I’d barely gotten off the plane from Vancouver before heading to work, then the company’s holiday party, then a sick day or two, then more work. I was ready for vacation.
First, though, we spent Monday night at The Burdock drinking delicious beer (Meube Noir, dark saison, APA) and watching My Father’s Son (fb | bandcamp) do an excellent live set, followed by a Christmas sing-along at The Three Speed well into the wee hours.
NOW I was ready for vacation. Thankfully I arrived at the farm two days ago. Stay tuned for stories of supreme relaxation.
For various work reasons I found myself in Vancouver for three days this week. Never a bad thing, I says. In between meetings I found a few opportunities to entertain my taste buds.
Tuesday
I used my last AC upgrade to get myself into business class, so I was well-fed on the flight from Toronto to Vancouver. A little spicy chicken, a little basmati rice, a little white whine. Actually, a lot of white wine, and terribly oak-ridden at that. I struggled through though, whilst watching Jason Bourne (meh), Ghostbusters (fun), and The Wrath Of Khan (which was under the Classics section, naturally).
I landed at YVR, checked into my modest little hotel (the St. Regis), grabbed a capp from Caffè Artigiano, did some work, and had a killer steak dinner at Gotham:
Not surprisingly I fell asleep on my hotel bed, trying to watch Netflix.
Wednesday
Giant breakfast downstairs, a coffee meeting with my work friend William, lunch at the spectacular Hawksworth restaurant (a burger and glass of Freemark Abbey Cab Sauv), an espresso at a different Artigiano, a meeting at our Vancouver office, and then more work and more coffee back in my hotel room.
That evening I had drinks at Chambar with my old friend Amy. At first we tried the Reflections pop-up at the top of the Hotel Georgia, but it was about seven different kinds of awful. Luckily I know and love Chambar (or the previous incarnation, at least); I had a Timmermans gueuze and a Grimsbergen dubbel and we shared some charcuterie and over-truffle-oiled bison carpaccio, and got caught up on…I don’t know, seven years?
Thursday
All-day meeting. Flight was delayed; I killed at time at Vino Volo wine bar in YVR and then got home in the middle of the night.
It’s rare that I go this long without posting, but it’s rare that I’m this busy. I’m going point-form this time, just ’cause.
Ten days ago, the Wednesday before last, I caught up with my old friend M2 at Batch, which he’d not tried. The beer was fine. The food was good. The conversation was, as always, long overdue and excellent.
That Friday a busy, noshy weekend started with an outrageous dinner at Carisma. Bread, burrata, calamari, pasta, white wine, a 100% Sangiovese that almost made me cry, creme brulee, espresso…oy. Barely made it home without needing a nap.
Sunday: greasy Sunset Grill breakfast, an entire day grazing on the charcuterie picked up the day before at the market, and gnocchi + sausage + spicy sauce for dinner.
Monday: ham & cheese croissants from XO Bisous before I finally gave up and went to work.
Tuesday: I had to bail on drinks Monday, and (by choice) bailed on a work event Tuesday, because on Wednesday I was off to Ottawa for meetings.
Wednesday: I flew to Ottawa early in the morning, and arrived at my hotel early enough that I had time for a coffee at Morning Owl before my meetings started. I hit Morning Owl two more times that day (once for lunch, once for a meeting that afternoon), then had a fairly generic dinner at the Chateau Laurier.
Thursday: Morning Owl (again!) for coffee and breakfast. After my meetings and then a few errands I stopped at Bluebird Coffee in the Byward Market before meeting CB to get a ride with her to their place, wherein GB was preparing homemade fried chicken, which we ate with Dumangin 2004 Champagne. I caught an Uber X back to my hotel and had a glass of Norm Hardie cab franc at the bar.
Friday (Ottawa): black bean rolls and an Americano from Bread & Sons, back to Morning Owl for coffee to meet my friend Mark, and then lunch at Union 613 with my friend Dino. Union has an excellent beer lineup, and their fried chicken (yup, twice in two days) was outstanding, as was their corn bread. After lunch it was off to the train station and, from thence, Montreal.
Friday (Montreal): after a brief stop at Studio XX it was dinner surrounded by super-loud French bros at Bières et Compagnie, followed by a much better beer place: Pub Pit Caribou. I’ll be honest, I don’t even know what the main beer list looks like, because their menu said they were featuring guest bottles of Gueuze Tilquin. My holy fucking grail. Both kinds, the L’Ancienne and the Quetsche. Deeeeeeeelicious.
Saturday: so relaxing, Saturday. Enough pastries to kill a man, then hours of Black Mirror, then another killer dinner at Maison Publique. Seared mackerel, spiced lamb tartare on mint toast, roasted cabbage (better than it sounds, probably because it was smothered in butter), fried rabbit, and a pôt de crème, mostly paired with a Painted Rock Syrah.
Sunday: my flight home got cancelled, so I switched myself onto the latest flight possible so as to extend my enjoyment of Montreal. I hit two more spots on my list: Brasserie Boswell, which was really cool and had lots of great beer on tap, and Depanneur Peluso, the top-rated dep in Montreal for craft beer. I bought a few bottles, including a Beau’s One Ping Only, partly because it’s a tasty-looking Baltic Porter, and partly because of the Hunt For Red October reference.
Monday: now back in Toronto, I left work to meet up with my buddy Jeff at Little AAA, the second installation of old favourite AAA. A couple of bourbons, a pulled pork sandwich, and smoked chicken wings later, I find myself in dire need of salad and water.
With a friend/colleague in town and wanting to meet up for a drink, I scouted possible options near his hotel. Having never tried it, despite a long-standing intention to do so, I settled on The Gabardine. We met before it got too busy, after a Christmas-strewn shortcut through The Bay.
I had a lovely little bourbon + ginger ale cocktail, and (at the bartender’s insistence) a plate of “crispy fried grits, pickled jalapenos, nacho cheese, bacon, and maple” that was decadent and completely delicious.
Too rarely these days do I get to see CBGB (and their linked pair, MLK) so I jumped at the chance to have brunch/lunch with them today. It was great to catch up and talk, naturally, politics.
I’d also forgotten how much I miss The Oxley, now that I don’t work near there. Such a nice cozy place, and such a solid burger.
Along with most Canadians between 30 and 60 years of age, I watched the final Tragically Hipconcert last night. The CBC, blessedly sensing the import of the moment, preempted Olympic coverage and aired the whole concert commercial-free. We knew we’d want to watch it surrounded by other people; luckily our friends JP and Sue invited us over to their backyard viewing party.
I’d seen them live three times — light, by Canadian standards — and would have been strangely okay if the Fully Completely anniversary tour in 2015 was my last time. I’d kind of drifted away from the Hip in recent years, paying less and less attention to their albums and tours, but there’s no denying how important they were to me through the 90s. I didn’t really pay attention to the first albums that won them fans, but I knew who they were. Ultimately what won me over was their performance of Locked In The Trunk Of A Car live on the Junos (I think?) in 1992. I struggled to process what I was listening to: a song about a car that eats…conquistadors? It was stuck in my head all night and the next day; I remember standing at the end of our lane the next morning, waiting for the schoolbus, hearing Gord sing “Let me ooouuuuutttttt!!!!!!!” over and over. To this day it’s one of my three favourite Hip songs.
By the time I got to university they were everyone’s unofficial soundtrack — Fully Completely was on constant rotation until Day For Night came out; I was at home on the farm one weekend, driving to Amherst with brother #2, when a radio station played Grace, Too for the first time. I have a clear memory of driving across the Southampton bridge as those first bass notes started, and I’ve loved the song deeply since. It too remains one of my three favourites.
My other favourite was a slower build over several years, buried halfway down Fully Completely, and so utterly drenched in Leafs history that I should hate it, but the simplicity and sadness and power of Fifty Mission Cap are special to me. Clearly, though, their music holds meaning for me, and for millions of other people. And while I’ve long felt that the Rheostatics might be even truer representatives of Canadian culture (at least to nerds like me) there’s no denying the Hip’s cultural importance in this country. I could hear it coming from strangers around me last night, and from CBC interviews before and after the show, and from all over the internet in the days leading up to the show. There was palpable weight to the moment before they took the stage, and it mattered to me what they played, and when.
That they started with Fifty Mission Cap was almost troubling — shouldn’t this be a powerful set closer? How could they possibly keep the momentum up? But they did, with songs carrying a different kind of weight — the weight of Gord Downie’s diagnosis. When he sang “Courage (for Hugh MacLennan)” we were all singing “COURAGE!” back at him. When he grumbled the bridge in “At The Hundredth Meridian” it tore at us.
If I die of vanity, promise me
Promise me they bury me some place I don’t want to be,
You’ll dig me up and transport me, unceremoniously,
Away from the swollen city-breeze, garbage bag trees,
Whispers of disease, acts of enormity
And lower me slowly, sadly and properly
Get Ry Cooder to sing my eulogy.
They played all their slow-song crowd favourites (Wheat Kings, The Last of the Unplucked Gems, Poets, Scared) which have never been my favourites, but they also played Fiddler’s Green, which no one seemed to expect. I didn’t, anyway. It was tough.
The first encore, predictably, was all Up To Here. There was no way they could leave without playing any of New Orleans Is Sinking, Boots or Hearts, or Blow at High Dough. The second encore is what got me though…but not Nautical Disaster or Scared. It was Grace, Too. It was how Downie broke down, completely, as he screamed the final words — “Now??! No!!!” — over and over. We were watching a dying man staring his own mortality in the face, in front of a whole country, and spitting rage back at it. I couldn’t deal with it. I felt tears on my cheeks. Judging by my social feeds, and the rest of that backyard, I wasn’t the only one.
That ended the encore, and the band walked off. I think they had always planned for another, but couldn’t count on Gord being able to continue. I glad he did; that might have been the most poignant end, but it wouldn’t have been the right one. They came back out and to my great joy played Locked in the Trunk of a Car. Finally, thankfully. I got to hear Gord screaming “Let me out!” one last time, and felt complete. Only the surprise appearance of Cordelia could have made it better, but of course that dark a song wouldn’t fit. They were back to say goodbye with a smile, or at least a smirk. They ended with Gift Shop — one last show of wit and power — and Ahead By A Century, so Gord had enough time and room to say proper goodbyes to the crowd. And they were gone.
Now that I’ve typed this far, my random ‘play all Tragically Hip songs’ playlist has served up Cordelia, so I almost got my wish after all. It must have been the one more thing I really needed. I don’t know what that will be for Gord, but I hope he gets it.
.:.
The set list, according to the CBC:
Fifty-Mission Cap Courage (for Hugh MacLennan) Wheat Kings At the Hundredth Meridian In a World Possessed by the Human Mind What Blue Tired as F–k Machine My Music at Work Lake Fever Toronto #4 Putting Down Twist My Arm Three Pistols Fiddler’s Green Little Bones The Last of the Unplucked Gems Something On Poets Bobcaygeon Fireworks
New Orleans Is Sinking Boots or Hearts Blow at High Dough
Nautical Disaster Scared Grace, Too
Locked in the Trunk of a Car Gift Shop Ahead by a Century
Last night I had dinner with T-Bone at Bar Isabel. I forgot to write anything down or take any pictures. There wasn’t much break in the conversation; our server could barely get our order in. I remember an Isabel Fashioned, a cured meat plate, jamón croquetas, shishito peppers, tostadas with tuna and pig’s ear, a big pork dish, a quarter octopus, and a bottle of English sparkling…Coates & Seely, I think? And some 1962 Don PX to end off. It was all veeerrrrrrrrrrry tasty.
Afterwards we walked off some of that food and had a drink at Archive. T-Bone had a Sancerre. I had a Pearl Morissette Pinot from Sonoma. We planned our next dinner and hugged goodbye and caught Ubers in oppositely directed vectors.
Nearly three years ago we ate at Eigensinn Farm, Michael and Nobuyo Stadtlander’s place in Singhampton, and reckoned we’d never probably never go back. Then, a few months ago, a plan formed with our friends Brian & Mandy to book a dinner (their first time) along with their friends who live nearby. After a lot of follow-up emailing we got the date we wanted, and after some wine planning last week and some road-tripping yesterday we arrived in beautiful Grey County at the friends’ place. It was great having a home base nearby; doing the trip up and back in the same night last time was a little much. Plus, their place is beautiful and they have a dog and a cat, so I was happy. The cat hated me though.
As for dinner, I didn’t think it could possibly live up to my memory of our first visit. I was so wrong. Here’s what we had:
Amuse geule. This was a collection of six or seven things on a horseshoe-shaped plate: a Malpeque oyster, a bit of perch in butter and hazelnut, a bit of pig head cheese, a white fish in a dill sauce so good we licked it off the shell it was served on, something that looked like prosciutto, some kind of cured meat wrapped around a chunk of pear, another cured (and smoked) meat on a triangle of toast, I think one other thing that I’m forgetting. We were handling the wine pairings for the first half of the meal, so we paired this with a 2005 Benjamin Bridge Brut Reserve — a hit, it seemed, with all those who hadn’t tried BB before.
Lobster soup with asparagus. Until we got there we didn’t know what kind of soup this would be, so we brought wine options. Once we found out it was bisque-y we opted for the 2009 Hidden Bench Tête de Cuvée Chardonnay, and it didn’t disappoint. Neither did the soup — great buttery chunks of lobster and asparagus, and the broth was so good we (nearly) all tipped the bowl up and drank every last drop.
Composition of Eigensinn Farm piglet. I mean…seriously. It was so succulent and delicious I almost cried. The wine we paired it with — a 2009 Maison Roche de Bellène Grand Cru Clos de Vougeot — was something I’d been holding onto for a special occasion, and this dish certainly qualified. It was goddamned amazing. All of it.
Pickerel with sugar snap peas. Delicate, flaky but still meaty…just perfect. The wine was another game-time decision since we didn’t know how the pickerel was prepared, so we went with a 2015 Five Rows Sauvignon Blanc.
Black currant sorbet. I was glad to see the palate cleanser is still served in the upside-down bottoms of broken wine bottles.
We went for a short walk around the garden before the main course, during which Brian took over and opened his sparkling: a dry & delicious 2009 Trius 5 Blanc de Noirs. Palates: cleansed.
Eigensinn Farm lamb with garden vegetables. Madre de dios. It was so delicious we (who had been pretty boisterous all night, probably to the annoyance of some of the other guests) went quiet and just made moaning noises. Enough. Mercy. No mas. For this Brian broke out a 2007 Southbrook Poetica Cab Merlot, which I think I would have loved a little more had it been a little less Merlot-heavy. But that’s my thing. We quickly finished that bottle, though, and opened another special one: a 2012 Ravine “Stadtlander” Reserve red blend, which had been signed by chef himself. It put a nice little personal signature on the evening, and how amazing of Brian & Mandy to share that with us.
Cheese with walnut raisin bread. There were three cheeses: a Grey Owl (my perennial favourite), a mild blue (Benedictine from Quebec, I think?), and a third which I can’t remember but which was delicious. They all were. We finished off the rest of the Stadtlander reserve.
Dessert with strawberries. Uh, yeah. We expected a small dessert. Out came three desserts on the plate which, to be totally honest, I don’t quite remember. Nellie says there was a crumble of some kind and some sage ice cream. I just remember being really full. I also remember that we had it with the friends’ Colaneri late harvest Riesling. Oh, they told us while we were eating that one of the desserts had hand-written fortunes inside. That explained the over-chewy bite I had just pulled out of my mouth and had attributed to their first miss of the evening. Needless to say I could not read my fortune.
Petit fours. Sure, okay.
All in all, this meal was significantly better than our first visit, and probably ranks in my top ten of all time. We left feeling very fat, and very happy.
This morning the friends fed us a grand feast (bacon, eggs, french toast done in a waffle-maker, and enough coffee to waterboard my hangover) and we were on our way back to the GTA. Brian & Mandy were headed elsewhere so they dropped us at the GO Train to Union Station, which afforded us an excuse to check out the food vendor market on Front Street. I had an excellent brisket sammie from Carbon Bar, and Nellie had a lobster roll. We’ll be headed back there in some upcoming weekends.
Since going to Cava a few weeks ago I’ve been meaning to return with Nellie, and Wednesday night we did. We had to meet friends nearby around 8 anyway. It wasn’t as epic a meal as last time I was there, but we did just fine:
pincho of valdeon with sherry-roasted figs
croqueta of jamón with caper-sultana sauce
roasted beets with honey, valdeon, and grilled escarole
jamón iberico, salchichon, chorizo, and idiazabal cheese
Had some good wine too, obviously.
I will say, though, that both in terms of the food and the value for money, I’d have to say that I prefer Patria. Twice now we’ve gone, both times being blown away by the food, and both times come away paying less than we’d expected. So while Cava’s a good midtown option I think Patria will remain at the top of my Spanish craving list.
Skirl | Dan Dickinson 