Jazz In The Time of Corona

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

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

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

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

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

Off-beat

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

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

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

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

Of The Chill People

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thick Comme Un Brick

Recently I had read about French Tacos, a new fast-food that was an invention of North African immigrants living in the less glamorous banlieues (public-housing suburbs) in France. It wasn't actually anything like a taco but rather a cousin of the burrito.

As I walked through Little Italy, I realized that I didn't have to go to Paris (or perhaps Montréal) to try this hybrid. A new take-out spot called Brick'n'Cheese (a Vancouver franchise of a French food) had a board on the sidewalk proclaiming it had "original French Tacos". On Saturday, after doing a deep clean of my apartment, I headed to Brick to try one.

Looking over the menu, I opted for a Farmer Brick ($14.99). This flat, satisfyingly heavy, tortilla wrap came with grilled chicken, chicken nuggets, fries, shredded cheese and a mysterious "cheese sauce" that internet sleuthing suggested some combination of gruyère and other cheeses. I headed over to Fred Hamilton park to give it a go.

I anticipated a messy dinner from the sauce but it was surprisingly drip-free. The fries and nuggets gave both crunch and greasy goodness. The chicken was reasonably tender and was better quality than many shawarma spots. I mostly enjoyed the unusual flavour. It neither had the beans and guacamole taste of a burrito, nor the tangy, grilled offering of a falafel wrap. It was its own (pretty tasty) thing. As for the shop, many owners have tried this half-basement walkout. It's hard to do take-out in Little Italy. There's not enough office workers during the day, and people want that fancy/trendy restaurant experience at night.

After finishing my tacos français, I took a walk through Ossington. This strip has been busy during my afternoon Yoga classes, but it was hopping in the evening. Prior to the pandemic, there would still be a crowd but with most people eating inside, there wasn't the same buzzing vibrancy. I suspect most businesses want the curbside patios to be permanent.

I headed west along Dundas and noticed that there was an outdoor concert in the old Beer Store parking lot. The building was now a presentation centre for the condo that will eventually spring up here. But tonight, its painted brick and advertisement served as backdrop to a free show hosted by Lula Lounge. On stage, Eliana Cuervas sang both Spanish and Brazilian Latin-Jazz songs accompanied by her pianist Jeremy Ledbetter and a full band. I last saw her at The ROM more than a year ago. Their up-tempo music kept people dancing and grooving.

I would have stayed to see who else was on the schedule. But I had forgotten the lackadaisical fashion that concert folks prepare between sets. It took Cuervas' band 15 minutes to pack up (with lots of chatter). And with no sign that the next performers will be on stage soon, I headed home for an early sleep.

What's Old Is New Again

I visited various regular haunts over several days. It was a good corned beef sandwich but  I didn't know why Mr. Siddique's family turned Vena's Roti into Uncle Sid's Deli. I returned on Monday to try the one item that was a tribute to the old owner: an omelette stuffed with masala chicken, red onions, and green chilis ($12.95). While waiting, I noticed a fair number of customers dropping in for a soda and a smoked meat sandwich. The omelette, with fries toast, was good. Similar to masala fries from their neighbour Dosa Mahal.

It was only after asking about the OG Ms. Pacman console that I found out: 1. many people asked about that cabinet and 2. the new owner was Mr. Siddique's son-in-law. He didn't know anything about the roti business but did run a deli for several decades (along with Mr. Siddiqi for a few years). His wife didn't want to sell the building so they decided to give this deli thing a try again. As for that video game cabinet, one of the contractors was allowed to keep it when they did the renovation.

Though I enjoyed Badiali's pizza, I realized I needed to go to Fresca for my Toronto-style pizza. I went by on Thursday, but with the return of the school year, there was a long line-up of tradespeople and young teens waiting for those oily but oh-so-fragrantly-tasty slices. I ended up at The Urban Herbivore for lunch instead. With fancier plant-based options nowadays, I forgot this place still offer substantial salad bowls at reasonable prices. For several years, I used to go to their now-defunct Dovercourt location after every Sunday yoga class at the YMCA.

I did return to Fresca on Friday, making sure to get there just a little bit before lunch. By the time I finished chatting with them, the influx was perhaps even bigger than previously. With their daughter no longer helping out, if I knew anything about food and retail service, I'd ask to help out with the cash register in exchange for teaching me how to make those pizzas. I headed up Robert St. to a new bakery at Spadina but they weren't open today. Heading home, I passed by Ba Noi and was finally able to snag one of their "char siu" bun. I was pretty disappointed though. Stuffing a baked bread bun is a great idea; the crispy crust was a nice difference from the soft bao. But the meat was over-salted and I had a hard time finishing the snack.

Anyway You Slice It

With my yoga class ending at 2 pm, I've been wanting to try the new by-the-slice Pizzeria Badiali (formerly Good Neighbour café). Sadly, the odd opening hours at 2:30 pm and the long line-up that immediately forms had deterred me. After 2 aborted attempts, I decided that Sunday will be my last try. I guess 3rd time's a charm because I arrived with no line (though it filled up right behind me) and only a few people already in the shop.

Looking over the 4 options, I chose a classic Margherita ($5.25). This was an excellent slice: thin but crispy with a tasty blistered edge. The addition of grated cheese and basil after your order added freshness and flavour. Having had some recent semi-disappointments at new restaurants, Badiali was an immediate hit.

But I'd probably won't return for several reasons. First, the weird hour makes it a non-choice for a quick lunch. Second, this was a small slice for $7 ($5.25 + tax and tip). One of my pet peeves are take-out businesses that don't disable the tip option on their tap machines. Finally, this was New York-style pizza. Nothing against NY but everyone imports pizza from abroad to Toronto: Chicago-style, Detroit-style, the ubiquitous Neapolitan, plus the less familiar Milano, Romana, and Sicilian. Even Windsor-style, with its canned mushrooms, has made an appearance. But nobody does Toronto-style pizza except for its original purveyors. They're heading for retirement soon and I'm looking for joints (especially by-the-slice) that carry on the tradition. Because otherwise, Toronto will be a place with lots of good food from elsewhere but nothing home-grown.

Samsung and the O-Ring

I headed back to Toronto after my brief visit to Ottawa on Wednesday. Before I left, I struggled to fix my Mom's Android tablet. Long story short, you should look for the simplest failure first. In this case, the charging cable had cracked so the battery was drained could not recharge. Various Google results led me to: attempting to remove the tablet's back case in order to reset some internal cables (unsuccessful with bruised fingers), causing it to enter into an error state through too many reboots, trying to use Samsung's SmartSwitch to recover (an useless app), downloading a tablet image through the free tool Frija, and finally installing a new Samsung image with another tool called Odin. Unlike other tech-help sites, the articles at The Custom Droid were detailed and helpful.

The final step caused a factory reset which forced me to reconfigure the tablet and reinstall all the apps that my Mom used. The upside was a clean device free of all the accumulated cruft. One of the biggest headaches was using these tools on Windows. Both Frija and SmartSwitch needed Windows components (called redistributables) that weren't part of a regular Windows computer. So you have to find the right versions to download. These extra hoops can be excused for a free software like Frija. But for software giants like Samsung and Microsoft to create a system and application in which things do not work out-of-the-box was mind-boggling.

On my train ride, some passengers were amazed by the Toronto skyline as we made our way through the downtown core into Union Station. I realized I haven't been to the "Manhattan" portion of Toronto in awhile; my neighbourhood is more like Brooklyn. So on Friday, I headed to Yonge-Dundas to catch the new movie Shang-Chi on an Imax screen. While there, I took in all the new buildings (and plenty of businesses) that have sprouted everywhere. It was pretty impressive even if I do prefer the few pre-gentrified areas that remain in the city. There's not one part of Ottawa that can compare.

As for the movie, I appreciated that Shang-Chi had a mostly Asian cast. Though as with Crouching Tiger and various movies in the early aughts, will this representation be permanent or yet another brief blip of supposed inclusion? The fight scenes were the best of all the Marvel movies but the still liberal use of jump cuts mean that they weren't at the level of the classic Hong-Kong movies that Shang-Chi was paying homage to.

My one concern was that both the hero (and the actor Simu Liu) was a 1st generation immigrant. Ditto for Awkwafina's character Katy and her family. A multi-generational Chinese family living in a walk-up in San Francisco's Chinatown is applicable to less than 0.1% of Asian-Americans, even those living in that city. To me, this narrative reinforced the "perpetual foreigner" status of Asians. "They're hard-working and add to the fabric of America, but you have to admit, they haven't been here that long." Well, Chinese workers have lived in North America since the 1860s. That's 160 years or 8-10 generations. That old man may not have gotten off the boat recently. In fact, his father was probably born here. And his grandfather was a contemporary of American Civil War soldiers.