door was really feeling squeezed. But it was still getting enough customers to make a go at it.

I ordered a madras masala dosa which is a dosa that has been pre-cut into edible slices. On the downside, you don't get the the visual wow factor of an enormous Indian crepe arriving at your table. On the upside, the potato filling oozes out of every bite and you can eat each piece like a spicy pizza slice. With the stuffing fully wrapped, it's also a lot less messy. But you still have to eat with your hands for the full appreciation.

So I was side-eyeing the table over where they were eating their dosas with a knife and fork. Talk about missing the point. Also, being think and flaky, it looked to be more work trying to spear the crumbly pieces with the inferior fork.

Latin Night

Saturday night, I had dinner at El Rancho. This Latin American has been at Bathurst and Bloor since 1979. Its age combined with the typical Latino sign gave it a kitschy feel, not something I look for in restaurants. At first, things didn't seem promising. The 2nd floor restaurant had Spanish-style decorations with filigreed metal doors and hacienda arches illuminated with LED filaments. One wall was festooned with old celebrity-signed photos. And the entire place was empty.

But after 8:00 pm, the restaurant filled up to capacity, including several tables of 10. A Mariachi singer serenaded (loudly) to the oblivious and raucous crowd. The menu was typically South American: meat heavy, some seafood dishes, and no vegetarian options. I chose the Empanaditas De Maiz ($6) for appetizers and Cazuela De Mariscos, a seafood chowder ($19.95), for my entree.

The first thing you noticed was that the portion sizes were quite large for all items. My more-soup-than-thick-chowder arrived still hot in its pot and jam-packed with a generous amount of clams, shrimps, octopus, and jumbo shrimps. The flavoured rice side-dish was almost superfluous. The seafood had a good chew and was not over-cooked. It was filling main. The empanaditas, mini deep-fried corn fritters stuffed with beef and potato, were over-kill and too greasy.

This spot won't win any culinary titles. But with cheap prices, large portions, and a lively atmosphere (with a salsa nightclub in the back), El Rancho made a good case for its 35-year existence.

X Marks The Spot

Wandering through Kensington Market on Saturday, I stopped by diner Our Spot for their all-day breakfast. The standard offer is tempting: only $4.95. But it lacks the usual accompaniment such as sausage or bacon, which will set you back $2 per additional item. Still cheaper than trendy spots but not as much as the old-time places.

Like most restaurants in Toronto, it was long and narrow, crammed with tables. The single seats facing the front window did give you a little more elbow room. Its distinguishing feature were the rows of mirrors decorated with faux wooden window blinds. In the winter, with the heat and the tiny space, your clothes will be smelling of fried oil when you leave.

In addition to the eggs and fries ($4.95), I added some corned beef ($2) and two pancakes ($1.25/each). The pancakes were described as fluffy but they were a bit floury. The corned beef arrived as loose-meat patties mixed with onions. Along with the over-easy eggs, bland Greek salad, and home fries, it was a typical diner meal. Given equally cheap and tastier fares in the neighbourhood (for example, the Sanagan Meat next door), this spot would sit fairly low on my list of noshes.

Time Is Unkind

Having enjoyed the 2004-2008 Sketchersons, I returned Friday night for the 2007-2009 anniversary show. There were a few differences. Though the first show was well attended, this one was sold out. Only a few alumni such as Pat Thornton was at both shows, though no doubt the transition wasn't as abrupt in real life. This had more pizzazz (celebrity hosts!) but like the SNL on TV, both casts and material were weaker than before. Even the house band tonight was less cohesive than the previous group.

The newer troupe hewed more closely to the SNL model including having a celebrity guest and even a news desk segment. But similar to its TV inspiration, it was a more disappointing incarnation from its heyday. Once you get past the "starstruck" reaction ("Ooh, George Stroumboulopolos and Ben Mulroney are trash talking each other"), it was an average show without any of the giddy heights of the previous night.

The sketches mostly suffered from "one-note gag"-itis. Once the premise is introduced (a woman and her giant-sized child, a dance with "gender-swapped" roles where the men talk about feelings and the women just want to bone, a radio chat show in which every relationship advice is an inane pop song), the same jokes and its variation are repeated ad nauseum. It may seem odd, but the old sketches had real "characters" and not just set-up and punch-lines. A running theme of "effeminate men are funny" (in sexy costumes, acting "gay" such as strutting or kissing, etc.) was problematic. There were few endings that really brought the skits to satisfying ends.

As I left, someone remarked: "It was funny but it wasn't hilarious." I then recalled that I first saw them in 2009 in a show or two. Back then, I had the same tepid reaction. No wonder I didn't follow them much after a few outings. So I was glad to see the original Sketchersons on Thursday and wished tonight's crowd could have been there, too. Their excited buzz would have been amply rewarded.

Time Out Of Mind

On the 2nd day of 2014, I discovered a wondrous time portal inside a boarded up storefront at Dovercourt. The caveat is that it only takes me back to 2004. No matter, it will be sufficient for me to set right what once went wrong. Failing that, I will go on Thursday to the 10th anniversary of the sketch troupe: the Sketchersons.

Over the course of 4 days, past and present Sketchersons alumni will revisit their best sketches over the years. Thursday night comprised of the period from 2004-2006.With their best material, it was laugh-out-loud funny the entire night. The skits tended to start with a slightly ridiculous situation which becomes even more absurd. Exhibit A: a vignette of Hallmark Cards for awkward post-coital flings ("Thanks for the good time. You don't have to call.") ended up with a performer naked on stage with an envelope poking out between his ass. With that cheeky start, we proceeded merrily from an ex living 25 years in the basement of his wife and her new husband's pad, to a local businessman trying to sell (quietly) his windows on Relaxation Radio (most listeners are asleep), to 80s action TV Revenge of Ski Patrol, and a woman in a doomed relationship with the perfect boyfriend (who happens to be a latte she ordered from a coffee shop). Musical guest Sean Pinchin also wowed the audience with his solo guitar blues on Broke Down Automobile and Dirt Poor Blues.

In With The New

Having visited old-time Black Horse, I thought that for the new year I'd dropped by a new neighbourhood spot. To be fair, Saving Gigi has been here for a few years. But it was one of the new businesses that originally brought gentrification to the area. It also has lots of clout including being host to several new music events such as the "Ossington Folk Festival". The Greek lettering on the window is a reminder that at one time, there was a small Greek community here separate from Greektown on the Danforth, with several businesses and even a small "social club".

On the inside, Saving Gigi is pure hipster. There are the mismatched furniture: long communal benches, window nooks, even a re-purposed desk within whose drawers you can find a chessboard. Shelves of vinyl records contain both recent and vintage albums, to be played on an old record player. Well, you can guess what the clientele looks like. One downside is that the waitstaff is correspondingly casual, which makes for idiosyncratic service. The food does arrive promptly and clean-up is fast, but you'll have to figure out on your own where the menu is found, how to order, etc.

I ordered the two-egg brunch ($9.70) and bottled juice ($2.50). The baked sunny-side-up-ish eggs went well with asiago cheese, but the green scallions didn't work for me. The turkey sausage was too crumbly and didn't pack enough flavour. It was average fare in a funkier-than-average spot.

Essentially, Saving Gigi functions as a spot for the "locals", as seen by all the handshakes and greetings. But whereas some long-time locals may stop off at the Ethiopian coffee shop, the defunct Greek social club, or the old pubs, the new locals (white "creatives") feel most comfortable here.

Auld Lang Sign

With year's end, I thought it'd be appropriate to acknowledge the old before welcoming in the new. So I stopped by Black Horse Pub near Ossington and Bloor for lunch on Tuesday. Along with Hurricanes Road House, it predates the current crop of gentrified restos and pubs in the area. But by how much?

The inside is certainly well-worned: dark wood, old photos and posters, and equine paraphernalia everywhere, including horse-head coat hooks. The sign outside states "est. 1892". This pub is 120 years old? The building is definitely a heritage building, with a horse head sculpture gazing down onto the street from the 2nd story. But this may indicate instead that this used to be a coach house, affiliated with the now defunct Dufferin race track (where the Dufferin Mall currently sits). That would put the building around 15-20 years younger when the track was built in 1907.

I ordered a Cajun chicken sandwich ($10) and a half-pint of Amsterdam Blonde ($4.30). The burger was typical pub food: grilled chicken with some pickles, onions, and lettuce. I didn't detect any spices that would lend it a Southern flavour. The fries came hot out of the fryer and was fine with some salt and ketchup.

The clientele was mostly locals with a smattering of newer whippersnappers. Will Black Horse survive the next 20 years with the accelerating changes to the neighbourhood? Tough to say.