Giddy On The Ninth

Monday morning, my trip to Toronto started inauspiciously when I had to call a taxi. Despite being only a 10-minute drive to the station, it became clear at the bus stop that I would not make the 8:50 departure time using transit even though I had more than 1 hour to spare. This only reinforced my feelings from Sunday that Ottawa transit lost potential customers instead of winning new commuters with their free rides all week-end promotion. Unfortunately, the interminably slow and late buses left many people frustrated.

My mood improved slightly at the rest stop in Kingston. My server at Fat Bastard told me that my small veggie burrito ($9.79) was only 5 bucks for Cinco de Mayo. Then halfway to Toronto, I received a shocking email from my CEO. After 10 years, our options were worth something due to an acquisition from a unicorn start-up. It wouldn't cover my decade-long salary gap (compared to market rate) as we've always been a struggling company. But it might make for some nice pocket change. Nevertheless, my heart was racing fast enough that I had to stop working to do some meditation and breathwork.

My usual rental in the old neighbourhood wasn't available so I found a new replacement. First positive, it was next to the subway stop instead of being closer to College St. Second positive, the entire apartment including my bedroom was large and comfortable. But although I approve (in theory) that this was an actual "spare bedroom" set-up (the original AirBnB raison d'être), I do feel more constrained with another person around cooking, watching TV, and using the bathroom.

The 6 condos at Bloor and Dufferin were continuing apace. In the distance, the one at Dovercourt was also rising up to block the sky. It's likely they'll all be completed by year's end. Surprisingly, it looks like Bloor Collegiate has been rebuilt but maybe with smaller dimensions. Students could probably return in the Fall. After a quick trip to the grocery store (towels are available but not toiletries), I stopped off at the new/2nd location of Latin World for dinner.

The last time I stepped inside this spot was 15 years ago for Dosa Mahal before the large fire. With statues of the Virgin Mary, an Aztec god playing an electric guitar, a Mexican mermaid, and other decorations, this place reminded me of the East-end joint El Sol. First negative, the tacos were $5.50 (asada), $5.50 (pastor) and $4.90 (home-made chorizo); I remember when it was 4 for $10. To be fair, these were larger and double-shelled. Second negative, the asada (sliced steak) was bland while the pastor (marinated pork) was dry and salty. For the latter, go to El Pastorcito just a few blocks away for a superior version. But there were a few positives: crunchy taco chips were still complementary and the chorizo was actually quite good. They do offer other toppings but I would stick with the "choritaco". Final positive, for the Cinco celebration, they gave me a small bottle of hot sauce complete with glued-on sombrero and rebozo.

Once In A Lifetime

Sunday afternoon had pleasant Spring weather for the biggest family get-together in a while. I haven't been in this aunt's backyard since the height of physical distancing in 2020. Everyone was there including a cousin, recently located to Vancouver, who was coincidentally back in town; and the uncle, absent from these gatherings the last few years, whose sponsorship of his siblings and their families gave us all better lives. There were 2 no shows: an aunt whose level of pet ownership verges on alarming; and my grandma who stayed home due to aches and dizziness. I suspect that these pandemic years of house-bound isolation has given her a touch of agoraphobia. Though some of us made the 2-minute drive to visit her after dinner, her absence meant that the most complete family photo we ever took spanned only 3 generations and not 4.

First up were the family news. The peripatetic cousin left their high-paying Amazon job to found a start-up and also a pottery side-business. He was coding late into the night. Another cousin, perhaps startled by a brush with serious illness, came out to their parents. They seemed more comfortable adding queer-coded accessories to their wardrobe now. I was surprised that beneath the quiet exterior, they knew all the after-hour clubs and rave venues in Toronto and Montreal. As the years passed, I think some of my female cousins married duds. Stay single like me if you want to drift through life (also like me). But you have to help out with finances and domestic labour if you have kids. Finally, my oldest niece was accepted into Canterbury, an arts-focus high school. But this meant that my brother and his wife, who found the good life in the exurbs, will have to manage the hour-long commute.

The guest-of-honour was a cousin from the old country; her mother was the only one who stayed behind. Some 24 years ago, I met her as a child. Now she was a grown woman of 30 with an American beau in tow. Sunday was likely her one and only chance to see the distant family members. It was too bad then that my aunts and uncles monopolized her time. She exchanged a few words with us cousins and spent no time with the 6 nieces and nephews. The 97-year-old matriarch wasn't there but they had met when she flew in on Saturday.

Her paramour left no impression on me since he hardly spoke to anyone. He was voluble when it came to his postdoc research but was otherwise mum: no pleasantries or light conversation. This seemed hard ground to build on considering she would be moving halfway around the world, leaving behind family, friends, career, and native language. Up ahead was the alien landscape of car-centric California suburbs, a partner with a mere toe-hold in the precarious world of academia, and uncertain job prospects for herself. But as someone who has been unattached their entire life, I'm wholly unqualified to give romantic advice. Still, I remember my grandma's words about her courtship with my grandpa: "You can't choose who you love, but you can choose who you don't."

19/05/2025: While I headed to Toronto, my cousin spent another day in Ottawa with a relative. It turned out she also had similar misgivings. But whatever the case, they had signed the papers in California in lieu of an elaborate wedding. Now it was time to let the slow wheels of American immigration turn.

Spring Cleaning

It has been dreary Spring with a few sunny days amidst long stretches of overcast weather and a snowstorm or two. The melting snow does Ottawa no favours as piles of litter and garbage are revealed on my walks. Since my return in 2021, I'm still shocked at how much dirtier this city is compared to Toronto.

I normally head back to the Big Smoke every 3 months for a break and to see my dentist. Poor genetics means I have to be more careful of my oral health. Unfortunately, I missed my last trip because I caught something over the holidays. I have booked my 6th month checkup for early May. Here's hoping that it merely means a longer and less pleasant cleaning than usual and not some serious problem that has developed.

There aren't any regular eats except for a slice of pizza on my weekly grocery run. I found out from the current proprietor that the store has been here since 1982. The name came from its first location on Ogilvie road (now housing Bobbie's Pizza). The original owner had to relocate the business after a divorce.

The only other time I ate out was after I voted in the Ontario election,  unsurprisingly won by blow-hard nepo baby Doug Ford, at Gloucester High. There weren't too many choices at the strip mall near the school so I settled on Thai Express. My vegetarian curry combo was expensive ($20+) for a "fast food" joint. There was almost no curry flavour but the use of an (unexpected) blazing-hot wok set-up meant that there was a welcomed wok hei taste to the veggies (baby corn, bok choy, broccoli, and so on). But overall, this lunch only proved once again that non-Thai workers can't cook Thai dishes.

With the return of slightly better weather, the poutine truck has re-opened. During my visit last week, I ended up eating my lunch inside a nearby bus shelter to avoid torrential rain. On Friday, I dropped by my final "regular eats" for the first time since last summer. The Hill Bakehouse carries an eclectic mix of lunch items including sandwiches, finger food (samosas, patties, etc.), and Chinese stir-fry. My $5 chicken fried rice portion wasn't as full since 2 other diners had also ordered the same dish. Beacon Hill Mall doesn't have the foot traffic to warrant re-stocking your offerings. When it's gone it's gone.

Speaking of which, this mall is now even more forlorn than before with the departure of the local bank branch. With almost all empty storefront,  I wonder why they don't simply sell to to real-estate developers. The corporate owners can't be making much rent from this sunk-cost property.

I Bring You (Chick) Peas

I have been ensconced at home since the New Year party. Remote work means I don't go out much. But I also caught something at the family gathering that has laid me up with a persistent cough. Whether it is a weakened immune system from Covid (I've likely caught it several times despite my precautions) or something chronic (any "cold" over the last 2 decades has always dragged on for weeks), I lacked the energy to brave the winter weather.

But on Saturday, I went downtown to the Byward Market. I was meeting a friend for lunch at Peace Garden Vegetarian. I guess this was the year to visit Japan because they also just came back from a family trip over there. They made the same observations: the cleanliness, the politeness (compared to TSA agents when they transited through the US), the food quality, and so on. I find it interesting when I talk to middle-class friends and family as there is often a bourgeois ignorance. In this case, they marvelled that there were no homeless people in Japan.

The vibe at Peace Garden was similar to Govinda's (affiliated with ISKCON) back in my University days. That is, the people working there was about more than just making soup and rice. On the other hand, the sticker shock here meant that this wasn't gentrified Hare Krishna. The menu was small but ran the gamut of vegan offerings. With the bulk of the dishes beingIndian, I chose the Thali platter ($22.99*).

It was a good-sized portion with a delicious daal curry and chana masala. The potato samosas were also tasty. The papadam was slightly soft and the salad was good but, not for the first time, seemed out of place. The rice was poor though: clumpy Jasmine rice instead of fragrant basmati.

I put an asterisk beside the price because the final tally came to $25.75. Without a receipt, I had no idea if they forgot that the government gave us a tax holiday until February 15th or the menu prices were outdated. It was already a tad on the expensive side but my bugbear is opaqueness in restaurant bills. I gave a generous tip but as I left, I realized that I did that when I don't intend to ever return. A small (or no) tip means I will be visiting for years. It's always interesting when you stop to examine unconscious quirks and behaviour.