Dinner with Friends (Food)

Going to Freshwood Grill is always a good thing. The food invokes mach-speed searching for enough superlatives to last from the first round of drinks through to the last smidgen of garlic mashed potatoes stuck to the plate.

But last night it was the best yet. We were meeting friends that we don't see nearly enough of but now see about once a month thanks to the informal supper club we started. Freshwood Grill was our choice, as we had been there 3 times and each time was like a tiny sliver of culinary heaven that carried us through the more pedestrian meals of the day. Next time they choose. It is a wonderful way to get to know neighbourhoods and restaurants outside of your own usual suspects or that was recently selected as the "reader's choice." And, we get to see two of our favourite folks, which is, to keep the food terminology going, the icing on the cake.

We started with a pitcher of sangria, as it had been a cold and rainy long weekend and suddenly brightened into the kind of evening where you want to throw caution and jacket to the wind. The wine was buoyant and the addition of juice, ice and fresh fruit was the perfect start to a summer's evening feast.

To begin the meal it is impossible to not get the sourdough chips with guacamole (or tapenade - they are both divine). The sourdough is not a chip so much as a triangle of hot, soft grilled pita that had been delicately brushed with oil and perhaps sprinkled with salt. It is tremendous on its own, and that says a lot, considering that the guacamole and tapenade are so voluptuous you just want to scoop it out with your fingers.

Luckily, we all chose different entrees, which meant that when our dinner arrived, we were an intersection of arms traveling from plate to plate, fish traversing kitty corner and short ribs nearly bouncing off the table amid the frenzy.

The maple salmon was tender but not mushy, flavourful but not overwhelming. The short ribs were meaty and chewy and a helluva lot of fun to eat. They also tasted damn good. The catfish was done perfectly and delectably, but it was the veggie burger that surprised us most.

Its soft liverwurst consistency was at initially shocking, but before we had a chance to comment, the spiciness and crunchiness set in and we were agog. It was quiet for a couple of seconds and then we all rushed to try and find the words for it.

It is rare that a restaurant does its sides and condiments as well (and/or better) than their mains, but it is a fact here at Freshwood. It was hard to decide which was better - the chipotle or curry mayonnaise. It was decided and voted upon that that were both amazing and one was not better than the other, only different.

My soy broccoli was so enticing - crisp and green grass fresh - and my garlic mashed potatoes so sinfully addictive (neither whipped nor lumpy, the perfect potatoes for any occasion) - that I practically forgot about my catfish, like the cousin you went to prom with and then only remembered because they drove.

I have gone on and on about the food at Freshwood because it's what you do there. It is simply impossible to not "ooh" after taking a bite, or exhale repeatedly while looking through the menu (just thinking about it makes me salivate). But for one night and one night only, it was the company that topped my list. And for a place like Freshwood, that’s simply the cherry on top.

Saturday (Books)

So, I'm reading this book, Saturday by Ian McEwan. He's the guy that wrote Atonement, which received a lot of accolades. He is what you would call a "good writer." His descriptions are not only apt, but well thought out and sometimes completely engaging. His story, however, is not.

The book takes place over one day - Saturday - where a neurosurgeon in England is spending the day doing chores, getting into a little mischief and meeting family for dinner. A nice short story this would make, but not a sizeable novel. It wasn’t until page 206 that I found its inner core, the meat of the book. Most people I know would have given up before that, but because I read books from front to back for each review I do, that rule seems to have shifted into my leisure reading as well.

This makes me consider the space of a book - sometimes a magazine article would do, I think. And since I have just completed my first book and am at work on a second, I have thought about this a lot. I certainly wouldn't have chosen the ideas I did unless I thought they were worthy of a 330 page discussion. And this brings me to Bill Maher's new book, New Rules: Polite Musings from a Timid Observer. Bill Maher is both smart and funny, so he can write a book on anything, as far as I'm concerned. But this new book has a lot of big pictures and is filled with mostly two to five line paragraphs. He says what he needs to in this amount of time, and that is way more difficult than espousing on the trials and tribulations of Kevin Federline's existence in 800 words. Trust me.

So, with length in mind, I have purposely kept these entries short. Blog readers want something light and breezy that you can flit in and out of. You don't want my discourse on the Crimean War or a 3,000 word rant on Patrick Dempsey's comeback (okay, maybe one on "Dr. Dreamy"). You want a pithy couple of paragraphs about the day's events and that still leaves time for you to investigate the penis enlargement patches available and to view that anime that you claim is just about superheroes. Yeah.

Thank God these puppies are short. Because I could easily write 2500 words about Dempsey. And then I'd have to kill myself.

Every Week (Writing)

Every week I panic about all of my deadlines. I hyperventilate that I won't get it all done. But I do. And it still just magically seems to happen. I don't have a method, except that the fear of not getting it done seems to be a sufficient propellant.

I am currently taking an 8-week non-fiction writing course that I always dreamed of doing and then by some miracle, I found a smart fella from St. John’s, Newfoundland who was willing to take me on as a student. I set it up to begin a week after I finished my book, thinking that the break from deadlines would do me good and then I could sink into writing just for me.

Because this was my first book, I didn't take into account all of the editing the book would require, the time it would take to format it, and then letters and submissions to agents and publishers. There was no break and of course, I panicked.

This is the worst time to be doing this, I thought. I need to be concentrating on getting my book published. But as I whined to friends and colleagues, I realized that there was no 'perfect' time. And if I waited for that time, I would never take the course.

A couple days after I received my first lesson, I received a huge and prestigious assignment for a magazine that I had been trying to get into for the last couple of years. Great. No. Really. Great.

But great. Now what I am going to do?

A woman who I spoke to a university class with a couple of weeks ago knows what I'm talking about - and then some.

She is a columnist at a big paper while holding down a full-time job as a lawyer. And did I mention that she has a 3-and-a-half year and an eighteen-month son, along with a handsome husband, all while she is catching a plane to Napa, California and chasing down a story about chickens.

Compared to this lovely lady, I have all the time in the world. Why I am stressing?

And it's not like I'm Lindsay Lohan, who I imagine has got only two full night's sleep since The Parent Trap (and that was only in the hospital when she was treated for "asthma exhaustion").

So, I take a deep breath and try and readjust.

I can do it. I will find time somewhere. I always do, even during the time that my Dad was in the hospital with pneumonia, when I had a piece due the following day and had to secure an interview with someone during opening night and write it up in a matter of 24 hours. I made the deadline and managed to cook a pretty good dinner too.

I can do this. So I will write a large entry for a music encyclopedia, do my fifth lesson for my writing course, edit my three author biographies of 3,000 words each, write this month's arts column and article, figure out the focus of this month's home design column and write it up, and write up the five articles, all due this week.

I can do this.

I hope I can do this.

Joyful (Food)

As you know, I am mad about food – cooking, restaurants, reading about it, anything and everything foodwise. Recently I have been fortunate to have done some restaurant reviews, but it is not these venues that I am writing about here. It is the everyday places that I have been eating in that have been most intriguing.

Recently I met one of my favourite people at Joy Bistro on Queen East. It was exciting, not only because I love Andrea more than words can say, but it was only the second day of the new seasonal menu. Spring was really here – at least inside the restaurant and according to the menu. Outside was blustery, and though it had been 20 degrees the day before, my thin tank top and tight jeans were not sufficient in keeping out the cold.

It was difficult to choose what to have (this is always a good sign), but after our giggle fits and the waitress’ patient strolls near and around our table we decided on Pad Thai for Ms. A and for me, the Soft Shell Crab Club sandwich because I can never refuse seafood – even if it’s for breakfast.

Andrea and I had a wonderful time catching up and then the food arrived. At first, I had been a bit surprised by the prices. I mean, this wasn’t Bistro 990 or Scaramouche, but for $16 an entrée, I certainly had expectations.

The Pad Thai came in a beautifully orchestrated nest, but a small one. It had a slow heat that was wonderful at first, but built to such heights during the meal that it soon became the topic of conversation.

My sandwich was good. It came with a silky spicy mayonnaise that was incredible. The soft shell crab was tender and meaty, and combined with bacon, lettuce and tomato should have been table-thumpingly good. There was only one problem - it came on whole wheat toast. It didn’t allow the crab to stand up and get noticed. Sourdough, foccacia or even fresh French bread, I envisioned, not the bread that comes with a greasy spoon breakfast or kids peanut butter sandwiches.

Should I hold the bread choice against them? No, of course not. But for $16, I was looking for a grander wrapping than brown paper, I mean, bread.

p.s. Andrea and I still meet for brunch and the meal is never as important as that.

Writing Isn't the Hard Part (Writing)

This is the first chance in a couple of days that I have had to sit down and write for writerscramp. Not because I have been to the lovely Caribbean for a vacation or because I have been immersed in cooking classes in Northern Ontario. Nope. I’ve been writing to deadline.

And usually this is my favourite part of the writing life. Writing under a little bit of time pressure, having to get the story across quickly, making time to eat only so that you can write into the night. This is what makes me happy. Usually.

But then comes the rejection. The rewrites. The emails flying back and forth trying to set up an interview or event. This is the stuff that comes along with the writing life and because of it, some days are easier than others.

So, today, amid the wait for changes to come in, I am trying to get comfortable with this awkwardness. And maybe a little time for reflection is just what I need. My whole career is centered on writing about people and events – sometimes I include myself, but I don’t leave much room for thinking about it - I just write it.

So, while today is a harder day than others, I take comfort in the fact that I still have a ton of stuff waiting to send out, a number of assignments due next week and a notebook crammed with new ideas ready to alight from my desk drawer at any moment.

And maybe next week or next month, I will be writing about the success of a story or the ease in which a pitch was accepted.

There is always tomorrow.

Today, I close my eyes and wait.

I'm Not Crazy. Just Quirky (Observation)

I am not quirky in the way Kathy Griffin is (she has to drive when in a car, and recently has become addicted to plastic surgery), nor am I quirky in a Kathie Lee fashion in that I married a man old enough to be my father and God is not who I want to dance with to “Get Up Offa That Thing” by James Brown.

I am curious to a fault. I stare at people and think quickly about their clothes, what that implies about their personality and I try and figure out what they do for a living. This is quirky yes, but it embarrasses anyone that had the bad luck to be with me while I am assessing this person’s worth via their velour sweatpants and “C’est Hot!” t-shirt.

Food looms largely in my life. My favourite dessert is a large bowl of lettuce, and my favourite breakfast is cooked vegetables. This is what I have at home, so it does not mean I am a not a perfect house guest or that I will wake you up at 6 a.m. to ask where you keep your eggplants.

I would rather eat out than go to the opera. Eating out for me is like getting a new sweater for most people. And this is one of the many reasons why I am a good food reviewer – I am forever enamored by food.

I am the only person I know that non-fiction figures so largely in her life. I would rather go to the library than have a drink and book clearance places for me are like Jimmy Choo’s for most women. I’ll see you in a couple of hours.

I have crazy fantasies. Not like sleeping with Isaiah Washington or anything, although now that you bring it up… My fantasies are more, well, quirky:

I am in love with Steve Martin.
My dream is to have a large dog (maybe a Great Dane?) to wrestle with.
I think about having a pool on the edge of a cliff in L.A. a lot.
I pretend to interview Diane Sawyer all the time.
I know my Oscar speech inside and out.

The only question remains – what will I win it for?

The New Old (Observation)

It seems so long ago when Subway made the v-cut in your sandwich, your Big Mac came in the nifty styrofoam box, and Horoatio Sanz used to make Jimmy giggle like a glittering, glossed tween, no matter what the occasion.

But the future is now, and while it is exciting, it is already old:

I am so used to TV on DVD (and the internet) now. Same with people taking pictures with their cell, instead of waiting for the click of the shutter. I am practically blase about soup-to-go, celebs gone wild, orange cauliflower and purple potatoes, and pinkie size mp3 players.

And the incessant need for white people to use crunk and shizzle over and over again - it's tired, but I'm used to it.

The world of my youth has disappeared and made way for Baile Funk, Adam Brody and organic recycling. However, this doesn’t make me feel old. It renews me. I have to learn all over again and this is definitely how I want to spend the rest of my days.

So, it is with this outlook that I am going to tackle morsels, pork belly, Dreamweaver 8 and Syrah wine. Memorize all of the lyrics to Sean Paul’s “Temperature,” too.

And maybe get a small place in Buenos Aires…