Whether or not you live in the US, the political goings-on there garner a lot of screen time and column inches. I try to pay attention, but I’ve never felt as hopeless about it as I have the past year or so, and I’ve never felt as scared about it as when I saw Dan Gardner’s analysis of a recent Manhattan Institute survey.
His context-setting:
The Manhattan Institute is a conservative think tank which recently conducted a survey looking at ideas and attitudes within the Republican Party. But the central purpose of the survey was to distinguish between long-time Republicans and the many new entrants Donald Trump has attracted to the party — “new” whether because they are younger or because they come from demographics, like blacks or hispanics, which traditionally haven’t supported the GOP — and compare the two groups. The “traditional Republicans” were about 70% of the total, the “new entrants” 30%.
The results were released December 1st. […]
I find them genuinely shocking and don’t understand why they haven’t received greater attention. This is strong evidence that the Republican Party — which dominates power in the world’s richest and most powerful nation — is rapidly turning into something undeniably dangerous.
Gardner highlights the most jaw-dropping findings, quoting the Institute’s report itself, some of which I’ll repeat here:
Among the Current GOP under 50, a notable minority report that they themselves openly express racist (31%) or antisemitic (25%) views. Among those over 50 in the Current GOP, these figures drop to just 4% for each.
One in three New Entrants (32%) say they openly express racist views, compared with just 8% of Core Republicans.
Nearly four in ten in the Current GOP (37%) believe the Holocaust was greatly exaggerated or did not happen as historians describe. Younger men are especially likely to hold this view (54% of men under 50 vs. 39% of women under 50). Among men over 50, 41% agree, compared with 18% of women over 50.
In that first bullet, the Manhattan Institute — a conservative think-tank, it should be said — declared that “a notable minority” hold racist or antisemitic views, as if 31% and 25% respectively would somehow be comforting numbers.
Further takeaways on conspiracy theories which are somewhat less troubling than Holocaust denial, but troubling nonetheless:
51% of Current GOP believe the 2020 election was “decided by fraudulent ballots or hacked voting machines”.
41% of Current GOP think 9/11 was an inside job.
33% of Current GOP think vaccines cause autism.
Finally, on the question of political violence:
54% of New Entrant GOP agree with the statement that “In American Politics, the use of political violence is sometimes justified.”
Gardner’s synopsis is hard to argue with, but easy to find terrifying:
The trend line couldn’t be clearer: Donald Trump’s Republican Party is rapidly becoming the home of racists, anti-Semites, and conspiracists flirting with political violence.
I fear we cried wolf about fascism for so long that it’s easy to dismiss all the early warning signs now presenting themselves. If ICE wore brown shirts, this would be a lot easier.
I followed up a trip to Moncton last week (trying two new places during my visit: Taverna and Bâton Rouge; the former is pretty good, but the latter was as meh as I expected and twice as weird) with a one-night trip to Montreal. I had a plan to see my fifth-ever Canadiens game in Montreal in 2025, and just snuck it in before the end of the year.
After a couple nice days back home in Toronto, I headed back to Billy Bishop airport. It was snowing in Toronto, but my flight hit the goodness trifecta: left on time, arrived without incident, and the seat next to me was empty. Can’t ask for more. (Also, the flight attendant on this flight gave me a whole can of pop, while the flight attendant on my Moncton->Toronto flight two days ago gave me a heavy pour of red wine and offered me a second class. I guess I look thirsty.)
I landed at YUL to find a new Uber setup, which I think every airport should copy. On the drive into downtown, I saw some “FUCK ICE” graffiti, which obviously speaks to our political moment in North America, but is probably also an annual sentiment in Montreal.
I arrived at the Centre Sheraton, a location chosen only because I had enough Bonvoy points for a free night, and because it’s about as close as you can get to the Bell Centre, otherwise it would not be on my list. But it was fine for a night, even if the elevators made constant noise.
In search of coffee and tide-over snacks, I popped around the corner to Melk for a cortado and a scone. I finished the book I’ve been reading (Terror from the Air by Peter Sloterdijk), bought some beans to bring home, and walked back to the hotel.
After a couple of relaxing hours I went for an early dinner at Bar Edicola, not far from the hotel. (Thank goodness; it was a full-fledged winter storm now.) It’s essentially a long counter, but the vibes were pretty great. I had a glass of some weird Italian Pinot variant, some heavy soft warm oily bread, a glass of Trebbiano, a plate of ricotta agnolotti, a glass of Nebbiolo, and espresso. Solid meal all around, and perfect for a snowy night.
It was almost time for the game, so I stopped back at the hotel to change into my Montreal jersey and add some extra layers. A short (but cold & snowy) walk later I was settled in, watching the Canadiens take on St. Louis. Now, the curse of my presence at a Montreal home game — once at the old Forum, three times at the Bell Centre — is well documented, so I was a little nervous to go. Sadly, I was right to be nervous: they lost 4-3 to the middling Blues. Apart from a 65-second span to start the second period the Habs outplayed and out-chanced them, but that brief lapse was enough to give away the game. Dejected, I walked home through the snow with the crowds. At least I got to have a Bell Centre hot dog.
The next morning I woke up and had some pretty friggin’ delicious pain perdu downstairs at Stanley. (I’d thought about venturing out for some breakfast, but it was -25° with the windchill.) Some showering, packing, and relaxing later and I was on my way to the airport for my flight home. Not so lucky with the flight this time — it was on time and relatively uneventful, but someone sat next to me, and a lady right in front of me just opened up a can of flaky salmon and ate it with a fork like as if she hadn’t set up a stink bomb in the pressured tube of an airplane. Stunk harder than the Habs at the start of period two last night. (Hey-o.)
I’m glad I’ve gotten to see the Canadiens beat the Leafs here in Toronto a few times, because I’m starting to think I’ll never get to see it happen in Montreal. Frankly, I kind want to give up trying — not because I believe I’m actually unlucky for them, but because it’s kind of a bummer to keep experiencing losses and never get the win.
A few nights ago we finally got around to watching Sinners (imdb | rotten tomatoes). It was, as I had heard, in roughly two parts: one part setup as the twins return home to Mississippi, and the second part all vampire-fighting. Both parts were very good, but there was a third element I wasn’t expecting: blues.
It was filmed in Louisiana but set in the Delta — there was even a Clarksdale road sign. I heard a version of “Wang Dang Doodle” for the first time in about forty years. There was a Charley Patton reference and even a Buddy Guy sighting.
Yeah. Excellent movie all around.
Side note: the more movies I see him in, the more I appreciate Michael B. Jordan’s retainer-snapping hotness.
Last night, with Patrick & Maeve in town, we finally visited a place that’s been on my list forever: The Wood Owl.
First, the decor: really beautiful inside. Luxurious wood. Heavy drapery. Indie concert posters and old wine bottles on the wall. Basically, how my basement looks in my dreams.
Anyway: the food. To sum up: absolutely fantastic. We had:
Side note: this dinner completed the little mini-resolution I gave myself this year, which was to have visited at least once all the Michelin-recognized (at the time) spots east of Yonge. The most recent edition added some new restaurants to the list, so I think I already know what next year’s plan will be.
Three years ago I had a wine cabinet built in the basement. It took me another year or two to fill it with truly age-worthy wine, and now we find ourselves in a pretty luxurious position: wine is aging out of the cabinet as fast as it’s going in. I don’t even have to work that hard to fill it: my subscriptions and regular annual purchases more or less keep us in equilibrium. Here’s what that roster looks like:
(An aside: I’ve stopped purchasing from the LCBO Vintages releases every month as they massively overprice those wines, but I do add the odd bottle here or there.)
For those doing the math, that’s 204 incoming bottles per year. My best guess is that ~150 of those are age-worthy, which means ~150 older wines will come out of the cabinet to make room. Which means that each week we need to (ha ha, need to) consume three bottles which have aged out of the cabinet, plus one new ready-to-drink bottle that came in the same shipments, to maintain equilibrium. And yeah, four bottles is pretty much our week.
It has for sure ruined us for mediocre wine though. Just look at what’s on the ‘drink soon’ rack, next to the cabinet — I won’t list all 68 bottles, but just look at the Pinot Noir section:
2022 SpearHead
2021 Le Clos Jordanne Claystone Terrace
2019 Le Clos Jordanne Le Grand Clos
2020 Domaine d’Ardhuy Bourgogne Côte d’Or Les Chagniots
Now, as you can tell by both this list and my subscriptions above, this is a very Canada-heavy — and specifically Ontario-heavy — collection. But guys, we love Chardonnay and Pinot and Cabernet Franc and Sparkling, all things at which Ontario excels. Plus, I’ll take the red blends from Hidden Bench and Leaning Post and Queylus over their doubly-expensive global alternatives all day. I don’t think I’m the only one whose collection would reflect their proximity to a world-class wine region; I just think many people don’t consider Ontario world-class, which is insane to me.
Not that we only drink Canadian, of course. 42% of what I have aging is from, in descending order, France, Italy, USA, Spain, Argentina, South Africa, Australia, Portugal, Austria, Greece, Lebanon, New Zealand, Germany, and Hungary. I pick up bottles here and there when they sound interesting.
But my heart, and most of my dollars, are with the farmers and artists just across & up Lake Ontario.
It was fifty years ago today that the Edmund Fitzgerald sank in Lake Superior, heartbreakingly short of the relative harbor of Whitefish Bay. I’m not sure the disaster would be so much a part of my consciousness, or most other people not directly affected by it, but for Gordon Lightfoot. The above-linked CBC article states as much:
“As much as we like to think we do a great job of keeping the memory alive, we really can’t hold a candle to Gordon Lightfoot,” Lynn said. “If it wasn’t for him, it would be a fraction of the people now who know about this story and this ship.”
I know some people who can’t stand the song (“too long” is the most frequent complaint, something I will simply never comprehend) but when you see how many great covers of the song exist, you know there was something special and lasting about it. I’ve listened to the Rheostatics cover more times than I could count, but one of my all-time favourites is when the Dandy Warhols do their heavy electric cover. The 7″ edit is my favourite version, but just listen to this live rendition at The Phoenix in Toronto to get a sense of the cultural importance of the song — until the big distortion crunch comes, you can hear the crowd singing along.
A version I’d never heard until tonight, though, is this live rendition by the Punch Brothers recorded just a few years ago. It’s quickly joined my short list of favourite versions.
It’s been a week since the Blue Jays lost game 7 of the World Series in heartbreaking fashion. I could hardly stand to watch it, and I felt sick to my stomach when it was over. Frankly, it would have been easier if they had just lost in five like oddsmakers thought they would.
Now, with a few days’ distance, I can admire the season it was…especially when they started the season so piss-poor. The highlights, from the CBC:
A team that finished dead last in the American League East last season won the division for the first time in a decade and made it to within one swing — several times — of winning the World Series. They beat the hated Yankees in the playoffs, and George Springer joined the Mount Rushmore of big Jays homers with his go-ahead blast in Game 7 of the ALCS against Seattle.
Guerrero had a post-season for the ages, belting eight homers to tie Ohtani for the lead while batting an absurd .397/494/.795 and playing outstanding defence at first. He would have been the World Series MVP if just one of those big plays had gone Toronto’s way.
Bichette, who came up through the minors with Guerrero, returned from a seven-week absence due to a sprained knee to bravely bat .348 in the World Series — and nearly go down in Jays lore with that three-run homer in Game 7. Mad Max Scherzer, still crazy after 41 years, turned back the clock with 4⅓ innings of one-run ball in Game 7 — and showed the fans how much it, and they, meant to him as he walked (reluctantly, as always) off the mound.
New fan favourites emerged too. Yesavage, just 22 years old, struck out a World Series rookie record 12 batters in Game 5 — just his eighth big-league start. Barger hit .367 with three homers in the playoffs, including a huge two-run blast in a do-or-die Game 6 vs. Seattle. Good guy Davis Schneider got his big moment with a home run on the very first pitch of Game 5 at Dodger Stadium. And, of course, the delightful Clement batted a scorching .411 in the playoffs, broke the record for most hits in a single post-season, and nearly became the Joe Carter of his generation until Pages robbed him in the bottom of the ninth of Game 7. Pretty remarkable stuff, especially after Clement revealed that he’d been playing with a hairline fracture in his left middle finger.
I really hope they can mount another charge next year. It was such a thrilling ride, and I’m hoping their contention window might stay open long enough for the Canadiens to open theirs.
We were so enamored of the fall colours on our Ottawa trip a few weeks ago that we decided another weekend in the Ottawa countryside was in order. And so it was that we booked a couple nights at Langdon Hall, just outside Cambridge. I’d been there a few times for work functions, but never as a regular guest. Lindsay had never been there at all. So Friday afternoon we packed up the car and drove there.
Friday
After quite an easy drive, we checked in. Our room had a fireplace, which we were pretty excited about, cause fall had definitely arrived outside. Unfortunately the wood in the fireplace had been there a while, with the flue open, so we couldn’t get it to light properly. We gave up, as we had to be downstairs for an early dinner.
We started early because we’d booked something called the Grand Tasting Menu, a 9-course “specially curated selection of dishes you won’t find on [their] à la carte menu. In honour of his 10th anniversary at Langdon Hall, The Grand Tasting Menu is Executive Chef Jason Bangerter’s most elevated and exciting menu.” Elevated is a word we heard a lot that night; the server used it at least three times per course.
Overall, I’d say it was an exceptional meal. Maybe not the most innovative tasting menu we’d ever had, but remarkable in its precision, presentation, and local flavours. The lobster dish and pasta course were exceptional, and foie gras amuse-bouche was one of the best things I’ve eaten all year.
Cocktails
Hauntwood (wild apples from the Langdon Hall property, quince, Boulard Calvados, Island Diaz spiced rum, Astoria)
Closing Remarks (flavors and aromas of the surrounding forest, Reid’s Gin, Vermouth de Forcalquier, Luxardo Del Santo, lime)
Grand Tasting Menu
snacks: sunchoke and winter truffle; foie gras & grapes
greenhouse citrus: buttermilk panna cotta, all the LH citrus plants
caviar + onion: blanc de blanc bubbles, onion crème fraîche
taste the ocean: golden king crab, scallop, urchin
raspberry + rose: heritage rose jelly, berry crémeux
pear + hazelnut: poached pear, ginger leaf nage
petit fours
wine pairings (I did not, unfortunately, write them down)
It’s a good thing we started at 6:00, because we didn’t wrap up until after 10:00, which meant I barely made it back to the room in time to see the Jays lose game six, and then we crashed.
Saturday
Okay, so it’s possible we overindulged the night before. Oy vey.
We got ourselves downstairs for breakfast, ate a lot of it, and then took advantage of their walking trails. We covered pretty much the entire grounds, soaking in the quiet, the scenery, the bird-watching, and the dogs out on the trail. As much as the rest of the grounds are probably better in the summer, I think the trails are perfect in the fall.
On the way back we made a quick stop at their wine shoppe, picking up three bottles to bring home, then went back to the room and ordered room service. While Lindsay showered I figured out a fire strategy and, by the time she emerged, I had it crackling away.
That afternoon we’d booked one activity: a wine tasting. There were supposed to be ten of us; two people showed up, but one person did who wasn’t meant to, so nine it was. It wasn’t exactly a somm exam, so all three wines were pretty easy to guess (Cava, Riesling, Cab Franc), but it’s always fun to taste with nice people. We ended up figuring out that the couple next to us (a) live quite close to us in Toronto, and (b) know some people I worked with at Arterra — in fact, someone that used to work for me now works for her. And there was another guy in the tasting who looked very much like him! Weird, weird coincidence.
We made our way from there another early dinner — this time in the bar instead of the restaurant. We got a simpler meal, but splashed out a bit on the wine. (A small aside: the server sent the somm to talk to us, but she looked at the couple next to us and decided that surely they were the ones looking for a sommelier’s expertise, not us two ruffians. By the time our server tracked the somm back down and sent her round to find us, our apps had arrived. By the time she came back with our bottle, the apps were gone.) Anyway, here’s what we ate:
red wine marinated chicken w/ creamy polenta, sauce coq au vin
bottle of 2011 Pommard, 1er Cru, Clos Orgelot, Clos du Moulin aux Moines
Dessert
sticky toffee date pudding w/ soft caramel, rum raisin ice cream
gourmand cookie w/ all the chocolate, fudgy ganache center (which we took to the room)
This time we got back to the room plenty early enough to build another beauty fire and watch nearly all of game seven, which of course ended up in a heart-breaking loss for the Jays. I’ll have more to say about that later, once the sadness wears off.
Sunday
We woke feeling a little extra-refreshed, which I realized later was because of daylight savings time. (The good one.) We grabbed a lighter breakfast, packed up, and drove home.
Last night four east enders — me, Lindsay, Ricky, and Olivia — ventured west. Given all the hype (top bar in Canada on one list; rated one of the best in North America, and the world, on others) we were all excited to try Bar Pompette. Well…excited, but also wary. With those kinds of accolades the potential for douchebaggery was high.
Luckily, it was fantastic. Impeccable vibes. Immaculate cocktails. Even their ice cube game is world class. I had two cocktails, but their menu isn’t online so I can’t really remember them, but one tasted like chicory coffee and the other tasted like a cinnamon roll. Everyone else enjoyed theirs as well, including the two special cocktails that were meant to pair with the jazz trio in the corner. Seriously, cocktails and jazz — Lindsay was beside herself. We had just enough snacks to tide us over, then went out in search of proper dinner.
We thought we could walk into Dailo, but it was full, so we just reversed around the corner to Martine’s. Only when Olivia mentioned that it used to be Woodlot did I remember (I think?) that I’d been there once. Anyway, we had a wonderful meal:
Food
mortadella butter & anchovy on toast
steak tartare, button mushroom, fennel hot sauce
smoked mackerel Welsh rarebit
cavatelli, fennel sausage, rapini, pecorino
roasted eggplant, ezme, red pepper
wood fired whole chicken & fries
Drinks
Fülöp The Phenomenon Dry Tokaji
Bodegas Sentencia El Indulto La Fuente Bobal
Digestifs: glasses of Madeira, PX sherry, and Vermouth
I know some people (*cough cough Lindsay cough*) think it’s boring to order chicken, but goddamn it was good. I mean, everything was.
A lot of food, a lot of drinks, a lot of good laughs. The kind of night that rejuvenates the soul, even if I am a it too old for it. 😐
We just spent a long weekend in Ottawa. It got built around a single concert, but we ended up packing in a wonderful few days.
Friday
What a beautiful drive. There was no traffic to speak of getting out of Toronto, and we had smooth sailing – not to mention some beautiful fall colors – the whole way. Google Maps suggested we take a different route into the city, so we got to drive up the Colonel By and explore a little on the way to meet Lindsay’s brother Patrick.
After a slight detour, we parked and met him at Black Squirrel Books. I left with one book (a novel by Kevin Patterson, whose book The Water In Between was important to me when I read it 25 years ago) while Lindsay left with…well, many. I had a cortado, too, which was served in the right glassware, but fell prey to the same pitfall that most coffee shops do: they made it too hot.
We left there and drove to our hotel, The Metcalfe. A new boutique hotel downtown, I’d never stayed there…except, once I stepped in, I realized I had stayed there. Sixteen years ago, when it was the Indigo. Anyway, it’s much nicer now.
We needed food, so we turned on our heels and went straight to Raphaël, which Patrick picked. We had no reservation but they plopped us at the bar. It was really delicious too:
Amuse bouche of some kind of fish consommé with ají limo tiger’s milk
Tamalito De Pato: Sous Vide Duck Thigh, Mote Corn Tamal, Salsa Criolla, Ají Drizzle
Anticuchos: Ají Panca Flank Steak Skewers, Mini Potatoes,
Brussels Sprouts, Chimichurri, Rocoto Sauce
Dessert: petit fours of some kind of tiny cookie and Peruvian flan
It was all excellent. Nice Ontario-forward wine list too.
Afterward Lindsay and Patrick went to a concert at the NAC; I fell into a protest march up Elgin for a while before wandering back to the hotel and catching the end of the Jays game.
Saturday
Boy, did we have a lazy morning. The room was too big and comfy not to. Eventually I went out for coffee, but found that the local Morning Owl is closed on Saturdays, so I got coffees from the lobby cafe instead, and regretted it almost immediately.
Eventually we walked down Elgin to The Manx for brunch. I had fond memories of it when I used to visit in the…mid-to-late-90s, I guess? It hasn’t changed much, which I loved. I had the banana bread French toast; Lindsay had the eggs benny. We both had a Caesar and a beer.
We walked back along the canal on a perfect fall day, and relaxed in the room for a bit before walking back down Elgin for an early dinner with Patrick & Maeve at TOWN. It was fantastic:
Apps
house focaccia w/ whipped brown butter
butterbean, date and apple salad w/ arugula, toasted walnuts, dried cranberries, herbed goat feta, Greek yogurt dressing, wheatberry
glass of Rosehall Run Chardonnay for me, and a cocktail for Lindsay
Mains
Dan: cumin-honey glazed and grilled pork chop w/ confit carrot and roasted pepper purée, polenta batonettes, shishito peppers, chai pickled peach, charred corn salsa
Lindsay: house-made cavatelli w/ saffron, corn and miso cacio e pepe, cornbread pangrattato, pickled jalapeños, pecorino, chives, ½ tare glazed duck breast
two glasses of Saumur Cabernet Franc
Dessert
tiramisu
glasses of Frankovic Luna Blanca for Patrick and I
Then, the reason we were in Ottawa: to see a symphony playing music from Stardew Valley, aka Lindsay’s favourite game. I’ve heard her playing the game enough that I recognized some of the music, but wasn’t as in on the jokes as everyone else. But she loved it, and that’s what matters.
Sunday
Up quite a bit earlier, as we were meeting CBGB for brunch. I pre-gamed with cappuccinos from Ministry Of Coffee. Side note: early Sunday morning in downtown Ottawa is an unexpected mix of dead quiet and aggressively weird.
When they texted that they were en route we drove out to Hintonburg and met them at a Bridgehead nearby. After chatting and catching up we walked to Chesterfields. Lindsay had a jerk chicken benny; I had a classic breakfast. Mostly we were just there to catch up with friends, who I miss so much. After brunch we went for a group stroll, then said our goodbyes and headed back to the hotel.
We weren’t there long, though – we had stacked some plans. We walked to Majors Hill Park to meet Patrick and Maeve again, on what had turned into a very sunny and warm late-October day. We had plans to spend it inside though, at the National Gallery of Canada. We NAGged it up for a few hours.
After that we spilled down Sussex to the market and found a table at Beyond The Pale. P+M ate lunch; we snacked on duck drummies and beers and many bottles of water. After sitting and laughing for quite a while we parted ways; Lindsay and I walked back to the hotel, stopping along the way at Little Victories for some fuel to get through the evening.
A teeny rest in the hotel room later and we were ready for our dinner at Arlo, which ended up being fantastic.
Starters:
Tomatoes + rosamarina w/ fresh coriander, capers
Scallop tartare w/ black garlic, kohlrabi, cilantro, mushroom vinegar
Dan drank: Crémant de Loire (Les Athletes du Vin “Gardien des Bulles” NV) and Garganega (La Biancara “Masieri Bianco” ’23)
Lindsay drank: House Martini (gin, apple eau de vie, dry vermouth, manzanilla sherry) and a Gruner Veltliner that isn’t on their online menu so I can’t remember what it was
Main:
Porcini Crusted Ribeye For Two w/ frites, marrow, chimichurri-stuffed portobello, arugula
a bottle of Sangiovese (Pacina Donesco Toscana Rosso 2020)
Dessert:
Lemon Posset
A glass of not-quite-Tokaji Hungarian Furmint for me
The steak was cooked perfectly, tip to tail. The scallop tartare might have been one of the best things I ate all year. The wines were all delicious. The vibe was loud at first, but pretty great. In a weekend full of outstanding meals, this might have taken the prize.
Clearly we used up a lot of our driving luck on Friday. After packing and scarfing down some room service breakfast we drove back to Toronto, and the rain started almost immediately. Several times it escalated to the point where we could barely see the car in front of us, which made for some pretty tense driving. Luckily it cleared up around Gananoque, and we had clear weather all the way into Toronto. We arrived home to find a very happy cat.
All in all: pretty awesome weekend. Perfect weather. Time spent with family and old friends. Incredible food. Memorable experiences. Good birthday trip all around!
Skirl | Dan Dickinson 