Doncha just love

how I glossed over my protracted absence there?

I can't quit you, Baltimore.

Having recently posted after an excruciating absence, I felt the need to scroll back through my previous posts to see exactly what I had said about our NC-BBQ adventure. As it turns out, I've said next to nothing, as I appear to be hung up on Baltimore.

That will clearly come as no surprise to those who know me.

In fact, I'm wondering if a short fall vacation to Baltimore might not be exactly what I need--but I digress.

I have basically repeated my love of Faidley's ad infinitum, and I think that cat, if you will, has been skinned as many ways as it can be.

I promise that my next post will be categorically below the Mason-Dixon line (as opposed to just straddling it).

A clue....

I've been vanished for a long while, and I know my legions of fans have been chomping at the bit to find out what gives. Well, I was just ordinary busy for a while, but then I left on an adventure. This photo is a clue to keep you tantalized.

Is it working?

Three sprouts already!!!

Two teeny sprouts. In fact, here. Wait:











Mustard greens! I'll make sarsoon ka saag!!!!

I have no idea what else to do with them, but you can bet I'll figure something out.

Garden, garden, garden, garden, garden!

I've got a garden! One plot. Maybe two!!!!

Breathe.

I fell in love with my first community garden plot in Montreal, which I had for three more or less successful years. Montreal's community garden system is outstanding. It's run municipally, so there is a centralized database of all of the gardens that indicates whether or not there are plots available. If the garden nearest you is full, you can put your name on a list or sign up for the next most suitable garden. I lucked out and got a spot right across the street from my house.

Fast forward to Quebec City. The first year, I couldn't even find a garden. I did by the second year, and had an even less successful garden (yes, the season really is that much shorter in QC). It was still fun, and while I didn't successfully grow more than a dozen beefsteaks (what was I thinking?) I did have a bumper crop of cherry tomatoes that (picked while green, since I was moving to Toronto) managed to gradually ripen and inspire me to make neverending batches of cherry tomato risotto.

Skip a year. Finally find this plot. Looks good, just off the Don Valley, could conceivably make a nice extra-long bike ride home with a little garden-time in between. Would I get a plot?

(The suspense was killing me.)

Yes, I've got a plot. Maybe two. I might not need two. We'll see. I couldn't exactly check out the garden, seeing as how there are still several feet of snow on the ground and the low-hanging skies were spitting a nasty spray of rain and freezing rain down on my face, but it looks amazing. It's on the gentle slope running down into the valley and is gloriously exposed (perhaps even dangerously exposed, knowing me and my feckless ways with watering) to the sun. Damn, baby. I've got to get some seeds going!










Let's hear it for the East York Community Garden!!

Run, don't walk, to the nearest Minneola Tangelo

I don't even particularly like oranges. Clementines, of course. And I've come around, fiercely, to grapefruits. But that's it. So when Michael offered me a handful of 'orange' segments (and the orange was an oddly deep reddish hue), I only took them to be polite.

But damn, baby. As the University of Florida IFAS extension says, "The fruit is quite handsome and a genuine pleasure to eat." And they're right.

I mean, when was the last time you ran to the internet to look up a fruit by its label number?

Minneola Tangelo. It tastes even better than it sounds.

Isn't she a shiny pretty little thing?

I haven't cooked anything in days, unless you count toasting a Fairmount bagel, adding Liberté cream cheese and smoked salmon. Yes, I've been eating in Montreal and, while the cancellation of the Symphonie Portuaire (Port Symphony) did bring a tear to my eye, I think the food made up for it.

My freezer is full of Bombay Mahal.

I have a brand new 7-Q stand mixer to play with. Life is good.

What's up with juniper berries?

My posting just got swallowed up, but what I wanted to say was what's up with juniper berries?

I had never heard of them prior to last week, when they suddenly seemed to be popping up in every single recipe I looked at. I might have a vague memory of their appearance in my old British mystery novels, but that's my best guess.

What is up with juniper berries?

Are they the latest ingredient du jour?

Do they matter?

How's that for a birthday cake?

See, the ever-lovely Veever et all hosted a wonderful birthday evening for me, full of delights.

But the capper? The cheese cake. Note how much got et (not much). Note price tag No. 1. Note price tag No. 2. Note price tag No 3.

The topping was delicious. But we didn't try to salvage it.

(Aviva is a much better cook than this would lead one to believe, she of the cassoulets.)

Why I love Canada

Because you can go to Loblaws, entirely by accident, and say to the cashier, "Why isn't the old fort on sale?" and she won't be fazed for a second.

(To any non-Canadian readers: Old Cheddar is called Cheddar Fort in French, and all of our labelling is necessarily bilingual, so label seems to read, "Cheddar Old Fort.)

Oh, those crazy kids at the TTC

So you want an example? Try this on for size. Enter Bathurst Station. Try to go East, like you were trying to get to my place. Look around. See this sign. This sign appears to be telling you to go left. If you go left, it says, you'll find handicapped access, an elevator and the subway.

Now, since it says "Eastbound trains only", you might think that the only way to get to Eastbound trains would be that way. Of course, that's not exactly what the sign says, but since it almost entirely blocks the sign that indicates that to access platform 1 and Eastbound trains (not that anyone knows what platform 1 is), you should go up and to your right (in fact, it is a staircase leading down), you would be forgiven for perhaps assuming that the TTC doesn't know how to write and think that they meant to say "This is the only way to access Eastbound trains."

Of course, maybe they thought it would be a good idea to send every able-bodied person trying to head East from Bathurst station to try to cram into a teeny elevator that only goes down one level at a time. Maybe that was exactly what they intended.

That's one example.

Or how about this? TTC riders coming down the stairs at Bathurst, looking for the Westbound trains, will see a very clear sign that reads Eastbound trains, which entirely blocks the backlit sign behind it that tells you how to go West young man.

Sigh.

I love the TTC.

Proud to be a transit geek

Today I had the honour and the privilege of attending Joe Clark's TTC Type & Tile Tour, a whirlwind of the good and the bad (and the very, very bad) TTC signage in use (and misuse) at stations along the Bloor-Danforth line.

About fifty people turned up to spend the afternoon following Joe around and assiduously obeying TTC Bylaw number 1. We travelled from Victoria Park to Bathurst and were subjected to the very worst of the TTC's mistakes.

I love the TTC. I hate the TTC.

I Love to Vote

Jeez, but do I ever love to vote. And to make things even better, in post-vote euphoria, tears streaming down my face, I got to stand in the rain and listen to some crazy traditional Greek music blasting out of what I believe is Dmitri the handyman's bachelor apartment.

I will make a chicken curry tonight, and definitely forget to photograph it. (I have a whole new theory, but I'll save that for another time.)