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.