Cancer. We’re all acquainted with it.
A monster of a disease that captures its victims, weakens them, sometimes beyond recognition, and often kills them. We’ve all loved people who have died and people who have survived this illness. Perhaps that’s why the Ride to Conquer Cancer benefiting Princess Margaret Hospital holds such power over us. Signs for it are pervasive. People who don’t normally bike to the corner store challenge themselves to do it and I’m sure you’ve donated to it at least once. I know I have on multiple occasions.
I’ve worn pins, bought plants and signed pledge forms. Half a dozen of my friends have participated in the ride. I give spare change to strangers fundraising on the street and I’ve written articles about survivors in my community newspaper who have trained for it. But nobody has moved me with their efforts as much as my friend Christina.
Christina did the Ride to Conquer Cancer for the first time last year. She was biking in memory of her childhood best friend who had died of cancer in 2008. Four days before the ride started, she was diagnosed with cancer herself and this two day journey took on a whole new meaning. Despite the shock of her diagnosis, she participated in the ride and finished feeling strong.
A couple of months later she was admitted to the hospital for kidney cancer. After her surgery she was told that the cancer had spread, which made multiple incisions on her side necessary. It was an emotional time, but she didn’t let it hinder her spirit. She dealt with the disease with an immense amount of determination and grace. Inspired doesn’t even come close to describing how she made me feel when I visited her in the hospital. Humbled by her strength would be more accurate.
This year Christina will be participating in all four Rides to Conquer Cancer across Canada. Less than a year after her own surgery she will be travelling the nation to ride alongside other cancer survivors and supporters. Starting in Ontario on June 9th, continuing in British Columbia June 16th, Alberta on June 23rd and finishing up in Quebec on July 7th, she’s personally matching every donation given to her dollar for dollar.
Again, the feeling of being humbled comes over me. Not only because of Christina’s strength in participating in all four rides, but because of her generosity. She’s faced this monstrous disease through the loss of a friend and through personal illness. Instead of succumbing to loss and sadness she’s climbed on her bike and roared in its face. Compared to her might cancer looks more mouselike than monstrous.
When she was in the hospital recovering from surgery I gave her a necklace with a wishbone charm on it in hopes that it would bring her luck during a difficult time. I was afraid of what the doctors might say after her surgery. I dreaded hearing a bad prognosis; I didn’t want to lose my friend. I felt powerless, so I relied on this symbol of luck and good fortune to carry us both through. In the end she didn’t really need it. Her own power carried her through the worst of the worst, but she still wears this charm as a symbol of friendship.
I’m not talented on a bike, so I can’t ride beside her. I’ve never had cancer, so I’ll never fully understand her, but I can write down all my well-wishes and hope for all of the luck in the world to follow her in the Ride to Conquer Cancer 2012. If you’re participating in this year’s ride take a moment and look around you. You might see Christina riding up ahead, or maybe by your side. I hope seeing her inspires you like she’s inspired me, and you pedal faster, harder and never give up. I hope you take the challenge further next year by doing more than one ride or by raising more than the required funds. If you’re not participating in the ride, but you have cancer, I hope her story moves you to not give up hope and makes every day you fight through become easier. If you’re not participating in the ride and you don’t have cancer, but you do have the ability to give, I hope Christina’s story inspires you to donate to the next person who asks for your help in raising money for the cause.
When I first heard about her diagnosis I thought hope was all we had. People would ask me how she was doing and then follow up with “I hope she pulls through”, “I hope she’s okay” and “I hope you’ll be alright”. We all may be hoping for someone in our lives to make it through this disease, but I want to assure you we have a survivor on our side who’s proving one ride at a time that there isn’t just hope; there’s life. She’s riding and raising money because she wants, maybe more than anyone, to actually conquer cancer for good.
Friday, June 8, 2012
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
Alleycatz, Cool in all the Wrong Ways – A Review
For me Winterlicious is a special time. It’s a time for me to build my repertoire of recommendations for personal and professional use. I work in an office that does events and we’re always looking for new places to host dinners. The more places I try, the more heartfelt recommendations I can make to clients and friends alike.
Last night I tried Alleycatz for the first time. I went not only for Winterlicious, but also for a friend’s birthday and to familiarize myself with an establishment in my neighbourhood. All things considered, I was excited for the evening and had high hopes. Those hopes didn’t stay high for long though, as the evening went on my issues with Alleycatz grew and grew.
Right away the service was mediocre. I didn’t feel like the waitress cared about our needs or how well she was doing her job. Good service, to me, is as important as the food. If you’re receiving bad service it throws everything off kilter because you’re focusing on mistakes and poor attitude, instead of the food and atmosphere. Maybe if the waitress had done a better job I wouldn’t have noticed how awful the food was.
As a starter I got the shrimp. They were just as mediocre as the service. They were small and weren’t especially falvourful and were served to us at a tepid temperature. Tepid became the theme of the evening as our mains quickly followed.
Half of my table got the stuffed chicken breast and the other half the braised beef short ribs. The half that got the chicken said most of their meal was cold or barely warm. They said the flavour was fine, but the fact it was cold really diminished any good impressions they got from the taste. I ordered the short ribs and was also disappointed. My beef was barely warm and most of it was fatty and gristly. It came with vegetables and mashed sweet potatoes. Most of the vegetables were cold and felt barely cooked at all. Constant attempts were made by my partner to get the waitress to bring us some salt and pepper. The beef was so bland that it needed to be drowned in salt and pepper to make it edible. The waitress never did come and my partner had to get up and fish the seasonings out of the waiters’ kiosk. I rarely add salt to my food, but even I was hogging the shaker in an attempt to save this meal. On a number of occasions I considered calling the waitress over and telling her that I couldn’t manage another mouthful and I’d be leaving without paying, but I didn’t want to spoil a friend’s birthday dinner. If I had gone with a smaller group I would have sent all the food back and left.
For dessert I ordered the fresh berry parfait, which was only tasty because of its simplicity. Berries and cream is pretty hard to ruin, even for the lamest of kitchens.
After all was eaten and paid for I was completely dejected. I had been the one to suggest we try this establishment and I felt ashamed for coming to a place with no taste. There was only one thing that went well and that was the live music. The jazz band they had was superb. Carlos, the lead singer, sounded like a mixture of Matt Dusk and Michael Bublé.
If I ever return to Alleycatz it will be to sit at the bar and enjoy the music. The food was disappointingly cool, but the music was hot.
Last night I tried Alleycatz for the first time. I went not only for Winterlicious, but also for a friend’s birthday and to familiarize myself with an establishment in my neighbourhood. All things considered, I was excited for the evening and had high hopes. Those hopes didn’t stay high for long though, as the evening went on my issues with Alleycatz grew and grew.
Right away the service was mediocre. I didn’t feel like the waitress cared about our needs or how well she was doing her job. Good service, to me, is as important as the food. If you’re receiving bad service it throws everything off kilter because you’re focusing on mistakes and poor attitude, instead of the food and atmosphere. Maybe if the waitress had done a better job I wouldn’t have noticed how awful the food was.
As a starter I got the shrimp. They were just as mediocre as the service. They were small and weren’t especially falvourful and were served to us at a tepid temperature. Tepid became the theme of the evening as our mains quickly followed.
Half of my table got the stuffed chicken breast and the other half the braised beef short ribs. The half that got the chicken said most of their meal was cold or barely warm. They said the flavour was fine, but the fact it was cold really diminished any good impressions they got from the taste. I ordered the short ribs and was also disappointed. My beef was barely warm and most of it was fatty and gristly. It came with vegetables and mashed sweet potatoes. Most of the vegetables were cold and felt barely cooked at all. Constant attempts were made by my partner to get the waitress to bring us some salt and pepper. The beef was so bland that it needed to be drowned in salt and pepper to make it edible. The waitress never did come and my partner had to get up and fish the seasonings out of the waiters’ kiosk. I rarely add salt to my food, but even I was hogging the shaker in an attempt to save this meal. On a number of occasions I considered calling the waitress over and telling her that I couldn’t manage another mouthful and I’d be leaving without paying, but I didn’t want to spoil a friend’s birthday dinner. If I had gone with a smaller group I would have sent all the food back and left.
For dessert I ordered the fresh berry parfait, which was only tasty because of its simplicity. Berries and cream is pretty hard to ruin, even for the lamest of kitchens.
After all was eaten and paid for I was completely dejected. I had been the one to suggest we try this establishment and I felt ashamed for coming to a place with no taste. There was only one thing that went well and that was the live music. The jazz band they had was superb. Carlos, the lead singer, sounded like a mixture of Matt Dusk and Michael Bublé.
If I ever return to Alleycatz it will be to sit at the bar and enjoy the music. The food was disappointingly cool, but the music was hot.
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
Thank you letter to Canoe
Dear Canoe,
Thank you for the lovely meal I had last week for Winterlicious. It was my first time eating in your establishment and I was very excited, and apprehensive, all at the same time. I'd been warned by many a friend and colleague not to expect much from you. People told me that the service would be mediocre and the portions would be small. They said that because it was Winterlicious you weren't going to treat me as well as you might a regular customer. But all of that turned out to be false! From the moment I walked in you were nothing but hospitable and gracious.
As a starter I had your Chilled Slow Cooked Heritage Salmon and may I just say, “bravo”. All salmon should be cooked that way. There’s nothing more offensive to my mouth than overcooked salmon, except perhaps overcooked beef. It came with a Radish Emulsion and Maple Sherry Reduction. I’d never thought of pairing radish with salmon, but it really works well together and I plan on incorporating that duo in my home cooked meals in the future.
For the main, my whole table got your Duo of Ontario Beef. Our conversation slowed to a halt when we started eating that beef. Everyone agreed that it was beyond fantastic and we all had to remind each other to slow down and make it last. Everyone also agreed that Molasses Glazed Carrots were marvelous and there were much exclaims of “why haven’t I had this before!”. I’m not normally a fan of creamy mashed potatoes. I prefer my spuds with texture, but you managed to pull off creamy potatoes without making me feel like I was eating glue. I’m not sure how you did that, but I’d love to know your secret.
I was the only one at my table who didn’t get the Birch Syrup Cake. I chose the Niagara Pear Panna Cotta instead. My friends adored the cake. Mouthfuls were followed with comments like “I’d come back just for dessert!”. I thought I might have chosen the wrong dessert until I had my fist taste of the panna cotta. Divine! When the waiters came back to the table to clear the dessert plates they asked me what I thought and I said, in all honesty, “that was like angel filled clouds dancing across my tongue.” They laughed and said “that’s good. We’ll tell Chef. He will like that one.” and I really hope they did.
Our main server, Brendan, was perfect. He was attentive without being overbearing and he made us feel at ease. I appreciated his sense of humour and his obvious talent for hospitality. When we left he shook all of our hands and said he hoped to see us again soon. That’s always a nice thing to hear. When it came to paying our bill, Brendan made up a copy for the table and then a bill for each individual so we could decide how we wanted to pay, without any prompting to do so. When he did that, I think I fell in love with Canoe. Every restaurant should adopt that billing process! It’s considerate and practical and I really appreciated it.
When we left, each of us received a packet of house-blended spices and a recipe to use it with salmon. It probably didn’t cost you much to do that, but I found it really touching. No other restaurant has done that for me before and I congratulate whoever thought it up. I get to take home a little bit of my Canoe experience with me because of it and that makes me feel special.
So thank you, Canoe, for all the great service and the wonderful meal. I won’t forget it and I hope to see you again soon.
Best regards,
Amanda
Thank you for the lovely meal I had last week for Winterlicious. It was my first time eating in your establishment and I was very excited, and apprehensive, all at the same time. I'd been warned by many a friend and colleague not to expect much from you. People told me that the service would be mediocre and the portions would be small. They said that because it was Winterlicious you weren't going to treat me as well as you might a regular customer. But all of that turned out to be false! From the moment I walked in you were nothing but hospitable and gracious.
As a starter I had your Chilled Slow Cooked Heritage Salmon and may I just say, “bravo”. All salmon should be cooked that way. There’s nothing more offensive to my mouth than overcooked salmon, except perhaps overcooked beef. It came with a Radish Emulsion and Maple Sherry Reduction. I’d never thought of pairing radish with salmon, but it really works well together and I plan on incorporating that duo in my home cooked meals in the future.
For the main, my whole table got your Duo of Ontario Beef. Our conversation slowed to a halt when we started eating that beef. Everyone agreed that it was beyond fantastic and we all had to remind each other to slow down and make it last. Everyone also agreed that Molasses Glazed Carrots were marvelous and there were much exclaims of “why haven’t I had this before!”. I’m not normally a fan of creamy mashed potatoes. I prefer my spuds with texture, but you managed to pull off creamy potatoes without making me feel like I was eating glue. I’m not sure how you did that, but I’d love to know your secret.
I was the only one at my table who didn’t get the Birch Syrup Cake. I chose the Niagara Pear Panna Cotta instead. My friends adored the cake. Mouthfuls were followed with comments like “I’d come back just for dessert!”. I thought I might have chosen the wrong dessert until I had my fist taste of the panna cotta. Divine! When the waiters came back to the table to clear the dessert plates they asked me what I thought and I said, in all honesty, “that was like angel filled clouds dancing across my tongue.” They laughed and said “that’s good. We’ll tell Chef. He will like that one.” and I really hope they did.
Our main server, Brendan, was perfect. He was attentive without being overbearing and he made us feel at ease. I appreciated his sense of humour and his obvious talent for hospitality. When we left he shook all of our hands and said he hoped to see us again soon. That’s always a nice thing to hear. When it came to paying our bill, Brendan made up a copy for the table and then a bill for each individual so we could decide how we wanted to pay, without any prompting to do so. When he did that, I think I fell in love with Canoe. Every restaurant should adopt that billing process! It’s considerate and practical and I really appreciated it.
When we left, each of us received a packet of house-blended spices and a recipe to use it with salmon. It probably didn’t cost you much to do that, but I found it really touching. No other restaurant has done that for me before and I congratulate whoever thought it up. I get to take home a little bit of my Canoe experience with me because of it and that makes me feel special.
So thank you, Canoe, for all the great service and the wonderful meal. I won’t forget it and I hope to see you again soon.
Best regards,
Amanda
Monday, January 2, 2012
A Singular Sequin, Raindrops & Ripped Nylons on a New Year’s Day
There is a singular teal sequin lying on the floor of my front hall and it’s not mine.
I didn’t wear teal or sequins last night, I wore red and black, my two favourite colours, to ring in the New Year. Last night was New Years Eve and it’s now 2012.
I’m hung over and puzzled by this lone sequin. How did it make its way here to my front hall floor?
Last night began at a friend’s pre-New Year’s Eve party. We drank, we ate Mini Pogos and candy, we sang songs from the 90’s and talked about our New Year’s resolutions. Everyone wants to lose weight, be happier, I want to start flossing my teeth daily even though I hate it. I also want to learn to play chess.
From there we walked a cold block to the People’s Chicken. Do not let the name or the giant chicken on the roof fool you, this is no plucky restaurant, it’s a swinging cougar bar where they always have a great live band. We drank, we danced and got hit on. A cougar named Carrie was particularly persistent when it came to my boyfriend and other guy pal. She complimented their hair, mentioning that most of the men at the bar didn’t have any, and told us she was there with her writing club. I slipped up to the bar with my friends and got a drink as boyfriend danced with Carrie and her writing club ladies. She took his picture on her cell and I wondered whether she’d write a story about him, like I’m writing a story about her now.
After the song was done, my boyfriend came back to me at the bar and gave me a kiss; Carrie didn’t follow. It’s just as well, I have his kisses and she has his picture.
One more hour till midnight and the fun was just beginning.
It’s 11:00pm and my friend gets sick. He’s very delicate about it though, and I respect him for that. He leans gently over an empty beer glass and throws up in it. No one notices and all his mess is contained in the glass. I’m disgusted, yet completely transfixed! I’m starting to wonder if I’ve had too much to drink. My sick, but still tidy, friend is escorted home by his girlfriend and I remain with my party to toast the New Year.
There’s the count down, the silly hats, the kissing and then I notice my boyfriend’s eyes starting to droop an indication that he might not be feeling well. He leaves for the washroom with a friend and after a time the friend comes back and tells us a bouncer has asked us to leave. “We’re getting kicked out of the cougar bar!” He’s incredulous! I might be mad if I wasn’t laughing so hard. I keep thinking “Great, we’ve kicked off 2012 by getting kicked out of a cougar bar!” It seems too funny, the year is too new and that bar is too old.
After the after party at the apartment is over and I’m at home I rip my nylons while taking them off. I might be mad if I wasn’t laughing so hard. It seems too ridiculous that I have such problems with nylons, the year is so new and I might have had too much to drink.
Now it’s New Year’s Day and I’m staring at a lonely teal sequin as the raindrops fall faster outside. My boyfriend is putting on his boots so we can go get Vietnamese down the street to cure our hangover.
I bet this sequin belongs to Carrie.
I didn’t wear teal or sequins last night, I wore red and black, my two favourite colours, to ring in the New Year. Last night was New Years Eve and it’s now 2012.
I’m hung over and puzzled by this lone sequin. How did it make its way here to my front hall floor?
Last night began at a friend’s pre-New Year’s Eve party. We drank, we ate Mini Pogos and candy, we sang songs from the 90’s and talked about our New Year’s resolutions. Everyone wants to lose weight, be happier, I want to start flossing my teeth daily even though I hate it. I also want to learn to play chess.
From there we walked a cold block to the People’s Chicken. Do not let the name or the giant chicken on the roof fool you, this is no plucky restaurant, it’s a swinging cougar bar where they always have a great live band. We drank, we danced and got hit on. A cougar named Carrie was particularly persistent when it came to my boyfriend and other guy pal. She complimented their hair, mentioning that most of the men at the bar didn’t have any, and told us she was there with her writing club. I slipped up to the bar with my friends and got a drink as boyfriend danced with Carrie and her writing club ladies. She took his picture on her cell and I wondered whether she’d write a story about him, like I’m writing a story about her now.
After the song was done, my boyfriend came back to me at the bar and gave me a kiss; Carrie didn’t follow. It’s just as well, I have his kisses and she has his picture.
One more hour till midnight and the fun was just beginning.
It’s 11:00pm and my friend gets sick. He’s very delicate about it though, and I respect him for that. He leans gently over an empty beer glass and throws up in it. No one notices and all his mess is contained in the glass. I’m disgusted, yet completely transfixed! I’m starting to wonder if I’ve had too much to drink. My sick, but still tidy, friend is escorted home by his girlfriend and I remain with my party to toast the New Year.
There’s the count down, the silly hats, the kissing and then I notice my boyfriend’s eyes starting to droop an indication that he might not be feeling well. He leaves for the washroom with a friend and after a time the friend comes back and tells us a bouncer has asked us to leave. “We’re getting kicked out of the cougar bar!” He’s incredulous! I might be mad if I wasn’t laughing so hard. I keep thinking “Great, we’ve kicked off 2012 by getting kicked out of a cougar bar!” It seems too funny, the year is too new and that bar is too old.
After the after party at the apartment is over and I’m at home I rip my nylons while taking them off. I might be mad if I wasn’t laughing so hard. It seems too ridiculous that I have such problems with nylons, the year is so new and I might have had too much to drink.
Now it’s New Year’s Day and I’m staring at a lonely teal sequin as the raindrops fall faster outside. My boyfriend is putting on his boots so we can go get Vietnamese down the street to cure our hangover.
I bet this sequin belongs to Carrie.
Friday, December 9, 2011
I’m Dreaming of a Green Christmas…
Not Literally.
I love waking up Christmas morning to a world buried deep under sparkling snow. What I mean by a Green Christmas is one that is environmentally friendly and socially conscious. Last Christmas my goal was to find gifts not made in China; a very difficult feat. This year my goal is to make greener choices while shopping for and wrapping my gifts; another difficult feat.
Here are five things I found that made my Christmas greener. I hope they make your Christmas greener as well:
1) Creative wrapping:
I really dislike all the waste associated with wrapping presents. Yes, a wrapped gift is beautiful, but it’s pretty much glorified Joy to the World covered land filler. I wanted to find a way to reduce my Christmas waste and make my presents look nice at the same time. Behold, reusable Rexall shopping bags with neat designs! They were only 67 cents a bag and people will be able to use them for their Boxing Day shopping excursions. I’ve also been inspired by my friend Jessica who wraps her gifts in newspaper. I love that she’s reusing paper and if you want to make her idea festive you can use flyers advertising Christmas specials. All of the colours of the season without all the waste.
2) Gifts made in North America:
If ever I’m stuck on what to buy someone I wait till the One of a Kind Show rolls around. It’s a craft show that has everything, from fridge magnets all the way to stunning way-to-expensive art. One of the rules vendors have to abide by is everything must be made in North America. This really appeals to my socially conscious goal because I know the people displaying their wares are the people designing and making the product. A lot their wares are environmentally friendly too and if you ask them they’ll go into detail about how their crafts are made. The One of a Kind Show is not the only craft show out there, so check out your community bulletins for a local craft show near you!
3) For the fellas who have a special lady in their life:
The holidays are rife with romance. The majority of marriage proposals happen over Christmas and nothing says Happy New Year like a sparkly ring that screams “spend the rest of your life with me.” If you’re a gent looking to wow your ladylove with gems this holiday you should try Tiffany & Co. The blue box on its own will impress, but the fact that Tiffany’s is an environmentally and socially conscious company will warm her heart even more. They use ethically sourced diamonds, refuse to sell coral, petition mines they see as unsustainable and use recycled materials in their packaging (gives the blue box a whole new meaning). Check out this Tiffany & Co. campaign for all the ways they’re leading the jewelry industry to greener pastures: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DG1bMGz9Ac8&feature=youtu.be
4) Dressing for holiday parties:
A large part of this festive season is going out and spending time with friends and family. It’s always nice to have a swanky new dress to ring in the New Year or to wow at the office party. But you know what’s even nicer? When that dress is made from renewable resources and manufactured in the Greater Toronto Area! My favourite clothes for all my holiday parties are ones I’ve found at Miik. They’re comfortable, they’re chic and they’re made in my hometown, and that makes me feel warm and fuzzy like no sweater ever could. Last New Year’s eve I wore a black Miik dress and at my family’s Christmas dinner I wore one of their shirts and a cardi. I went to their head office at Spadina and Richmond to purchase them and was able to avoid the hectic malls. It’s a personal shopping experience like I’ve never had. While I tried on clothes that an associate was picking out for me, my boyfriend was able to sit and chat with the owner of the company over refreshments. If you want a new wardrobe for the New Year, but hate lines and crowds, Miik is where it’s at: http://www.miik.ca
5)For the people who have everything:
I don’t know about you, but there’s always one person on my list that has it all. For the people who have everything, why don’t you get them the gift of giving to those who have nothing? World Vision is just one example of a charitable organization that has a gift guide for donors during this season. If you go to www.worldvision.ca/gifts you can purchase farm animals, medical supplies and school supplies for communities in need. These gifts can be donated on behalf of others and you can present them with a card letting them know that a goat is providing for a family in Somalia in their name. I’ve done charitable gifts on behalf of others before and the recipients are always touched by the thought. It’s the gift that keeps on giving and often inspires more charitable donations in the future.
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
A Review: Harry's Not So Social Kitchen
Harry's Social Kitchen is a new restaurant and bar in the Yonge and St. Clair neighbourhood.
The owners have jazzed up the interior of what was once Fionn MacCools, with swanky lighting and head bobbing tunes. It's all set up to be the perfect place to drop by with your friends and grab a cocktail or woo a companion on a date, but the menu will need some work before it will woo anyone.
I started off with the Three Cheese Angus Sliders and Grilled Apple and Brie Quesadillas as appetizers. The sliders were encased in soft brioche rolls. The Angus beef was cooked perfectly. It was moist and pink, but the flavour just wasn't there, which seemed to be a recurring theme throughout the meal. The quesadillas made up for it a bit with their interesting mix of flavours. The sweetness of the apple and creamy taste of the brie swung hand in hand with the salty bacon. The maple mustard drizzled on top kicked it into delicious mode by adding a much welcome tangy zip.
The mains arrived and I was hopeful that the enticing menu had done them justice. The New York Striploin was cooked to perfection and for you meat purists out there, you will be happy to learn that they didn't drown it in sauces or seasonings. The mashed potatoes and mixed veggies that came alongside the steak also seemed to be cooked by Goldilocks, as their texture was just right. Once again the issue of flavour came up. There was nothing remarkable about the New York Strip except for the fact that it was nicely charred outside, and exactly as rare as I asked for inside. Most places over cook or under cook, but this plate was cooked to perfection.
I also tried the Shrimp and Scallop Tagliatelle which was interesting, but not remarkable. Again, the pasta was cooked to perfection; not too firm and not too mushy. The curried coconut cream sauce was what threw me. I thought it'd be amazing, something I'd never tried before, but it left me unimpressed. It wasn't really curried or coconutty, it just tasted like slightly spicy cream sauce. Not something I'd write home about.
The desserts were what bored me the most. The Molten Lava Cake wasn’t molten at all. Calling it Chilly Lava Cake would be more accurate. The middle was undercooked and underwhelming. The Creme Brûlée was average at best. It lacked that essential creaminess which makes the dessert so addictive.
With food ranging from $7-13 for appetizers and $15-$34 for entrees it’s a bit on the high side for meals that could use more flavour.
Sorry Harry, but Sally won’t be screaming orgasmically in your Social Kitchen quite yet.
Monday, June 27, 2011
Swing to Salsa: Tripping My Way to a Good Time
I didn’t grow up during the fight for gender neutrality like the kids of today.
When I was little the majority of boys I knew played hockey, and the majority of girls took dance. My parents didn’t enroll me in dance because I was a girl and that’s what girls did. They’re not those kinds of parents. They enrolled me in dance because I loved it.
I have always loved to dance. I would spend hours twirling in front of our winter coat wardrobe with the full-length mirror on it with my mother’s silk scarves. Spinning, leaping and trying my damnedest to look like a Swan Princess or a Fairy from the Nutcracker. As I got older my interests broadened and dance took a back seat to swimming, art, sailing and marine biology. Eventually the only dancing I did was when I was at home by myself, music turned on full blast.
About a year ago I saw a Groupon for swing classes at a studio on Yonge Street. Thoughts of dance classes past came fluttering back to me, and I longed to be back in a studio. It scared me that I couldn’t remember the last time I had taken a class and that, even though I didn’t want to admit it, I didn’t dance when I was home alone anymore. Where had my passion for dance gone? Left behind with other childhood dreams and habits, my appreciation for a good twirl was a ghost keeping company with memories of catching toads and hiding in tree houses. I wanted it all back. I wanted to dance again. And then, like some scene from a movie, I closed my eyes and saw myself in a hospital room speaking to my grandfather. He passed away a couple years ago, but I remember this conversation I had with him like it was yesterday.
I had gone to visit him after his brain surgery, and still a little befuddled from the drugs, he asked me if I still had the bicycle he’d given me. He’d given me that bicycle when I was 7 or 8, so I was confused as to why he was remembering it and bringing it up now, but I answered him “yes”. He told me “that’s good” and then he said something that almost made me cry: “I can’t ride a bicycle anymore.” I saw my grandfather, who’d always been a busy and active man, try and come to terms with the limitations of age and illness. I saw him looking at the IVs in his arms and the monitors over head and thought he must be wondering where all his freedom and time had gone; wishing that he’d spent more time on his bike. I sat there looking at this Groupon and thinking that I didn’t want to grow old and say that I couldn’t do the things that I loved anymore. I would dance again.
I signed my boyfriend and I up for swing dancing in April and have been taking classes since. I was so excited for our first class. Seeing the studio’s wooden floors and full-length mirrors made me feel like I was home again. Then the instructors came in and started our lesson… this was not what I was expecting. The instructors didn’t look professional, they gave poor direction and split my partner and I up. I had trouble following along, finding the rhythm and kept screwing up. Had I forgotten how to dance? How the hell did this happen!?
A month of classes went by with little improvement. I was getting frustrated and instead of being excited to go to class, I dreaded it. What step was I going to mess up this time? Which stranger that I was partnered with was I going piss off tonight? After our month of swing, I never wanted to go to a studio again. On the way home from our last class my boyfriend and I were approached on the street by a person offering free trial dance classes at a studio only blocks away from our apartment. I took this as a sign not to give up just yet and that’s when we started taking Salsa.
Love to Dance studio on Eglinton was where I got my groove back. I hadn’t forgotten how to dance; I was just in the wrong studio with the wrong teachers. With clear instruction and my partner by my side I was finally feeling the joy from dance like I used to. My boyfriend and I even started dancing alone at home again, with the music on full blast of course.
In our last class the instructor split us up and pared me with an older gentleman named Ron. I learned that he had been a ballroom dancer and that he was just learning Salsa now for fun. Ron is in his late 70’s and when I was dancing with him, again, I was reminded of my grandfather. In the end, he wasn’t well enough to continue doing the things he loved most, but I think if he had he would have been a lot like Ron. Dancing with Ron taught me a lot of new moves and by the end of the class he was twirling me around like I’d never stopped in the first place.
When I was little the majority of boys I knew played hockey, and the majority of girls took dance. My parents didn’t enroll me in dance because I was a girl and that’s what girls did. They’re not those kinds of parents. They enrolled me in dance because I loved it.
I have always loved to dance. I would spend hours twirling in front of our winter coat wardrobe with the full-length mirror on it with my mother’s silk scarves. Spinning, leaping and trying my damnedest to look like a Swan Princess or a Fairy from the Nutcracker. As I got older my interests broadened and dance took a back seat to swimming, art, sailing and marine biology. Eventually the only dancing I did was when I was at home by myself, music turned on full blast.
About a year ago I saw a Groupon for swing classes at a studio on Yonge Street. Thoughts of dance classes past came fluttering back to me, and I longed to be back in a studio. It scared me that I couldn’t remember the last time I had taken a class and that, even though I didn’t want to admit it, I didn’t dance when I was home alone anymore. Where had my passion for dance gone? Left behind with other childhood dreams and habits, my appreciation for a good twirl was a ghost keeping company with memories of catching toads and hiding in tree houses. I wanted it all back. I wanted to dance again. And then, like some scene from a movie, I closed my eyes and saw myself in a hospital room speaking to my grandfather. He passed away a couple years ago, but I remember this conversation I had with him like it was yesterday.
I had gone to visit him after his brain surgery, and still a little befuddled from the drugs, he asked me if I still had the bicycle he’d given me. He’d given me that bicycle when I was 7 or 8, so I was confused as to why he was remembering it and bringing it up now, but I answered him “yes”. He told me “that’s good” and then he said something that almost made me cry: “I can’t ride a bicycle anymore.” I saw my grandfather, who’d always been a busy and active man, try and come to terms with the limitations of age and illness. I saw him looking at the IVs in his arms and the monitors over head and thought he must be wondering where all his freedom and time had gone; wishing that he’d spent more time on his bike. I sat there looking at this Groupon and thinking that I didn’t want to grow old and say that I couldn’t do the things that I loved anymore. I would dance again.
I signed my boyfriend and I up for swing dancing in April and have been taking classes since. I was so excited for our first class. Seeing the studio’s wooden floors and full-length mirrors made me feel like I was home again. Then the instructors came in and started our lesson… this was not what I was expecting. The instructors didn’t look professional, they gave poor direction and split my partner and I up. I had trouble following along, finding the rhythm and kept screwing up. Had I forgotten how to dance? How the hell did this happen!?
A month of classes went by with little improvement. I was getting frustrated and instead of being excited to go to class, I dreaded it. What step was I going to mess up this time? Which stranger that I was partnered with was I going piss off tonight? After our month of swing, I never wanted to go to a studio again. On the way home from our last class my boyfriend and I were approached on the street by a person offering free trial dance classes at a studio only blocks away from our apartment. I took this as a sign not to give up just yet and that’s when we started taking Salsa.
Love to Dance studio on Eglinton was where I got my groove back. I hadn’t forgotten how to dance; I was just in the wrong studio with the wrong teachers. With clear instruction and my partner by my side I was finally feeling the joy from dance like I used to. My boyfriend and I even started dancing alone at home again, with the music on full blast of course.
In our last class the instructor split us up and pared me with an older gentleman named Ron. I learned that he had been a ballroom dancer and that he was just learning Salsa now for fun. Ron is in his late 70’s and when I was dancing with him, again, I was reminded of my grandfather. In the end, he wasn’t well enough to continue doing the things he loved most, but I think if he had he would have been a lot like Ron. Dancing with Ron taught me a lot of new moves and by the end of the class he was twirling me around like I’d never stopped in the first place.
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