Edible Tulip

Toronto Tree Tour

When I lived on a river that backed onto hectares worth of forest, the trees were my backdrop so I didn't give them much notice. I woke to their leaves rustling, walked beneath their majestic canopy, and stalked my cats who in turn stalked every living thing smaller than them. I have a dozen tree books from second hand stores and as much as I tried to educate myself with bark identification tests and leaf diagrams I still felt confounded when I came upon a tree I thought I knew in new different season. Call me a tree geek or a wanna be arborist. In the city, I'm devoid of much exposure to trees, so when I came upon a chance for a free Tree Tour in Toronto I leapt at the chance. I knew it might be odd. Who goes on a tree tour in downtown Toronto on the Saturday of a long weekend? Well, me, and apparently a sold out crowd of other nature lovers.

The tour was led by a quirky, witty, urban arborist and we met on the steps of 401 Richmond (which I've written about before but if you haven't been you must, must check out this space!). We proceeded inside and into the courtyard full of chirping birds, climbing ivy, and splindly tall trees growing skyward in search of sunlight. There was a spiral staircase that led to the rooftop and we were encouraged to climb or take the elevator. I am afraid of heights especially when you can see through a grate many stories below to the ground. But nobody made a move to the elevator and I sort of got swept in the crowd like I was being carried on the top of a mosh pit of elders and I began the climb. Once I got climbing I couldn't really turn around so I kept climbing. Anyone else that is afraid of heights knows that the higher you get the more intense the vertigo becomes - you begin to vacillate between pulling yourself away from the edge and wanting to leap into it. We emerged onto the rooftop garden and were embraced by a variety of potted plants, a naturalized green roof, an apiary for budgies, a greenhouse and a humbling view of sky, skyscrapers, and canopy cover all through the lens of green.

Bicycle Basket Lunch

Such a yummy picnic lunch to pick up on your travels through chinatown in Toronto. Pho Hung on Spadina on the outskirts of Kensington Market has a selection of small packageable goodies to pack into a bag or place horizontally in a bicycle basket. It was late morning when I swung into the busy restaurant and there were lots of people seated in the exterior room where the windows can be rolled down for breezy days or pulled up tight with the blinds at half mast on hot summer days. They seemed to be slurping down soups and noodles and various pork dishes in great delight. I was looking for something refreshing to have a snack before I started out on my organized Tree Tour of Toronto and I only had 1/2 an hour to eat so I ordered the large vegetarian cold spring rolls to go. 3 minutes later and $6.95 broker I left. I found a park somewhere south of Queen Street and east of Spadina to sit at a picnic table and dip my perfectly wrapped lightly mint and coriander flavoured spring rolls in a delicious tamarind sauce. Of course, 2 hours later I was ravenous but it got me through 2 exquisite roof top garden tours and a bike ride home.

Olé for the "Little Bull" - Torito Tapas Bar

Veronica Laudes, owner of Torito Tapas Bar with partner Luis Iglesias, zips around the cantina with her hair in two cute buns coiled under her earlobes. She's got the laughter, the exhuberance, the energy associated with Spain* and tapas - the midnight eating, the flamenco clackety-clack, the romantically seedy back-alleys of cities like Madrid and Barcelona. And although the place gives off that European edge (narrow interior restaurant, warm brick walls, bullfighting posters, festive vibe, hot hot hot Spanish-speaking bartender), it's a perfect fit for the grime of Kensington Market's Augusta strip. Torito can be easy to miss, especially in winter when the front patio is absent, so I've taken a photo of the sign - follow the bull's nose ring.

I was out for dinner with my brother View this photo to enjoy some one-on-one sibling time before he departs for a 2 year teaching commitment in the caribbean. While listening to him talk about his ocean view and the scuba diving lessons he'll be giving in his role as Phys-ed Teacher, I drowned myself in the best tasting ceviche I think I may have ever had (I've been across Spain and up the entire coast of Portugal and tried many a rubber ceviche in T.O.). It's made with tender white bass, lime, and coriander and served with a combination of fresh corn niblets and cooked corn kernals that taste alternately sweet and smokey. We drank Spanish white wines and moved onto crab croquettes - delicately pan fried sweet breadcrumb engulfed bites of heaven served with parsley aioli; grilled sardines served over fava beans and chopped fresh herbs - the sardines were just a bit too small resulting in a make up of 75% bone to 25% flesh, look out!; and a salad of arugula, fresh parmesan, sugared roasted almonds and the subtlest of dressings tasting. I have been to Torito before and can also attest to the delicious qual glazed with a light pomegranate reduction and excellent lamb sausages. Last night was too hot, too sticky, too appetite stifling to order much more than a few fish dishes and a fresh salad but hey, that's why we went out for tapas. Popular dishes around us on the patio were braised beef tongue and cheek, garlic shrimp, and what I can only think was roasted piquillo peppers stuffed with something white like salted cod being thoroughly enjoyed until the only thing to do was sop up the flavours with bread.

Everything is so fresh, so tasty, so perfectly done at Torito that it's hard to think back to a few weeks ago when looking for a place to eat down by Harbourfront in advance of catching a concert I ate at Lusso and had just about the worst most excessively overpriced meal I've eaten out in a long time and sadly all I had was a salad with grilled chicken and bruschetta. I prefer to stay away from the throngs of tourists and stick to grotty old Kensington Market and the good stuff.

Torito Tapas Bar. 276 Augusta Ave. Toronto. No reservations. #647-436-5874.

* Most people associate tapas with Spain and Spanish cuisine, as do I. I realize the owners of Torito are not Spanish; I believe they are Chilean and the chef, if it's still Carlos Hernandes, is Ecuadorian. Apparently there's been an in-city restaurant brouhaha about this. I do not care. Their food is delicious. Their menu is a sincere and genuine celebration of tapas. Now if only a couple of Swedes would open a Mexican restaurant in Toronto.

Uncle George's Place - Home of the Living Food

Some people go to St. Lawrence Market to buy fresh lobster out of the tank or to get the butcher to pull down one of those ginormous ham bones strung up by a hook and free floating like a pinata waiting to be struck. Me? I go for the sprouts.

Down in the basement of the main market building, set in behind the main space bakery, is the home of the living sprout. Grown in small containers in hydroponic conditions or soil grown are sprouts like broccoli, spicy lentil crunch, vitality blend, rapini, mustard, red cabbage, super power blend. Granted they look pretty similar - tiny reedy shoots with little kernals on top - but they taste pretty unique from one another and you have to try different kinds until you decide which one enhances the flavours you tend to prefer. There are also packages of sunflower sprouts and golden pea shoots as well as bags of baby salad greens and arugula.

Sprouts are living foods. Store bought fruits and vegetables, while nutritious in their own right, begin losing their vitamin content as soon as they are picked. Add time and mileage to get to the store and what you're eating has lost much of the finesse it had when still attached to the tree or resting in soil. Sprouts are complex in vitamins, proteins and enzymes. And they taste pretty fine and crunchy tossed into a salad.

So make a trip to St. Lawrence soon for a sticky bun from the north market and a visit to Uncle George's down in the basement of the south market.

World Food Day 2006

Come join me and other food enthusiasts to discuss issues on food policy, food security, local governments, volunteer opportunities, and nibble on some local food snacks at the same time!

Register by calling: 416-338-1604

Event details:

Wednesday, October 4th, 2006
10:00 a.m. - 12:00 noon
Toronto City Hall
100 Queen Street West
Members' Lounge

Plant A Row, Grow A Row

I've lived on my block for 4 years and I have been, until now, blind to the grass roots activism that is going on within 50 metres from my apartment. I'm sort of ashamed of myself since I've gone both across town and out of town in search of innovative expressions of compassion and creativity to do with food but I am also happy to have discovered what is happening right in my neighbourhood. I am guilty of finding rural living and landscapes a better template to extract inspiration from than an urban landscape. Many of the community gardens I see in Toronto including the tiny plot at Northumberland tend to not be well kept; they are also forlorn looking and more than not littered with Styrofoam coffee cups. People in the city, and I do not mean those working hard at creating these tiny oases of greenery and edibles, the vast majority of urban dwellers, do not seem to crave or even contemplate the idea of space, open space, land use, the sanctity of growing food, of growing things, anything, the profound beauty of simplicity, moss taking over rock face, a spring deviating off course and creating a rivet of miniscule veins full of water, the thrush of colour that spreads like fire over the tops of trees in the fall. It’s a different temperament that chooses urban life over rural life. But not everybody has that choice. Some people work downtown and can’t afford a small plot of land in the country so they make do – grape vines cascading over backyard fences, squash blossoms dangling like Chinese lanterns on front yard trellises, the wonderfully chaotic plots of consignment gardens at High Park, honeybees and bumblebees doing the air tango.

I would like to unite the masses of urban bound country folk with a call to arms to take over the alleyways and abandoned parking lots of the city with shovels of earth, heirloom seeds, chicken wire fence and rubber boots. I suppose I have 8 months until the thaw of spring occurs to orchestrate a take back the land event. Or at least plant a poppy through guerrilla gardening by sprinkling seeds on the tiny lines of dirt in the pavement.

Plant a Row, Grow a Row is an organization located in my neighbourhood that asks people to grow an extra row of veggies in their gardens and donate the harvest from that row to a local food bank. It’s such a simple yet ingenious concept. The people already have the gardens, seed packets are dirt cheap but the outcome is enormous in value, it’s a much more grassroots level to donate and participate in your community and it doesn’t cost a bunch therefore the philanthropic angle is actually possible for anyone who can garden as opposed to anyone who can hire a gardener.

Communities across Canada have participated in this movement. So get involved. Start a movement in your own neighbourhood. Or find a way to donate a row of tomatoes or beans or beets or potatoes to someone in need. The website has all the contact information you need.

B is for Black Horse Pub

For those of us who consider ourselves 'country folk' i.e. we prefer the quiet of the natural world, we are borderline neurotic with our attachment to shrubs/trees/bees/birds/insects/swamp-life and the disenfranchisement we feel in living in an urban environment we try to make up for by scouting out random spots that a monarch butterfly might find hospitable enough to drop by for a suck of nectar.

I live in the Bloor and Ossington neighbourhood. I love my moments at Dufferin Grove Park but spring and summer are overrun with dogs and children. I love both. But I don't have either so the cacophany and insanity and clubiness of that exclusive milieu saddens me and so I avoid it altogether. I don't have an outdoor area larger than a grate big enough to host two rather small folding patio chairs and the view ain't nothing to write home about. The Serbians expanded the neighbourhood church from a small provincial gathering of occasional celebration to an enormous stone castle of ongoing pleasure. For some, that is.

So now I go out when I want a cocktail and some company on a sweet summer's eve. When I'm ready for adventure on the town, and out-of-town, well, that's another story, but when I want to stay local, and wear my flipflops down a block or so, I hit up the Black Horse Tavern. The building, you can't miss it with it's two horse heads on the front facade, is historically dated back to 1891. The interior is a simple combination of square tables and chairs adorned with miniature lanterns. The bar is set to the rear of the room (smoking would suit this place) and the kitchen is out in front with an open counter and grill. If you venture way back you'll come across what feels like entering into a friend's grandmother's living room - mismatched lamps and couches and odd art in front of a gas fireplace. It's perfect for playing cribbage in front of in February. But the back patio is what I keep coming back for, that and their excellent dill/yogurt halibut dish served with fresh vegetables and basmati rice. The patio is quiet and verdant. Everything a patio should be when dining a deux.

Food, you ask? Good hamburgers and fries. Good fish and chips. Fine quesadillas. Excellent halibut special. If you're a brunch person you'll enjoy their steak and eggs, their western omelettes, etc. I hate brunch so I can't comment.

A is for Alchemy (the Baking Company)

I started this alphabet posting a few weeks ago with A is for Avocado where I ranted about this guy in my life but then changed my mind or at least my heart about it and took it off luckily for me because said guy read my website recently. I really need to start journaling again to vent those toxic momentary shifts in feelings about my life. The avocado was acting as a mentor in that post giving me advice and steering me in directions that only a succulent fruit such as she with the skin of a crocodile truly could. For now that avocado is where my last therapist ended up: Calgary.

My letter B post was supposed to be about my birthday bash at Bairrada Restaurant here in Toronto. It's a lively Portuguese barbecue spot with an enormous back patio - a fountain, no less than 40 picnic tables, all under the shade of large Elms and Maple trees. But alas I forgot my camera or at least forgot to photograph the whole event. Must have been that Vinho Verde.

So now I'm back. I'm back with my lust of letters and a determination to see this alphabetical posting through. A, my friends, is for Alchemy Baking Company, a small independent bake shop based in Kensington Market, Toronto. Alchemy (as defined in the OED): the medieval forerunner of chemistry, esp. seeking to turn base metals into gold or silver; a miraculous transformation or the means of achieving this. Breaking bread is one of the most powerful shared experiences between people. It's part of the Communion of life. I've always believed in that thought and I have attempted to provide nourishment and care to others through the offering of food throughout my life.

Alchemy is run by Brian Kirk. I happened across the product when my mother and I were walking furiously through Kensington Market gathering goodies to take north for the w/end and trying to find somewhere to eat that was uncomplicated and brought to the table to soothe our grouchy shopping spirits. I have no idea if the place we ate at IS actually alchemy baking; their website suggests they are up in the west Annex but I do know we had the baker and his baked goods where we ate at 287 Augusta Avenue. The bread looked divine. Especially the purple bread that like that Mystery Butter (made with all the refuse cashew/almond/peanut dregs) that is so good. I want to say the influence is beet juice or red wine or a balsamic compote but I think I'm wrong on all accounts. His bread is artisinal (hand crafted and formed) and made from the best local ingredients one could forage. He makes organic breads but his non-organics are more interesting in taste and variety: Apple Walnut
Spicy Tomato with Black Sesame
Fresh Dill and Onion
Semolina with Anise
Durham Bread
Egg Bread with fresh eggs & Saffron
Afghani with Nigella
Dark Rye with Caraway
Basic White
Muesli Bread
Sweet Persian with Mahleb
Onion Poppy Rye
Blue Corn with Jalapeno
Potato and Herb Focaccia
Cranberry and Raisin Focaccia
Blueberry and Raisin Focaccia
Kalamata Olive Focaccia
Sundried Tomamto Focaccia
Sesame Barley

We ate squash soup (which I have to admit, 6 months later walking by after visiting my dentist whose office is on Augusta, they were STILL serving squash soup as their soup of the day. I gather it's a cheap vegetable, easy to make tasty, cube it, saute it, add onion, salt and broth and top with a chopped herbaceous green) and split his excellent mini pizzas (served cold unfortunately). I chalk up the lack of service to the gum-smacking dyed-blonde woman behind the counter who drummed her nails along the tabletop as though she was just simply bored, bored, bored.

But really what struck both me and my mother about this bakery and what we had to fill bags and bags worth of was his SHORTBREAD. They are individually stacked high and luminously so in glass jars. We walked the walk of shortbread row and lifted each lid in order to take in aromas like cardamom and cracked pepper, lemon and rosemary, lavender and crushed cinnamon. His shortbreads are delicious and addictive!

First Choice Video Club

I lived for so long without either a a) television, and then b) a VCR or DVD player that I simply just wasn't connected to the world that evolved around either. I saw movies at the local rep cinema, the Paradise in my case, and also at the different theatres around town that show movies I seem to like - the Cumberland, the Carleton, the Cinematheque, and the Goethe Institute to name a few. I like the movie theatre experience. I don't always eat popcorn, but sometimes; and then other times, I bring my own treats from the Strictly Bulk place around the corner (a guilty indulgence are hard cheesies, wine gums or sesame sticks), or I'll pack an apple or a piece of banana bread from home and shove a large bottle of water in my backpack. I enjoy watching movies by myself. Probably more than seeing them in the company of someone else. I like that it's my experience, unfiltered by someone else's interest or disinterest, views or biases. Sometimes it's frustrating not having someone to banter with about the movie afterwards but at the same time I'm left in the glow of whatever emotion rung true for me unfettered.

The Cinematheque is having a retrospective this month of one of my favourite filmmakers: Chance Encounters: The Cinema of Krzysztof Kieślowski. He's a beautiful director, full of silence, and grace, quiet dialogue, stunning cinematogrphy, poetic moments about life. I lived in Poland for a while and I had that childlike desire to randomly bump into him, hoping that he'd star me in his next movie about a young woman, new to Krakow, living in her monastic room above a blooming courtyard, listening to the Italians make loud love all night, smoking in the courtyard at dawn with the pigeons each morning, sticking fallen leaves and twigs from the Jewish cemeteries into her journal, living a life that felt so unilluminated that it strove to be told so as to become real/large/something. His movies are often scored by the industrious and darkly seductive composer, Zbegniew Preisner. His music will make you either want to weep or go insane. And by insane I mean twirl around in a balletic dance with a broomstick yearning to fall out of the 3rd story window and land in a scene of despair and passion.

Anyway, back to the movies and televisions, I lucked into a perfect working order television that had been dumped outside my building with a converter. It's a large black t.v. and I don't get cable but I get lots from the rabbit ears. I then lucked into a VCR found in my parent's basement and a DVD player from a friend who had one too many. I hunted around for a video store that struck a chord with me. I had frequented the old Suspect Video on Markham Street for years when I house sat for friends and loved their eclectic amalgamation of movies you could flip through by cardboard movie casings. I tried Queen Video on Bloor Street and found their selection okay but the environment oddly competitive in a Queen Street black framed eye glasses polyester shirt I don't give a shit sort of way. It unnerved me. Then I happened across First Choice Video Club just east of the corner of Bloor and Ossington. I struck gold.

FCVC is run by a Greek man named Frank and his daughter. He's owned the store for over 25 years. He has a collection of movies (both VHS and DVD) that could counter any cineophile. He has Kieślowski's Decalogue plus all of his films. He organizes everything that is quite old by genre and movie star or director (i.e. Hitchock, Dunawaye, early Musicals, black and white horrors). He also gets new movies in weekly that he rotates around the store (he favours documentaries and foreign films but carries almost all of the big new releases and hot television series). I have never gone in there and asked for a movie that he wasn't able to pull from a stack of organized cassettes lined up against a wall. Everything is done by paperwork. You follow a code of honour when you rent from Frank. And after you meet him, I doubt you'll ever consider breaking it.

Movies stores, like independent book stores, aren't easy to manage these days. If you live in the area, I encourage you to drop in and stay a while.

Native Plants for your Garden

“Be the change you wish to see in the world.” -Mahatma Gandhi

I'm really not one for proselytizing although I can see that using a quote by Gandhi might suggest otherwise. I do however like to encourage people to realize the change in the world that they can effect. Planting a garden (or volunteering at someone else's) is one of the simplest ways to do just that. Evergreen (a charity that focuses on the themes of nature, culture and community in an urban environment) has an extensive database of native plants that you can search through according to your ecoregion. Planting a garden with exclusively native plants encourages what is known as ecological restoration - the slow process of returning an area to a self-sustaining state. This inturn fosters a natural habitat for local birds, mammal, butterfly, and insects.

Like many invasive fish species that enter into a lake and destory a native population that had previously thrived in the local conditions, invasive plants cause similiar destruction in a different environment. They spread quickly and overtake and strangle out natural plant communities. That Purple Loosestrife (often called Beautiful Killer that you see along highways is an example of an alien weed that has wreaked havoc in both rural and urban habitats. If you have purple loosestrife somewhere on your property, please refer to this website to see what you can do about it.

Similiar to the idea of the 100 mile diet (eating food produced within a 100 square miles of where you live), planting native gardens is about returning to the local, establishing balance in our ecosystems by supporting the biodiversity of our environment by using natural plants (the plants that are the most capable of thriving in our soil types, etc, just like asparagus from 20 miles away tastes better than that harvested from 2,000 miles away and transported here).

If you don't have a garden to tend (and I know how hard those early morning spring days are without dirt to dig around in), then google "community gardens" and your city. They almost always have a call out for volunteers.