Author: Dan Dickinson

Kirstrisma

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It’d been a while since we hung out with Kirsten, so we met for dinner last night at Carisma. I’d gotten up early (3:45 EDT) to catch a flight home, and Lindsay wasn’t feeling well, so we thought it would be an early night. We ended up closing the joint, though.

Here’s what we had:

  • Appetizers
    • Burratina w/ shaved truffle
    • Carpaccio di Manzo
      • A Negroni; glasses of Gavi Di Gavi & Falanghina
  • Mains
    • Pasta del giorno: agnolotti stuffed w/ ricotta
    • Pappardelle w/ wild board ragu
      • Bottles of 2018 Antinori Pian Delle Vigne and Tolaini Valdisanti Toscana
  • Dessert
    • Affogato
    • Classic Italian cheesecake w/ strawberry compote
    • Warm molten chocolate w/ house-made chocolate gelato
      • Glasses of Vinsanto & Reccioto

Elbow mists

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I’m in Moncton this week. A&D drove over for dinner this evening, which was the perfect excuse to finally try Les Brumes du Coude. It’s a lovely casual vibe inside, and the food was wonderful. We shared everything (except that glass of Pineau).

  • round one
    • house ciabatta
    • fromage: Alfred le Fermier
  • round two
    • steak tartare, all dressed w/ rosemary crackers
    • fancy stuffed pie of mushy peas, house bacon, lettuce chiffonade, and Fundy scallops
    • seared salt cod fish cake, boiled market vegetables in salt pork broth
      • bottle of Pouilly-Fumé
  • dessert
    • Carmélita
      • Pineau des Charentes

“Game’s the same, just got more fierce.”

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Four years ago Lindsay wanted to start watching The Wire (imdb). We only made it an episode or two before she bailed. The time wasn’t right.

More recently I re-watched seasons one and two, but when Lindsay said she wanted to give it another go, I went back to the starting line with her. This time it stuck — we plowed through seasons one (cops), two (blue collar workers), and three (dealers); we’re most of the way through season four (schools).

This might be the first time I’ve watched season three and four since the first time in the mid/late-2000s. It’s as good as I remember. Better, even.

Of note: Clay Davis doesn’t say “Sheeeeeeeit” nearly as often as I remembered.

Clay Davis

51st and 49th

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It’s been fewer than six weeks since Trump was inaugurated and I haven’t written about it. I wouldn’t even know where to start. By the time I formulate a thought on something awful — not even the constant stream of embarrassing or enraging “flood the zone with shit” stuff, but truly destructive policy or comments — another awful thing has happened. It’s not that I have any particular insight, but back in the Dubya days (now a quaint period by comparison) the horror was at least infrequent enough to articulate my outrage. Now? No chance.

Being Canadian has meant we can mostly just gawp at this from afar and fight the occasional tarriff war. And until a week or so ago I would have said all the rhetoric about Canada becoming the 51st state was just posturing and bluster ahead of trade negotiations. But what he’s doing with to Ukraine makes me worried. I think his recent assertion that Ukraine simply needs to cede the land Russia occupied by force to end the war, thereby rewarding Russia’s aggression, is a pretext for his own ambitions. He sees countries which have something he wants — Canada, Greenland, Panama — and may well decide to invade and just take part of it; if there’s international pushback that he actually cares about, he’ll simply point to the scenario he’s about to force with Russia/Ukraine and say, “See? It’s fine. I’m only doing that.”

It’s been two centuries since the war of 1812, and 150 years since any sizeable Canada-US conflict at all. The world’s longest undefended border has had a good run, but that run might be coming to an end.

Carismaro

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I’ve eaten well the past week. Maybe a tiny bit too well.

First, for v-day, we made a return to Carisma. It was, as usual, superb. Wonderful food, and Adriano picked us out a winning bottle as usual.

  • Burratina Salad
    • glasses of Falanghina, Negroni
  • Penne w/ Pancetta & Fresh Summer Peas
  • some agnolotti special I don’t quite remember at this point
  • 32oz Grilled Bistecca Fiorentina Per Due
  • Sauteed Mushrooms
    • bottle of Brunello
  • Warm Molten Tortino Al Cioccolato w/ House-Made Chocolate Gelato
    • glasses of Vin Santo / Recioto

Then, just this past Wednesday, I met a work colleague at Ricky + Olivia. Yes, I selfishly wanted to go there for both the food and the proximity. We shared:

  • big mac steak tartare
  • r+o burger (actually my first time having it, and wow was it good)
  • turnip cakes
  • french fries
  • garlicky steak special
    • both reds on their BTG list and the two Pearl Morissette red specials

Fantastic, as always. Well worth hurdling a bunch of snowbanks.

The east-za end

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One thing I take for granted is how much incredible pizza exists close to where I live, in the east end of Toronto.

Danforth Pizza House may be in Greektown, but it is in my opinion (and many others) the best in the city. It’s classic, delicious, and I never feel gross after eating it.

Of all the Detroit style Pizza I’ve tried, Descendant is by a country mile the best — and most interesting. The flavours, the consistency…all top-notch. The fact that Slowhand, an excellent nearby shop in its own right, sits #2 in my mind, says a lot about Descendant.

I’m alone on this in my household, but I think Blondies kicks ass.

There’s even a Maker, which I find too greasy, but which scratches the itch sometimes. Especially when it’s one of the few places in Toronto that even makes an attempt at garlic fingers.

What a time to be alive.

The bird is dead

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I deleted my Twitter account a couple weeks ago. I hadn’t really used it for a few years and let it go fallow, but the Nazi salute was the reminder I needed to delete that shit.

I opened my account in March 2007 (during, apparently, the “first wave of people to join“) and was a heavy user for years. The bigger my job got, the more my usage dwindled, to the point where post-2020 I was barely tweeting. Then Dipshit bought the site and I all but petered out. Of course, I stopped using my Facebook account more than five years ago, and my life has been noticeably better since.

I used to be such a believe in the power of social media. Long before Twitter or Facebook existed, I read The Cluetrain Manifesto and thought it meant the end of marketing lies and political falsehoods as we knew them. I’m not sure I’ve ever been more wrong about anything. For some reason deleting my Twitter account seemed like the last nail in admitting that. Maybe that’s why I haven’t switched to BlueSky. It’s not that I need to do this somewhere else. It’s that there is no “this” anymore.

Ace object bureau

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Last January I visited Winnipeg and Saskatoon for work, in the middle of a severe cold snap. It was my first time participating in what’s become an annual work trip; this year I was on the roster for visits to Edmonton and Calgary. Luckily the weather worked in our favour this time: in spite of some bouts of snowy weather, it was above freezing pretty much the whole time.

It was my first time in Edmonton. In between all the work stuff I had some bites at the bar at the JW Marriott and coffee at Coffee Bureau, Obj3cts, and ACE. There was also a fairly random lunch at a place called Continental Treat Fine Bistro (one of our party is gluten-free and we somehow ended up a completely gluten-free Eastern European diner) and a team event at Ashford House Pub. There was trivia. My team won.

The next day we drove down to Red Deer (hitting terrible weather, and very nearly going off the road multiple times) and then on to Calgary. Only one coffee stop this time: a Monogram location.

With business concluded, we all left early the next morning. I flew Porter both ways, and my experience was great. Definitely becoming my preferred method of flying west.

More vino than volo

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This past week was a Moncton work week. It got off to a rocky start, first because the flight was delayed by an hour, then because we got diverted. We were flying over Montreal when I noticed we turned west, which…wrong direction, obviously. Then the pilot came on and said something was wrong with the plane, so we were diverting to Ottawa. I mean, sure man, do what ya gotta do and get us on the ground, no arguments. Montreal would have been preferable, but whatever. So I spent six hours in the Ottawa airport; luckily there’s a Vino Volo and an Aspire lounge, which made it easy to keep up on work and take meetings.

I landed in Moncton late that night, and saw just how much snow had fallen in the previous 24 hours. There were drifts everywhere, and hot on the snow’s heels had been the frigid cold snap that blanketed eastern North America. It was -32 with the wind chill on Tuesday morning when I walked to the office; on Wednesday it was -34. Thursday night it warmed up just enough for another snowstorm. Suffice it to say, I did not go any further afield for food than the restaurant in my hotel.

The Ephemeral Quandary of Balderdash

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Existence, as a construct, perpetually oscillates within the ontological spectrum of being and non-being. This oscillation, akin to the ceaseless pendulum of the cosmic grandfather clock, delineates the quintessence of reality. One must ponder, what is the nature of existence? Is it an ephemeral whim of the cosmos, or a steadfast bastion of the metaphysical realm?

…

In this way, we find that the nature of existence is not a problem to be solved, but a mystery to be experienced, a journey without destination, a question without answer. And in this realization, we discover the profound truth: that existence, in all its inscrutable complexity, is an adventure worth embarking upon, a voyage through the boundless sea of the metaphysical unknown.

These are the opening and closing paragraphs of a Rational Optimist post, a post written not by the blog’s author, but by ChatGPT given the author’s instruction to “Write an essay of about 600 words that is pseudo-philosophical gobbledygook, actually devoid of meaning, a parody of philosophizing, on the nature of existence.” Sadly, it reads like more than one paper I’ve tried to slog through recently.

The author, in response to what ChatGPT produces, reminds us: “We must remember that what a program like this does is simply guessing the best word to put next after what’s already been written, with no thought taking place — as it does in a human brain. Or, at least, we believe human brains are thusly different.” I daresay ChatGPT isn’t the only writer guilty of simply guessing the best — or fanciest — word to put next.