Carolime Time

I met with a group of producers, actors and a cinematographer tonight for a project we’re working on together. We’ve all got high hopes for it as it’s already been noticed by a huge Canadian network. After getting through the business talk of what role each of us would have and production days, we all sat back for some chit chat on a more social level. As a side note, I always leave these scenarios feeling really insecure and unsure of how I present myself on a personal level — maybe it’s because their opinions matter to me, as much as my co-workers’  opinions matter to me in a media setting (as I mentioned in a previous article On Panics in the Workplace)..Though this meeting featured no entertaining panic attacks. LOL.

Anyway, one of the writers, who is also a cinematographer, was sitting beside me. I engaged him in a lengthy discussion on everything from feature film-making to documentary film-making (as you know this is the industry in which I work on a more regular basis) and acting. For his bread and butter (and what sweet, filling bread and butter it must be!), he works as the man behind the camera in those spaces we all dread and yearn for — the casting room. So he sees all the inner workings of  casting directors at auditions and, often, the director, writer, producer and their moms. This guy works for one of the top casting ladies in Toronto and I had some questions to ask him about what goes on behind the scene. Some of you might already know the answers to these things, but I thought I’d share some wisdom for the audition room: Read the rest of this entry »

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God, I miss writing for the love of it. I never make the time these days, not even to write to myself. And when I do write to myself, they’re mangled indulgences text messaged to myself, often observations, regularly my internal conflicts. I am not emotionally nor mentally numbed, no, but I channel it… Read the rest of this entry »

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Oh those 905ers. You’ve heard of them, you might know a few, you might have actually been one at some point…and they’re talked about far more than you notice. The term 905er has planted itself firmly in Toronto’s slang and in-the-cool jargon, especially in the  downtown core. But what exactly is a 905er and why is the term not exactly an acceptable one, and therefore not one to be associated with?

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As some of you may’ve heard, I was interviewed by Dan Delmar Friday night on CJAD radio, in Montreal. I love the guy, we go way back to j-school days at Concordia University, studying journalism. I mean, we are very different from each other in many ways but I think ultimately we share a strong friendship. Read the rest of this entry »

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For some reason, these tender nerves somehow stand on end even when there’s nothing to lose, nor fear.

I found myself cowering over my lunch bag, transported back to my highschool years, hoping that two and a half minute microwave nuke would never come to an end so that I may never face the pending question. Where would I sit? What would be a smooth segue into comfortable silence? Yes, it happens, even to me, social butterfly extraordinaire. Read the rest of this entry »

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There are parts of Dubai that have been left to the hands of suspended disbelief, a figure of development, capitalism, juxtaposed against a backdrop of browns, greys, and unending streams of men with the glaze of hard work on their faces. Read the rest of this entry »

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I have a dirty little secret to share. It’s a little embarrassing, because it makes me sound stuck up.
I have developed a horrid
attachment to GOOD FOOD!!! I think I come off like a sheikha, and my significant other always shakes his head at me because of the way I make choosing a restaurant or eating a meal SUCH a big decision. But there are reasons for this, I tell ya!

I have learned that eating, and satisfying a hunger or craving, can make or break your day. I know, I know, there are people starving out there who can’t afford a meal, and that’s why I used to make a habit of visiting for-profit charity corporations such as The Hunger Site on a daily basis (not as regularly these days, sad to say).

That being said, it has not stopped me from perusing restaurants and getting finicky about the specifics. I am still up for a good meal at the local hole in the wall (I leave my critic’s hat at the door, hanging loosely from a charming old rickety coat hanger). The only reason I have the god-given right to judge is because I spend my own and other people’s savings on these restaurants. They are not cheap! In fact, even when I was making next-to-nothing at my previous job, my friends-in-law (not through marriage, rather those friends with wallets funded by the law) would gawk. Yes, the key to fine dining is to find cheap rent and live on the edges of the core.

My point is, there is some delicious food out there. And you’re paying not just for the food, but for the experience. The components of a good meal can come right down to the bathroom.

We went to a lovely place tonight, and I don’t think I want to name it because it ended on a sour note. It shares more than just its dark furnishings and location with the likes of restaurants like Ki, while going beyond face value and reputation with a confident and actually reliable menu.

The Food

I say that because each and every one of us (8 ppl) was floored by our meals.

Starters of crab cakes, tuna tartare, quail rolled in bacon..all displayed impeccably, divided for sharing. This was convenient, clean, and all very special for a night out.

For mains? The cod fell to pieces more willingly than that which I had on the West Coast, at Rock Cod Cafe in Cowichan Bay. Is it possible that this Toronto restaurant could serve me something fresher than something I ate with a view of the water?? (And let me say, Rock Cod Cafe was some good waterfront cookin’).

Not only that, but my rack of lamb was so tender, I actually felt like we were alone in the room for the first few minutes of my meal. Everything around me just turned into background noise. I had it medium and it was served with sauteed spinach.

Even the simple tomato mayo was remarkable.  One of the chefs we had the pleasure of dining with tonight said that it’s simply a mix of ketchup and mayo. You learn something new everyday! I even wanted to stick some of my leftover Yukon Gold fries in my purse. I might’ve, by mistake, of course. 

The Wine

We decided not to order wine to match our meals tonight, as we noticed the restaurant offered a wine we had once in 2007 and haven’t seen anywhere else since. That wine is Charles Baker Reisling, 2006. I look for it on every wine list, and my lover and I once spent an afternoon considering buying a case of it from its Niagara vineyards. But we’re not really that badass. Anyway, I suggest that wine to anyone searching for a sweet white for sipping. Apparently it is high in ‘residual sugars’ which explains my affinity to it– I typically nurse colourful cocktails and sugary so-called ‘girly’ drinks. But my beer-guzzling lover also loves the Charles Baker, so there must be somethin’  to it

The Service

Consistent, friendly, actually charming..he described the special so amiably that he reminded me of a small town radio broadcaster. I had a passing crush on him and liked it when he helped me put on my coat. He laughed with us, joked with us, and walked away at the right time. He might’ve topped off my glass a little bit more than I’d have liked, but he probably just did it for the sake of having something to do. The restaurant was not packed, for no reason besides our own late reservation.

The Flaw

Gosh…everything else was so good that I don’t even want to talk about the flaw. Sigh. I shouldn’t have gotten started.  But alas, I must continue.

We were celebrating G’s birthday, and her sister brought a cake along. It was a delicious little thing, made with a ‘lemon curd’ as she put it. She works with pastries at a Toronto bakery. Oh, by the way, our table was home to three people in the restaurant industry– three chefs with some interesting stories and takes on Toronto restaurant movers and shakers. As for myself, though it’s not my forte, I am currently the editorial assistant to the restaurants editor at a website that tends to get around, if you know what I mean! I don’t really have any pull, but I hear bits and pieces.

Anyways, it was strange…when we finished our meals, killed our desserts, and licked our spoons of cappuccino foam…lo and behold, the bills each had a $4 surcharge, for each person. That meant $36 in total (we had a 9th join after dinner)…for what, you ask? For the cake that was cut and placed on our plate. Yeah! Go figure! I mean, I’ve had some good, expensive cake and pricey, not-so-good cake, and it can be anywhere from $4 per piece to $15..but I’ve never had someone charge me to place a piece of cake on my plate? Apparently the cutting of the cake amounted to more than the wholesale cost of the cake itself.

Sure, the raspberry almost-coulis and one or two blackberries and blueberries arranged next to the dessert was great but..please, don’t flatter yourself, my dear chef! It was really the cake that we came for, not the restaurant’s added frills.. and anything else should’ve been complimentary. It wasn’t really the price that threw us off. It was just the idea of charging for such a simple thing. Yeah so that was something to get annoyed at.

But all in all, if you’ve not Google’d all the items on the menu that I’ve mentioned, I’d be happy to share the restaurant name with curious readers. It really was a good night, I’m just being cranky and looking for an excuse to relive the things I eat.

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a thousand words, they say, will keep the crazies at bay..

The world is celebrating the New Year, 2009, bringing it in with a bit of subdued joy. The past year has been tumultuous. I’ve come across a poem, and heard a sonnet, both referring to the different economic scandals and political big whigs that have graced our headlines. A lot of people I know are staying in, avoiding the extreme cold alert on Toronto’s streets. Others are visiting the always dependendable, immovable Nathan Phillips Square. One group of girlfriends are organizing a candlelight vigil at the Israeli consulate on Bloor against the current bloodshed in Gaza at the hands of the Israeli army. It will take place between 11:50pm and 12:15am..

I must say that I was pleased to read that so many Arab countries are coming together in support of the current Palestinian situation, which is getting more dire by the day. I didn’t expect it, to be honest.

I never know what to do on December 31st. Frankly, I feel completely neutral and indifferent to the day. Moreso than any other day of the year. It’s literally a day in limbo. I can’t get anything done cause everyone’s off and I can’t go too crazy cause I just don’t see the point. I really, really don’t. :)..Let me figure out, now, how I’ve spent my past few NYEs

2007-2008-> Goa, dancefloor

2006-2007->selling these light up toys at nathan phillips square, then running around trying to take photos at different events and make some $$..ended up stuck in the rain, in a storm..with an old friend..wishing e/other happy New year..hah..then onwards to play some pool and drink…that was probably the best one

2005-2006-> dance floor, Goa, with my parents

2004-2005->in a car, on the corner of queen and bay in toronto..by myself..i was in mourning, as my aunt passed away just a few days prior

2003-2004->this was my first year of university, i had an NYE party at my family’s old, empty and unfurnished house in Scarborough.. definitely memorable, for more reasons than one..

2002-2003->i believe i drove around Toronto with my cousin, ran down church street and pranced around with randoms all night..fell down the stairs of the Westin Harbour Castle..flirted

2001-2002->i went to a GOA dance with my best friend and whatnot

2000-2001->some dance with the parents

and the rest was family events that i can’t recall..after a while, the years blur and fade into one collective past..

I can’t say much for 2008. I learned a lot, on an individual level. I think I attained that confidence I was searching for, somehow, much to the disdain of my bank account. I didn’t think I’d ever have to pay to work. But I did. I learned a lot about how the corporate world works, the steely, well-oiled machine of man. And I learned there’s very little to lose. I had this fear, before, that the world is bigger than it is, and tougher than it is. I put aside many of my interests, picking and choosing the most important. But I realized that wasn’t necessarily the right way. Finally, I’ve gathered the experience as well as the B/S that one needs to get through this sometimes horrid affair of life. Oh, and in the last days of 2008, I laid my eggs in a basket that slips neatly into a cool, safe place. I feel pretty good right now, to be honest. Better than I’ve felt over the past two months of this year.

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We went on a little bit of a Sunday adventure today. I introduced a dear friend to the Distillery section of Toronto, and came across a Scotsman along the way. This friend is a bit anti-social and I like to surprise him with all the little tidbits of the city he hasn’t been exposed to. I like taking part in someone else’s discovery, and I especially enjoy watching his expressions of delight when happening upon something new. Luckily, the weather was friendly to us and our whole day was blessed with that crisp autumn air that I favour so.

We met at the corner of Yonge and College and hailed a cab. I sorta jumped out of this particular cab’s way as it came damn near careening in my direction. I do think it was speeding, and the whole ride sorta sped past us in a haze. Honestly, I’ve grown used to talking to Toronto cab drivers and homeless people and all those other ‘characters’ you meet in a city, on a bus or at a bar. You know the ones I’m talking about, with the painful and similarly curious stories you carry around with you the rest of the day and reference when you think of every indigenous native’s plight and every new immigrant’s struggle. I know; we all have our stories.

Anyway, this cab driver was a wrinkled, rosy-faced Scotsman. In fact, he referred to himself as ‘The Scotsman’ on his business card, which matched the red tweed print of his hat. I don’t know how he managed it, but he finagled a conversation out of me! (ha ha?) He started telling me how he quit drinking 30years before, and I found myself sympathizing with him, throwing in my own family associations with alcoholism. At the same time, I wondered why he’d confide in me so easily.

He was quite the talker, and moved into less personal talk. One story just led to another, and eventually he was telling me about his marvelous life as a confectioner of chocolates, and how he spent his youth going dancing and wooing the ladies with his chocolate-making skills. I really did feel like I was sitting at my grandfather’s knees, pushing him to tell me more. And I imagined this Scotsman from Glasgow, spinning young lasses in frocks around a dance floor, plucking his suspenders as he flirted with them and boasted of the different éclairs he could make with fresh cream. Yes, I did ask him if he regularly had fresh Devon cream with hot scones and jam!!! (I’ve never tried this and really want to) Apparently, in apology for a drunken spat at the fish and chips shop following a night of intoxicated Glasgow partying, he once traded a pound of chocolates for five pieces of fish from the lady of the shop. It was apparently the source of laughter for all his friends. Yes, before I knew it, we’d arrived at 55 Mill St. and the bricked pathways of the Distillery. It was at this point that he slipped us the business cards and I tucked it away in the safest place I could find in my wallet. Next time I’m lonely, I want to go for a drive with the Scotsman. We hopped out of the cab and my friend just shook his head at me, ‘cause of course, I’m a sucker for storytellers and characters.

For those of you who haven’t been to the Distillery Historic District, it’s an enclosed area just south of Front St. and east of Parliament, in Toronto. It is known as the Distillery District because of the grand Gooderham and Worts whiskey distillery and mill that once contributed hugely to Canadian industry. A couple of years ago, this was my favorite area of Toronto. It is great for tourists and taking friends for a short history lesson and stroll through a less-accessible side of Toronto. Less accessible only because it’s not on the subway line and not near many regularly visited sights. I’ve always liked the late Victorian-era architecture and small laneways. The Distillery is never too busy (unless you’re heading there for Nuit Blanche), and very accommodating to the common spendthrift. I can’t promise much activity, though. There are a number of theatres, including the ever-active Soulpepper Theatre and Young Centre For the Performing Arts. Cute cafes, restaurants and shops pour onto the pathways. The reason for my visit on this day? The Boiler House Restaurant! A review of this restaurant is to follow:)

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The trains are each arriving,
one by one, they part ways with my eyes,
we drag them along not looking too far,
I wait for the smoke and I watch for the grind,
I expect a stop and sudden halt,
I wonder who it is this time
and if they’ll write about it in the news,
but they never really do,
so I’ll make faces at those who pass
and never know where they’ll arrive,
I brush shoulders with zombies
and it’s a circle of retreat,
they each come back
to be consumed by time
and make the same rounds.
An officer dives and I realize
the rest of us have survived,
while he’s watched our demise,
day by day he stands there,
pushing us along,
sometimes jamming us in so tight
that we can smell each others breakfast,
other times muttering things over airwaves,
knowing none of us listen, sure that none of us can hear,
they could tell me I’m going to come back to life
if I leave
and I wouldn’t bat an ear.
are you singing us your death song, sir?
what’s that you said? i didn’t quite hear
We each crunch pages
and grunt at the slightest touch,
narrowed looks of disdain
mark our way,
don’t stop walking, don’t stop walking,
if you dare I’ll shake my head and drop a groan.
I’m walking too close to the edge of the tracks,
I wonder if today I’ll fall
and if so, who’s going to take the blame,
there are too many people.
So I stand as close as possible and think,
maybe today’s the day,
but once again that swift breeze comes
and catches me offguard, so that my fair hair
brushes my face
and my eyes close,
till the doors open
and I’ve entered the world.

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