Future Perfect

With the end of decade, I have been randomly sampling posts from my blog. Some interesting feelings arose from reading 10 years of writing. This blog mostly documents food and music and although no one reads it except myself and search bots, I only include personal details obliquely. So when I encounter these tidbits, I try to recall the circumstances. Some came back immediately, others took a bit more work, and a few eluded me completely. I've lived a quiet life, many might even say experientially impoverished. Even so, there were still points of inflection where things could have changed, likely onto a better "alternate timeline". Yet I don't feel much regret because when they involve other people, imagining what I could have done differently seemed disrespectful. People have their own agency and not chess pieces in my Game of Life (to torture a metaphor). I only rue not purchasing a little place of my own since real estate choices were under my control.

The process of gentrification throughout Toronto was documented peripherally in my posts, especially when they described defunct shops or old bands. If I had started this blog 2 decades ago, been a serious critic who attended a dozen show a week, or was a flâneur visiting every part of the city with camera and notebook in hand, progress would have been even more historically evident.

Looking ahead, I feel some ambivalence. First, I love Toronto but it's getting expensive and impersonal. A city of open neighbourhoods has turned into a city of opaque condos. Second, I naturally gravitate to small pleasures. But my aching teeth, knees, and joints remind me daily that at best only a few decades remain, and I should think more about the difference between contented and hermetic.

Fuller House

I was meeting some friends for dinner on Friday so I decided to stay in the downtown core after my yoga class. I headed to the Ottawa Public Library's main branch at Metcalfe and Laurier. It has been decades since I've set foot inside, and I wondered if my childhood memories exaggerated its size. I was pleased to discover that it remained a large and roomy three-level site.

At 5 pm, I walked to Korea House in Chinatown along Bank St. and then Somerset St. It was nice to see a number of lively shops and restaurants. Outside of a few isolated neighbourhoods, Ottawa never felt attractive. But I recently traveled through the St. Laurent, Heron Road, Woodroffe, and Merivale areas and my opinion of it tipped from plain into ugly. This 30 minute stroll moved the needle a little bit back toward the positive side.

At Korea House, you could order the all-you-can-eat grilled meat option ($25) or pick dishes from the menu. Most other tables wanted the table-side grill but we decided to let someone else do the cooking. It was a large order including shrimp tempura, seafood pancake, japchae (sweet potato noodles), bulgogi, batter-fried chicken, and kimchi pork tofu. With the complimentary miso soup, kimchi condiments and pan-fried beef dumplings, we were stuffed and needed some take-out container. All the dishes were good, not too oily and with a bit of a kick.

It was nice catching up including news of other people we may not have seen lately. Not all changes happen gradually so it's always interesting to hear of or tell about unexpected events.

Tapas Fire

After another week of lazing around, I was back on Elgin St. on Friday for some yoga. It was another hard class building up to an arm balance. Although I could do it, I relied on my body sense and familiarity. Which is a face-saving way of saying I don't look too pretty getting into the pose. The yogini instructor, on the other hand, was slow and methodical. This took more work and strength. I'm motivated to practice this sort of "honesty" for 2020.

For lunch, I stopped by the oddly named Pi-Rho. But I realized it was a pun because the small diner was a Mediterranean grill. I had a small panic when I saw that it was a multi-step pick-your-own-options because of my last experience with a similar set-up. Luckily, this place had much tastier offerings.

For my grain bowl ($12.25), I opted for wild grains and quinoa; added eggplant and bell-pepper, and feta-mousse for my dips; included seasonal veggies for protein; and finished off with some tomatoes, onions, cucumber, and a pickled jalapeno pepper. It all came together quite nicely for a good lunch. For me, the stand-out was the combination of the sharpness of the cheese with the earthiness of the grilled vegetables.

Quiet Please

I have been cocooning with family because Ottawa has been in a deep freeze. But on Saturday, with slightly milder temperatures, I decided to work out some kinks at a yoga class on Elgin Street. This road has just re-opened after months of heavy reconstruction. But both sidewalks and street were empty of pedestrians and cars.

This class was in many ways harder than even the vigorous ones I've been in because the meticulous yogini concentrated on weak or underused muscles. I have practiced with them before and I recognized common sequences and instructions. For all of their care and attention to alignment, I suspect there's turnover in the class; people usually tune out (i.e., "familiarity breeds contempt") after a while and then stop coming. The successful teachers I know offer variety, even if most students would be better off focusing on fundamentals.

Afterwards, I wandered to Cooper and Bank, and found myself at J:unique Kitchen. This small but charming sushi spot occupied the main level of an older Victorian duplex. Ottawa hasn't done a great job of preserving its downtown, aside from Parliament Hill and the Byward Market, so it is a pleasure to find these rare relics. With lunch service winding down, there was only myself and one couple sitting by the window.

I opted for the Oshi Set ($18.95) from the lunch menu. The quality was apparent from the first sip of the miso soup. But when the lunch came out nicely presented, I didn't need to taste the not-pink pickled ginger to know this was a cut above most sushi joints. It's a gross generalization but there's a higher quality of care to Japanese-owned sushi places (like the similarly sized Shozan Room in Toronto).

So I quite enjoyed crunchy but not oily tempura, refreshing salad, and earthy edamame. The 3 pieces of salmon oshi, pressed and torched, were enlivened with a thin slice of chili. Unsurprisingly, the fish in the nigiri had actual flavour. Too bad the owners will be on vacation until January. Otherwise I would definitely come back again for dinner.

Return To Innocence

Friday morning, I was at a 9 a.m. show for the final film of the new Star Wars trilogy. Although I'm not a super-fan, this series does hold a special spot in my heart. Almost 40 years ago, Return of the Jedi was the first movie I saw in Canada. It was all rather mysterious since I was struggling with English and knew nothing of the first two films. But it was still magical sitting in that darkened theatre (which has long since closed).

Arriving at the cineplex, I was surprised and a bit dismayed to see many school-children running around; the early time slot was an effort to avoid a crowd. But it turned out to be a school trip and they had their own private screening. I wonder if they'll also look back in another 40 years with fond memories?

My inner cynic doesn't think so. These cineplexes are state of the art but blandly corporate. There's no idiosyncratic details to snag your memory. There's also no sense of ceremony, a feeling of ritual and occasion. This was merely an extension of your viewing habits from home: a half-hour of infotainment clips before the start time, followed by an additional 30 minutes of commercials and trailers.

This 3rd installment suffered from inflation and tourism. By the former, I mean that things have become ludicrously huge. The protagonists are no longer people with special abilities; they have gained super-hero powers. Battles rage not between a handful of ships but hundreds of them. And with artifacts and secret temples we have left sci-fi (even if Star Wars was always more space opera than hard SF) for Lord of The Rings territory.

The original movies had a few set pieces. The new ones visit many planets and locations. But worse, there's no sense of time because characters travel among them with little effort. It might as well be taking place on the Holodeck of the Enterprise. Without the barrier of distance, people become pieces of a table-top game.

But the main stumbling blocks with Rise of Skywalker was "Chekov's Gun" (so many guns) and low-stakes. It didn't matter because there was no sacrifice. Nobody suffered, not permanently, not even for the length of a scene. These movies are probably no longer for me, and I should stop my complaining before I get an "Okay, Boomer".

Business Sense

My company has been in trouble all year. At first, it was a few late pay-cheques. But since August, they have been paying employees at only around 50%. A call to the Ministry of Labour would likely shut it all down. But the rank-and-file has decided to give the execs time to turn it around. It's a bit astonishing that the CEO knows enough deep-pocket friends that can offer short-term loans to keep it limping along while trying to land some multi-million dollar investments. There are people who for various reasons cannot accept the reduced pay after a while. So there has been a steady exodus for last few months. This Thursday, there was yet another group lunch for a departing colleague.

Since I was already in Ottawa visiting family and couldn't attend, I decided to have my own eat-out lunch at Laheeb. This Middle-Eastern grill took over last summer from a medical marijuana dispensary called Dr. Green Thumb. Looking over the menu, I ordered a Mixed Mashawi meal ($12.75) and a side-order of pilaf rice ($6). Being a new business, they enticed me with free home-made samples of hummus, tabouleh, and garlic sauce. It was a large meal with 4 skewers of beef cubes, shish tawook (chicken breast), and ground beef and chicken kababs. They were all freshly grilled and were great. The rice and dips were also tasty. The fries were on the starchy side instead of crunchy. Only the pita bread was mediocre.

All in all, it was comparable in price to the Subway next door yet more substantial and of better quality. Yet that sandwich franchise was full while this place had no customers. Unfortunately, I don't think Laheeb will be around by next summer. First, it's on a cursed stretch of road. No businesses seem to thrive anywhere along Montreal Road, but between Ogilvie and St. Laurent are mostly empty store-fronts. A few attempts including The Garlic King and Kukulkan fizzled after a few years. Second, it's not clear what they sell from their signage. Only the sharp-sighted can spot the tiny "charcoal grill" descriptor nestled near the inscrutable Laheeb name and a stylized skewer. Finally, you can't tell from the menu that you getting a great deal for your meal.

They need to emphasize that, for around the same price as Subway and less than Pilos down the street, you're getting a big entrée. And that meal is piled with BBQ meat, a familiar sight for even the most sheltered Canadian, and not some "exotic fare". Perhaps a sample plate in the display window alongside the fresh kababs to drive the point home. And change that sign.

Send In The Clowns

As part of its grand opening, The Paradise Theatre is showing 7 movies from 1937, the year it originally opened. So I was there for a 6 p.m. show of Stage Door, a movie that underneath its zingers and rapid banter had some clear-eyed observations about the treacherous path for women actors and grabby producers.

After the movie, I immediately jumped onto the subway heading to The Danforth Music Hall for the 1st of 3 final shows for local band Hollerado. New band Luna Li, comprised primarily of young women including lead Hannah Bussiere, was finishing up their first song. Though Hollerado grumbled good-naturedly during their set that their retirement was due to these "young bands taking all the jobs", they are using their last shows to show-case these new whippersnappers. Hollerado has been touring with Luna Li though, so there were some extra connections there.

Luna Li have refined their set to take advantage of these opportunities. The slower, atmospheric songs (Opal Angel) are played first, especially with Bussiere switching between violin and guitar. People are impressed by multi-instrumentalists and their bona fides. The back-half is loaded with propulsive, punchy numbers (Star Stuff) to leave a strong impression. This crowd was about 5 times the size of their biggest solo show and judging by the talk around me, Luna Li won over some new fans.

Tokyo Police Club didn't need the exposure, being more popular than Hollerado. I liked the story-telling aspect of several of their songs. But the nasally vocal delivery and the can-rock feel left me mostly bored. I was in the minority though as people were belting out lyrics to every song.

With old pictures and posters projected behind them, Hollerado launched into an energetic Grief Money. That established the kind of songs they played (Americanarama, Fake Drugs): catchy, fun, full of sing-a-long choruses. No surprise that the confetti guns made several appearances. Their stage banter was equally enjoyable from being too high to remember the lyrics in Victoria, B.C. to standing around awkwardly in front of the stage before the "encore" in a mostly empty bar in Ohio. I came to the show with relatively fresh ears: I missed their start 12 years ago and knew them mostly from Stella Ella Ola and Bossie.

It was interesting to hear someone commented to their friend that Hollerado wrote good but not great songs. Was there a missing ingredient that scuttled their mainstream success? I certainly enjoyed this show more than my first taste of The Arkells at the CNE, who had an equal number of fun as well as corporate rock songs. Yet the latter is now selling out arenas across Canada. Either I have no ear for music or it's a roll of the dice when it comes to fame.

I Would Like Fries With That

Two decades ago, I spent most of 1999 eating junk food. My evening meals were rotated through the franchises at a mall food court (except for McDonald's) and my Sunday dinner was at Harvey's. This ended at Christmas, when on a trip to visit family, I was bluntly told by my grandma that I was getting fat. Since then, I have rarely eaten fast food. But with 2019 signaling the end of this decade, I decided on Sunday to indulge in an "unhealthy" lunch.

GL, shortened from the mouthful Globally Local, is a new vegan spot near College and Bathurst that offers vegan fast food. It looks to have started in London, Ontario. Looking over the menu, I opted for the Preposterous Burger combo for $11.99. Mine came with fries and a drink from the self-serve fountain.

The soft bun, mustard, ketchup, and pickles got that burger flavour down pat. But the patty was a slight miss. Though it was juicy and substantial, it didn't have a firm chewiness. I'm not sure what the problem is. For example, a falafel ball will give a nice crunch. The root beer was flat and not that tasty. I forgot that soft drinks from a machine, unlike a can, are combined from streams of water and syrup. Coincidentally, the fries were reminiscent of Harvey's: thicker cut, starchy on the inside, and coated with a thin batter to get more crunch.

GL offers other items including fried chicken and tacos. I hope it'll last out the next decade. My local Harvey's only made it halfway through the aughts before closing.

Hot Fire Below

With a nippy December Saturday evening outside, I debated if I should simply stay home. But I finally got enough impetus to bundle up and headed to Longboat Hall, the basement venue of The Great Hall. It turned out to be a good decision because it was a rare show where all the performers were excellent. It was also due to the venue, which at least for tonight, had a great mix on their sound system.

In fact, I only caught the final EDM song of Armen Bazarian. But it was catchy enough that I wished I had arrived sooner. It was only the 3rd live show for Acapulco Gold. With their brown suits, suspenders, and mustaches, I suspected I'd knew their sound. Yup, once they started their set, the 70s Fleetwood Mac folk-rock aesthetic was enjoyable. I loved it best when the leads harmonized wistfully on numbers like Sunset and How To Get To You. Unsurprisingly, they ended with a lovely cover of Bobby Charles' I Must Be In a Good Place Now from 1972.

What a revelation the band For Jane made on me. I saw them earlier this year, but the weak set-up at The Monarch Tavern didn't do them justice. They played hook-friendly power-pop that got the crowd dancing throughout their set. It seemed to be mostly new material that was a departure from the quirky, DIY vibe of their EP Married With Dogs. Natalie Panacci usually sang lead but sometimes Julia Wittmann stopped crafting catchy riffs on her guitar to do vocals. The groovy bass lines kept everything tight. They also played a 70s cover: Blondie's Heart of Glass.

Nyssa almost never speaks during her set. Tonight, she made a small speech halfway through thanking the audience for giving her a chance to do her most favourite thing in the world: performing on stage. It was obvious as she prowled around, being some combination of Elvis and Lou Reed, that she loved being up there. The great sound tonight highlighted how many of her songs (#1 Girl, Cowboy) were dance bangers. But she also had long story-telling numbers (Hey Jackie, Misty Morning). Often as Nyssa stood there posing, the spotlight lit her up dramatically highlighting her ash-blond shade, silver glitter make-up, and white patent shoes. Her Christmas covers were also left-field but compelling: Nick Lowe's Lately I've Let Things Slide and The Replacements' Can't Hardly Wait.

The between-sets music tend to be forgettable background played by the sound engineer. But tonight, it was fun and high-energy due to the DJ Pat O'Brien of funky band Jaunt. It was no surprise then that the mostly retro songs were high on groovy bass, punchy horns, and snappy guitars.

East of Eden

I found myself early Saturday morning at St. Lawrence Market. Though I've lived in Toronto for decades, this might be only my second time here. After wandering around for a bit, I finally found Scheffler's Delicatessen. Despite the sticker shock, I got 100g ($35) of Iberico Ham as an early Christmas present for a family member who raved about it after a recent trip to Spain.

I grabbed 2 bagels with cream cheese ($2.86/each) from St. Urbain. I hope that the original location in Montréal is better because these were underwhelming. But I had a number of errands to finish elsewhere before 11 am. It wasn't just to take advantage of the 2 hour travel limit of a TTC transit fare but also to get to a movie at the Paradise Theatre.

I had spent many evenings at this movie theatre at Bloor and Dovercourt as well as The Royal on College St. After the Festival chain of repertory theatres closed, The Royal and The Revue stuck around due to neighbourhood support. But The Paradise has been shuttered since 2006. After laying derelict for more than a decade, construction started up a few years ago. A passion project of mogul Moray Tawse, he has likely sunk tens of millions into its full renovation.

Stepping inside the main entrance, everything was both 1937 retro and spanking new. The seats were rich leather and shiny wood. This might be a problem because people were already dirtying up the seats in front of them: cross-legged sitting and muddy winter shoes were the culprit. The screen here was never large and the architects didn't expand it. In fact, they shrank most things including reducing seating to 200 from 600 to get more leg-room.

The movie itself was the excellent drama Marriage Story. I could see it on Netflix but there was something wonderful about seeing movies on the big screen. In fact, I intend to see many movies here, as well as live shows, and visit the restaurant when it opens. Mr. Tawse will likely never make back what he poured into this place, but hopefully my patronage (and optimistically the rest of the neighbourhood) will cover operating expenses.

What's Up Doc?

On Friday I went to the Comedy Bar for an early show intriguingly titled Forever Jung. The premise was that a stand-up comic does their bit, then they get some analysis from a therapist regarding their problems. So the emcee started the show reading "real problems" submitted by people. These absurd quips played to a mostly quiet room. The performers uncomfortably felt that lackadaisical non-response all night except for Ivan who was guffawing at the front. Though to be fair, I think they just had a crowd that was more smiles than chuckles.

Three of the five comics (Jen, Jacob, Deanna) either grew up in a smaller town or had family there. So there was quite a few jokes that played up the differences including various hoser accents. Saira poked gently at the still sensitive boundary of race and visible minorities. There were some dating (Jordan) and marriage (Jen) jokes, that perennial topic of stand-up comedy. Overall, I thought there were some funny bits but nobody had a full and confident set of dynamite material.

Unless he hid his credentials well (for professional or ethical reasons), I don't think the therapist, who fell backward into a garbage can and found a psychology textbook, was a real one. So the one-on-one session post-set was more of an improv or comic banter, with the participants trying to anticipate each other and getting some zingers in. It would have been interesting to get some real psychological analysis, although perhaps that might be too much for both performer and audience. Nina Conti In Therapy is a great set of videos exploring that level of honesty and cringe factor. To be fair, she is also doing a bit even if improvised.

Journey of a Thousand Steps

The city was in the midst of a second snowstorm on Sunday. Despite that, I made it to a vigorous Yoga class on Queen. So I wanted to treat myself to a nice lunch, both for braving the weather and going to a rare high-energy class (I'm getting to the age where gentle Hatha is more my style). But the restaurant I had my eye on wasn't open until dinner.

I decided that since I was already out in the slush and flurries, I might as well get some errands done. So it was off to Chinatown to buy some groceries. Then I made my way to College and Spadina to look at some old computer equipment. But apparently Silicon Alley was no more; all the stores have gone under. There was only 1 small one hanging on and the local chain Canada Computers which only sells new gear.

The Chinese dumpling shop Bauza Bauza Bauza nearby was the perfect spot for lunch. I had some tasty steamed dumplings and a warm bowl of 8-grain congee. I decided to stop by a new café/dessert place in the old Caplansky's deli called LeTAO that specialized in Japanese-style cheesecake and chocolate.

Looking over the menu-board, I opted for a slice of the double chocolate fromage ($7.25). This outpost of the Japanese chain does not make anything in-house but ships from Japan. Over the strain of Plastic Love, I took a bite. I generally prefer the milder and less sweet Asian desserts, so this cheesecake was wonderful. The flavours were subtle as you let each layer present itself. A nice break in the day before fighting through the snow to head back home.

Finals

I was at The Four Seasons Centre for the National Ballet's eclectic show. These mix together a bunch of pieces, although sometimes you wonder what the unifying theme is. They don't sell as well as the narrative ballets like Swan Lake and that perennial money-maker The Nutcracker. So although I don't begrudge their house policy, I was amused at my cheap standing-room spot at the back of Ring 3 seeing the empty seats. But I've only been to one show, a contemporary recital, where people were encouraged to move down to the main level from the balcony.

There was no proletariat uprising in Ratmansky's Piano Concerto #1. Accompanied by that eponymous piece by Shostakovich, the dancers moved under a sky hung with red bolts, stars, and hammers (it's not subtle staging). 2 pairs of dancers interacted with the group, sometimes in concert, often in opposition. There was a tone to the group's synchronized leaps and various tableaux that reminded me of the "To the Glorious Future, Comrade" sentiment of Soviet Art. Often, the pairs' choreography are later subsumed and repeated by the collective.

There was nothing subtle either about the use of fencing foils at the start of Kylián's Petite Mort. The program writes coyly about "an allusion" but it was pretty obvious in a piece named after an orgasm euphemism what a group of bare-chested men swinging and playing with swords signified. When their female partners joined, to be encircled and poked by these pointy props, there's no doubt. The pas-de-deux that followed were athletic and sinuous.

The final recital of the evening was Lander's Etudes. It started with rows of dancers at the barre. The stage was dark except for spotlights on their legs as they moved through dance exercises. This theme was repeated as the light came on and a series of mini-pieces played out on stage. Each had groups of dancers move through increasingly difficult techniques (single turns or jumps become double and so on) or choreography culminating with the 3 principal dancers going full-tilt. They were often finally joined by the corps, all executing furious unison dancing. This sort of technically challenging movement, with a hint of spectacle, got huge cheers from the audience. I'd like to see a "sequel" to this 1948 piece that included contemporary movement, perhaps even a (choreographed) "dance-off".