So I’ve Been A Little Bad

28 07 2008

I swear it’s been for the greater good though. Honest. Otherwise, how could extol the glories of this goat roti for you? Hmm? On my trip to Toronto, the first thing I did when I got in was to find some roti. I missed roti so much being up in the not-so-great white north, and the amazing goat roti I got from Real Jerk was almost enough to convince me to say damn all the waiting and move right back down ASAP. The meat was cooked so perfectly; if there is a place between rare and medium rare, that’s where goat heaven is. It was perfectly spiced–not too spicy but enough to remind you that it’s curry– and the potatoes and chickpeas were cooked excellently al dente. There aren’t enough words to tell you how good it was, but allow me to visually interpret it for you in drool. Really.

Oh, Thai Express, how I love thee. Thai Express is consistently my favorite fast food chain, period. And they just don’t have it up north. *Sigh* I recommend the shrimp pad thai; I must have had it at least four times in the week I was down south. I had big plans, oh yes! Big, big plans. I was going to go for class, for variety, for experience. But the beautiful succubus that is the Thai Express sunk her teeth in me and my old flame was re-kindled. I’m sorry, I am weak and she is strong.

I did, however, manage to make my way to Dufflet one day and pick up dessert. I apologize for the poor quality of the photo, but I was pretty excited to eat it. However, it was just okay. The bottom was a thin layer of chocolate sponge cake, topped with a layer of chocolate mousse, topped with a layer of raspberry mousse, and covered in dark chocolate. I was expecting something, I don’t know, more impressive. Though I’m aware that it’s not the kind of thing that just anyone can or is willing to make at home, it was the kind of thing that I could have done in an afternoon. There’s something about us culinary folks that demands a certain level of Oh My God factor in desserts and meals purchased at establishments of acclaim, and this didn’t do it for me. Don’t get me wrong, it was in fact good, but I would have rather just made it myself. More on that another day, because I just might…

And that’s that. I apologize for the lateness of this entry but I’ve been busy pretty much every day since I got back. I also went camping this weekend and damned if you can find a DSL connection in the woods. I did, however, cook in said woods, so hopefully tomorrow I’ll have regained my ambition and will let you all in on it.


Storing Up on Sunshine

13 06 2008

The forcast for the next week looks unimpressive. With five out of seven days slated for rain, I’m stocking up on outside time while I can. Another day to be logged into the patio files was today. Well, yesterday I suppose, as it is three in the morning at the moment. What can I say, nighthawking becomes me.

There was more gin today, as well as a Long Island iced tea and some pilfered pizza. Because Josh is a good bad influence, I have been conned into yet another lost afternoon of patio lounging at the Laughing Buddha, Sudbury’s favorite(and only) hippy nosh spot. They also get the award for most inviting patio; all abloom with petunias, gardenias, climbing vines and pansies, daytime at the Buddha is the only oasis in downtown Sudbury that isn’t packed with the usual boorish afternoon-drinkers. In the evening, wee patio lanterns are turned on and each table is adorned with a tea candle, transforming the patio into something almost magical. It is cozy and comforting, and if you ignore the sounds of freight trains clunking past almost incessantly you could imagine being removed from the city entirely. But enough about that.

The pizza was great. A mix of feta cheese, button mushrooms, red onions, sundried tomatoes and spinach on a thin crust, twice baked in a stone oven, it was a bright, fresh exchange of flavors. Brava, Buddha, brava. I am fairly critical of pizza, being of the mind that any brickhead with some dough, cheese and tomatoes can slap together something not entirely inedible, but as far as pizzas go, it was pretty darn good. The liquor wasn’t half bad, either.

Mel and Mario provided the extra fun, because what is an afternoon of pizza and gin without a smattering of smut talk from your married friends? Mel, ever the genius, will be organizing a camping trip in the near future with Josh. Go Team! Possible recountings of fish tales, marshmallows and bear blasting to come. More on that next month.

When the time came, our party broke up, and Chantale and I went off in search of something else to keep us busy. Movies were an idea, but the Hollywood crap factory hadn’t been kind enough to toss us a bone, so that was out of the question. We wandered around looking for somewhere to grab something more substantial than a slice of pizza and ended up at Ye Olde Fratboy Pub & I Suppose They Grill. Which wasn’t half bad, much to my surprise.

I had a buffalo chicken sandwich with kettle chips(which Chantale swears were far too overdone, but to me, deepfry is deepfry.) and a miniature pot of jarred coleslaw. The sandwich was good as far as bar food goes, after I overcame my initial fear and dismay of it being served on a kaiser. I am inherently afraid of restaurant kaiser rolls. They are usually dry, inedible pucks of flour and misery that are usually being used to prop up a window somewhere. This one however was shockingly fresh. The chips were kinda dry but saved with some form of cajun ranch dressing they came with, and the coleslaw was atleast not vineagar coleslaw, so it passed. Will not be returning, however, as I have never felt so out of place in a bar in my life, a feeling that let’s just say I am not too familiar with where bars are concerned. Far too many polo shirts and khaki shorts for my liking. However it did afford me the chance to catch the second half of the NBA Lakers/Celtics finals game. Lakers lost, btw. I inevitably drown my sorrows at a bar where everybody knows my name and khaki shorts are fair game for merciless ridicule.

Winding down to sleep with Tom Waits’ raspy drunken lullabys for the assist. Life is so hard, innit?