I is for Inspired

Julia Roberts having a relationship with her pizza in “Eat, Pray, Love”

A couple of days ago my oldest sister called and said, “Let me take you out to lunch for your birthday.  I know this great pizza place on Ossington.”  “Sure!”  I said.  I didn’t tell her my birthday was in May, I just figured she was confusing me with our other sister whose birthday is in August and I am not one to say no to a free lunch.  I brought my daughter, Evangeline, as a diversionary tactic so we could forget whose birthday is whose and the more the merrier.  We met at Pizzeria Libretto, 221 Ossington Avenue, just south of Dundas St West.  Ossington is a happening street, Evangeline and I had been there the week before to check out the Top Shop in Jonathan and Olivia just down the street from Libretto’s.  Oh how we love Top Shop in London where you can shop, eat, and get your nails done, why bother seeing Buckingham Palace?  Anyway, Libretto’s pizza is just like the pizza in Naples.  The crust is thin and soft, and cooked for 90 seconds in a super-duper hot oven.  I ordered sausage with chili oil and upon my first bite, I thought I was eating Indian foode, because the dough was similar to naan bread and then there was the mixture of flavour of fennel and chili.  It was a marriage made in heaven, and y’all know how I love Indian foode.  The others had the classic margherita pizza with an arugula salad and chocolate gelato for dessert.  I am dying to go back now!   That’s the thing about great pizza, more is better.  Then afterwards, Evangeline and I went to see Eat, Pray, Love.  Say nothing, I’m blocking my ears, I don’t want to hear your mocking taunts.  A couple of years ago, when I was part of a book club, one of the books we had to read was EPL and I loved it.  For one, it was easy to read because it was like a magazine article.  Also I had admiration for someone who could leave their life and go travel for a year.  “She’s so self-indulgent!” one of the ladies said.  In case you’ve been on another planet, this book (and now movie) is about a woman, Elizabeth Gilbert, from New York who dumps her husband, screws an actor, then decides to go on a trip for a year:  first to Italy to stuff her face and enjoy eating without having to worry about a muffin top, then to India to pray and find focus and coming to realize that ADD is part of God’s plan, and then to Indonesia to learn to love without losing herself in a man and then ending up in a book club.  And Javier Bardem is hot, hot, hot, hot, hot:

And why do I keep forgetting this?  Oh yes, because he is married to Sea Biscuit.  Meow.  Anyway, I loved the movie.  And Libretto’s.  And so maybe I won’t be going to Italy, India, and Indonesia for an entire year but in a single day I can eat pizza, take a yoga class, and troll the internet on ChatRoulette.  Life is good wherever you are.

Lust Actually

Rafael Nadal’s quirky habit….it’s charming!

I came across my love of tennis kind of by accident, when I was approaching my Cougarhood.  My friend, JHo, had been encouraging me for years to take up “Welcome to Tennis” at the Mayfair Raquet Club.  “When we’re old ladies, we will play tennis in the morning and drink gin in the afternoon,” she explained.  I didn’t really like gin at the time so this did not appeal to me at all.  “Vodka then, who cares?”  So finally I signed up but it wasn’t because of the boozey apres-match afternoons, it was the little outfit in the window of the Pro Shop.  Stupid Stacey and Clinton from “What Not To Wear” had brainwashed me into thinking that women over the age of 30 cannot wear mini skirts.  Damn them!  My legs are my crowning glory since my hair is not.  I’ve been known to sit with my legs over my head, even my passport photo has a thigh in it.  Tennis skirts are the civilized answer and they barely cover the bum:  No problem, a few more deadlifts and yoga.  So I got the outfit, took the lessons, and the rest is history.  I am a bad player, though, because my optometrist says I have problems perceiving depth of field.  My tennis instructor, however, said I was distracted by the boys, hence the *special* remedial lessons after class.  I don`t play so much anymore, but I love to watch.  I send Freddy to tennis camp every year at Kew Gardens, check out their website here:

Kew Gardens Tennis Clubs

And of course, the highlight of the tennis year is The Rogers Cup at the Rexall Centre at York University.  The men and women alternate between Toronto and Montreal and this year, we have the men.  Last night, my friend, Lorraine and I got to see Rafael Nadal play Stanislas Wawrinka.  Rafa was hot, I noticed he`s not quite as muscle-y as he once was but he still has the best high water booty in all of men`s tennis.  I think this is why he is always digging in the back of his shorts, his high power glutes make them wedge up.  Sigh, I love him.  And what is love… I ponder both in life and in tennis.  Apparently, in tennis, love is l’oeuf which is an egg in French that looks like a zero.  Love means nothing, which is Tennis Canada`s website, click here to find out more.  And in life, love means finding quirky habits like constant ass-picking charming. 

Also what I love about the Rogers Cup is the actual event, you know how I love crowds of people, little freakshows.  Here are some of the sights:

A porn star/tennis player

Inside the VIP tent where the perfect Pimm’s cocktail is made….Pimm’s (a gin-based hooch) with Sprite served on ice with a sprig of mint and you have a “Number One Cup”

And this lady in front of us, who I’m sure drinks a lot of gin in the afternoons has a 30 year old lover!!!  If this is the future of being a tennis lady, I’m in!

And Rafael Nadal:

Isn’t he pretty (hot) in pink?

And post butt-pick:

Bye, bye, Rafa…..see you in two years!

Eat, Walk, Pray You Don’t Spill

Pilaros Taste of The Danforth Festival

The annual Greektown festival of street meat and frivolity on Danforth between Broadview and Jones is on in full force this weekend.  You know how I love a road closure and a self contained food item that can be eaten while in motion.  The other day, I was driving along Queen east of Parliament when I saw the Road Closed sign, I got excited and said; “Look it’s a festival!”  My daughter replied:  “It’s construction, Mother.”  No pulled pork or iced cold lemonade at that road block…..or was there?  Anyway, last month we had Little India and The Beaches Jazz Festival and now the biggest and grandest of them all, Pilaros Taste of the Danforth.  I had the first pork souvlaki on a pita near the Jones entrance, a beautifully folded over sandwich with tzatziki, sliced tomatoes, and some onions.   Yes the onions spilled out but most important, the tzatziki stayed put and the kebab meat slid out of the stick easily.  And as a side, I had a fantastic spanakopita, the Greek spinach pie in pastry.  I could have eaten more but I didn’t want to push my luck.  Here are some pics of the festival:

Must Love Dogs

Vacuum Chek at 1882 Queen Street East

You know how sometimes you need to write a word and you intuitively spell it, then when you type it up, you look at it in disbelief?  This cannot possibly be a word, I must have dreamt it,you think,  then you actually have to look it up to see if it is so.  I have that with “vacuum.”  I can never believe they invented a word with two “u”‘s.  Crazy, man!  And then the store that sells me my vacuum bags for my beloved Miele vacuum (which I bought 5 years ago for 500 hundred dohallores…sp?) is actually called “Vacuum Chek Ltd”.  Some how the mispelling of “chek” seems to balance out the absurdity of the word “vacuum” and maybe there is an anagram somewhere.  Anyway, I love this place.  Max, who has been in the beach for over 10 years,  is our local Persian Prince.  He has a passion for cleaning.  He also knows everything about vacuums and carpet steamers.  His favourite brand is Miele, although he carries many others, including that Dyson that seems so cool in the commercials.  I think that Dyson guy is just looking for a date because when you see his vacuum in person, it’s not all *that.*  It looks like a toy (made in China, oh, just shut up)  and upon your first cleaning, will always look like a dirt pig with that clear plastic dust bin.   I remember in 1989 I bought a clear plastic purse by Patricia Field which was ridiculous because I carried a postcard of Morrisey and a teddy bear just for show.  And my wallet was in my pocket.  The lesson learned was that some stuff needed to be hidden, and so does your dirt.  This is the place to go to solve that problem and not only does Max give you a fine deal and teaches you the ins and outs of fine vacuuming, he loves dogs!  And he will tell you where to get the best Persian foode in the city (Pharmacy and Ellesmere, northwest corner)…I’m on my way….

Loca Goes Loco

Chino Locos tasty good burritos

Sometimes I feel like I’m the female version of that gobbling, carnivorous maniac, Guy from my fave show Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives on the Food Network.  I love a hole in the wall!  And I love a meal all neatly wrapped up in an edible form, ie. falafels, rotis, and dosas, cutlery optional.  But you know, I’m not really a foode blogger per se, more a blogging diarist, so I will tell you what led up to my delightful first time visit at Chino Locos-tasty good burritos.

Freddy:  What’s for dinner?

Me:  I don’t know, I don’t have anything planned.  Do you have any ideas of what you want?

No answer.

Me:  Tell me what you want.

No answer.

Evangeline pipes in:  Not burgers!  I’m sick of burgers!  We need to eat healthy, blah blah blah….

Me:  Get in the car.

Chino Locos at 4 Greenwood Avenue off Queen St. East is a hole in the wall with a colourful sign that I have been passing by for months, intrigued. “I must try this place some day,”  I say to myself  and then promptly forget.  If Diners Drive Ins and Dives didn’t feature a Mexican sandwich the other day, I wouldn’t have thought of it.  Today was the day, by the way.  It’s a cute little place, not so much eat-in but you could if you want, with an open kitchen and a friendly staff of two.  It’s called “Chino” because the burritos have an Asian influence:  edamame beans and black beans and if you like, noodles instead of rice.  The owner/chef Minh La was there, and yes, he is loco crazy but also super friendly, check out their website here, call ahead to order and pick up or have them cater an event.  We ordered chicken burritos all around and they are delicious, filling, and healthy!  And they are mighty big burritos, I’m saving my other half for *brunch* tomorrow (and finishing off that bottle of tequila).

L*A*Z*Y: It Works For Me

Teenage Summer Fun

It’s the middle of summer which means it’s the beginning of the end.  Even though I haven’t been in school for decades (shh), the feeling of dread when August comes around is as intense as it ever was.  If Sheryl Crowe can say “40 is the new 30” (then by sequential patterns, you can add that 50 is the new 20….yay!), and then I can say August is the new June.  There’s an entire month left plus another week because Labour Day is late this year.  Oh, how I hate Labour Day.  The word “labour” is the antithesis of summer when being lazy is on the “to do” list.  So here is my summer bucket list (less like a bucket and more like a plastic sand pale from the dollar store):

sit on porch…check

read Book of Negroes…check

finish that bottle of tequila…2/3 check

ride the Behemoth….not yet

swim in a murky Lake Ontario….not yet

clean closets….hahaha, not yet

And that’s pretty much all, not quite as ambitious as my teenage summers where I would cram in the full lineup of ABC soap operas:  All My Children, One Life To live, General Hospital AND still manage to get a tan (the secret to that was moving the basement tv close to the window and blocking the glare with an umbrella).  Those were the hazy days of summer, and at night we would prowl like cats on the River Road, looking for boys and trouble but settling for a Mr. Freezie and then walking home with a single bare foot because one Jesus sandal snapped and then stepping on a piece of broken glass (a Brador bottle, no doubt:  Quebec, circa 1978) and having to get a tetanus shot the next morning at the walk-in clinic which was beside the pharmacy where the Archie comics were displayed in a carousel.  I still remember how the paper and ink smelled in those Betty and Veronicas.  And do you know what, I checked out an episode of one of my old soaps and some of the characters are still there, Botoxed and sandpapered, to which I say: nice work if you can get it, Erica Kane.

High School Confidential

Christina Hendricks as Joan on Mad Men

Another High School Reunion looms my way.  They keep having them, I can’t keep up.  I’m too old, too tired, and too blind but!  I’m excited to go.  With a little bit of delusional thinking and some Spanx, I am Joan on Mad Men.  So I am going to my gym to whip up a bit, Mayfair Lakeshore Racquet Club (and I am linking  to their website with WARNING:  you have to promise to put the sound off on your computer because they have the most obnoxious song that will you scare half to death…turn it down now…okay…here is the link).  They have a lot of group fitness classes that are actually fun, morning classes alone:  Bootcamp on Monday with Jeff ( this class is gay dancing with dumb bells, or dumb dancing with gay bells, but it is highly entertaining, trust me) , Body Sculpt with Jen (slightly scarey but effective, ahe puts the F U into Fun)  on Wednesday which competes with Spinning with  Amy ( a big dilemma, Amy does freelance bootcamp classes all over Toronto and she is THE best, drop her a line and find out where and when: amy@quantumphysique.ca) , Spinning and Group Power with Tanya on Friday, Spinning with Sandy(brilliant and inspiring) and Yoga with David(my own personal guru)  on Thursdays.  And much more at different times so you can never really get bored.  And if the whole high school “ennui” sets in and if you need a proverbial cig break with the lunch ladies at recess, there is a spa with full services and in the regular change room: a hot tub with jets so powerful, Dwayne Johnson springs to mind:

yes, Dwayne Johnson…aka. The Rock!

Yes, an active imagination and high falutin`fantasy have been propelling me in my forties…oh, and wine also!

One is the Only Number

The Only Cafe, Danforth at Donlands

Last week, one of my friends’ Facebook status read:  “I’m off the Island, it was a rough dive but an easy swim. ”  It’s Toronto in July, everyone and his FB buddy is at some cottage somewhere fighting mosquitoes so I took her message literally.  But then yesterday she IM facebooked me:  “I’m single now, have great stories, let’s go for brunch!”  Yay!  Brunch, I’m in!  You know, I used to hate that word “brunch”, just pick a meal and call it breakfast or lunch, why don’t you?  And then I realized “brunch” is just an polite Anglo Saxon term for drinking booze at breakfast.  Most ladies who brunch in the East End go to Joy Bistro and order a mimosa with Norwegian Eggs Florentine so I suggested going there but my FB buddy, Dolores (not her real name) ixnayed it.  “Let’s get dirty,” she said.  So off we went to The Only Cafe for eggs, sausages, and pints of Wellington.  The Only Cafe is that beacon of colour in that otherwise dreary section of The Danforth near Donlands.  It’s graffiti art on the outside and a mish mash of decor on the inside with an impressive selection of beer on tap.  There’s a patio in the front and a quiet one in the back where you can languish all afternoon and chat away without judgment.  Newly single Dolores talked about her breakup (very exciting except that it turned out that “diving off the island” was just a metaphor) and we also discussed the ramifications of Facebook.  She defriended him but he kept her friends as his friends and since they broke up he makes sure he writes witty comments on their statuses so that she can see them and that way she won’t forget him.  There’s a smart man.   She did keep his relatives as her FB friends because the actual process of defriending someone is a political statement that requires quite a bit of emotional energy.  I hate it when people defriend me (I notice!) but then I’m sure my Farmville activity last spring was unbearable when they were reading their updates, so I try not to take things too personally.  And I have always found it strange that Facebook suggests putting a  relationship status in your profile section.  How bad would you feel if your beloved chose the “it’s complicated” as an option?  If you’re a man, let’s face it,  the only reason you choose “in a relationship” or “married” is because a certain someone p-whipped you into it.  If you’re a woman and you choose the “single” option then people think you have cats.   And some folks get all paranoid about Facebook;  “I’m being stalked!”  Nobody is stalking you, honey, unless they are sitting in a tree looking in your bathroom window, don’t flatter yourself.  If they’re looking at your profile, consider yourself lucky that someone cares.  My motto:  Just keep it light and happy and pretend Facebook is like being out in a public cafe where you conduct yourself in a civilized manner.  And you can play that mutated form of Scrabble called Lexulous!  And post blog entries!

They Come In Droves

This weekend is the Beaches Jazz Festival and for absolute sure, the highlight of every East Ender’s calendar year.  I know it is mine.  It is part music, part freak show, and a fine excuse to eat pulled pork which hardly ever happens for me.  They close off the streets, so again you get to walk in the middle of the road!  This has been going on for some twenty odd years and every year it gets better and better.  Our friend, Lido, does the most amazing job putting this on so don’t miss it, and you can park in my back yard!  Here are some pics (worth a thousand words):

Beaches Jazz Festival Balloon Man, look for his profile on Plenty Of Fish

Two wolf moon

every girl’s best friend, the oyster shucker shucking an oyster

the pulled pork parfait

I need to pause at this one.  Definitely one of the highlights at the festival is the pulled pork stand featuring Hank Daddy’s Barbecue, click here and check out their website.  This would be the place to call if you had an event that needed catering.  The smartest street foode ever:  the pulled pork parfait:  layer of mash potato, pulled pork and gravy, another layer of mashed potato with pulled pork, then topped with beans!  In a plastic parfait glass!  You know, the sky is the limit with this one, I may eliminate all my plates at home and serve everything like this then we can always eat dinner in front of the tv.  Dirty secret:  my house rule is that anything that can be served in a bowl, ie. chili, stew, can be eaten on the couch while watching Family Guy.  Anyway, here’s more of the Jazz Festival:

the bands are set up all along Queen Street

more foode!

Blood, Sweat, and Crabgrass

crabgrass, in case you were wondering

Last night my neighbours, The Chore Family, came back from a 10 day holiday.  Yes, I watered their plants on the front porch but I also watched their lawn go from perfectly evened shards of straight up grass (with a ratio of 5 to 1 clover) to something chaotic as though their lawn developed tumours with cowlicks on them.  “Sorry, sorry,” I said, ” I don’t know what happened!”  

“No worries, Peterson,”  they replied, “That’s crabgrass.  Thanks for watering our plants,  here’s a bottle of Tequila!”  And by the next morning, when I got up to walk  Betty, the “crap grass”  was already pulled up and a new day had begun.  I started pulling up some of it  in my garden but I had no gloves and the roots are so deep.  Maybe with the right tools?  Still, Chore Family seems to use their hands.  Or maybe weeding and whatnot is just not the nitpicking habit I have.  So far this summer, I have irrigated my ears twice, all that pool swimming causes blockage.  Also I booked an appointment to donate blood.  I like to do this regularly because it’s refreshing, I think it gets the system in gear, and therefore the mojo rumbling.  Although the last couple of times I was refused because hemoglobin levels were low which says a lot about my dating life.  Yes, it’s *iron* I am lacking.  Anyway, the Manulife Centre is where I went, thay have a permanent clinic and will validate your parking for two hours.  And!  Starbucks donates their apres-bleeding treats which, along with the usual Peakfreens biscuits, is worth the trip if you are a foode whore.  You know, it took less than half an hour, in and out, so there’s no excuse not to give, go here and find out how.