Canada/Winterlicious Finis
I never finished my dish of the last day in T.O. I madly taped a bunch of different newscasts as much as I could before I shipped out Sunday morning before the crack of dawn (and subsequently getting in a line I didn't need to get in and wasting about five minutes of half-asleep time).
Saturday I slept late -- 10 AM-ish. We were determined to do some Shopping with a Capital S. Kelly promised H&M's brand-spankin'-new flagship store at Eaton Centre, so H&M it was. On the way there we tried to figure out what to have for a late breakfast. On the fly (without really thinking about it much beforehand) we went for dim sum on Spadina. Oh, it was a good thing too, because we used to do that a lot more often in collegiate times. After the sumptuous meal we hobbled in the direction of Eaton Centre and one of the larger H&M stores I've seen (the other was probably in NYC, whichever one has multiple floors). I looked at casual blazers that I could wear to work with jeans, but nothing fit in my Scottish pennypinching price range -- unless I wanted to go beige, which I definitely didn't. Kelly looked at suity-type jackets for work now that she's an assistant manager for the jewellery (sic, Canadian spelling) store chain she works for. I think she got something nice; I can't remember the specific design. Since I'm an H&M addict I couldn't help picking up a little something.
Oh, all right, it was a cute little pair of boxer shorts. I'm only saying that to make you stop thinking it was a thong. Honestly, you people are irrepressible.
Elsewhere in Eaton Centre we went searching for a leather jacket for Mike T. He found a really nice one at Danier Leather but was hesitant to buy it.
Where was next? I want to say we started home, but got pulled in by Williams-Sonoma. I took the selfish opportunity to beg off for the few minutes that Kelly and Mike T could drool their way through the home and kitchen goods to go find that men's specialty store that intrigued me the last time I was (t)here -- all of two years ago, or whenever it was. It was on one of the levels across from Sears.
Apparently it is no longer there. I looked at something else on my way back, like watches on a chain (because I am looking to maybe get a new nice but CHEAP watch to keep on my belt because I have no idea where my watch went back when I was in Oregon in December and I hurt my wrist) but decided to hightail it back to Williams-Sonoma.
Then on the way to a shortcut to the subway (What is it called? The TTC? The "Rocket" as the ads call it?) we couldn't resist going into one of those stores with "As Seen On TV" crud. Even though this is Canada, they had Chef Tony's handy chopper, the idiotic Magic Bullet chopper (as flogged by the equally idiotically accented Mick Hastie), the Q-grill portable gas grill thing, and a bed-type thing which Mike T had wanted to get for some time. He tried it out. Apparently you hang upside down by your ankles (swinging into position, that is, by a seesaw motion) and it does your back and presumably your spine a world of good. But he wanted to sleep on the thing, and have it replace his regular bed. How anybody could sleep like THAT with all the blood rushing to their head is beyond me. Perhaps it was beyond Mike T too because he didn't stay on it too long.
THE BUSINESS OF THE DAY: Stork on the Roof (Frommer's) was quite delectable for Winterlicious; and $20 sted $30. Much smaller, but oh, great service. We all had to try each others' appetizers and entrees.
I think this is what we had; between the three of us we had everything on the Winterlicious menu:
Bill: Mixed Greens / Indonesian Style Braised Beef Cheek / Frozen Belgian White & Dark Chocolate Terrine
Kelly: Homemade Chicken Liver Parfait / Grilled Butterflied Filet of Salmon / Dutch Apple Pie
Mike T: Soup of the Day (Potato & Onion) / Filo Parcel of Vegetables, Mushrooms & Cheese / Spiced Caramel and Pecan Steamed Pudding
The delay of making this entry a week after the fact really isn't fair, but everything was good, even the Chicken Liver Parfait (if you can kind of get into that sort of thing to a smidgen as I do). Trying Kelly's salmon reminded me of when I'd had bluefish (at least I think it was bluefish) at McCormick and Schmick's in Providence with my friend Patrick, not a month before. The salmon, and possibly what it was marinated in (maybe the salsa had to do something with it too) wasn't at all like the smoked salmon my parents have always eaten with cheese and crackers at the beach in the distant past. (Not that it would be; it wasn't smoked for a start. Yeah, I have a lot to learn when it comes to fish.)
My beef was, granted, reminiscent of what I'd had at Flow the night before. However, this was much spicier; there was a sort of chili-like aftertaste -- not chili paste, like American chili. Kelly identified it as something like paprika, but I don't think it was paprika, and I don't think it was chili powder.
Mike's soup was tasty. I remember having a generous section of his filo, and it was delicious, but it's not exactly.... well, let's put it this way: it's not red meat. Mmmmmm!
My "terrine" was chocolate decadence, but I can't remember if this or what I had later (or, indeed, what I had at Flow) made my tablemates think I was having an indecent reaction. (Well, probably.)
TO FURTHER BUSINESS: Okay, Easy and the 5th was NOTHING like what I expected. I'm thinking we waited outside to get in a previous time I was in Toronto but we did not go in because we got too cold.
The construction of the interiors of Easy and The 5th are evocative of an ancient clothing sweatshop of the 1920's. My saying this is meant to be a compliment. It makes me think the weathered wood of the pillars used to see a lot of work -- and now it sees a lot of pleasure.
Let's begin with The 5th, where we had (additional) dessert. The dashing (and, yes, young, hee hee, but not too young) host, in black three-piece suit, will meet you in the famed rickety freight elevator, now featuring a Persian-style rug and entry table with guest book -- where, if you've come this far for dinner or dessert, your name had better be beforehand. You ride up from the second floor to the fifth in a lengthy but leisurely trip. There are less than 20 tables. A fireplace crackles with gorgeous white leather couches immediately in front, and next to live musicians playing jazz. We sat at the fireplace and started sweating in short order.
The price is as apropos as the decor; immaculate, inscrutable, and incredible. But definitely worth it. I might be happy we weren't having dinner there, but I'd be just as willing to blow the right price with the right person at this intimate lair.
We moved to the bar after a time and continued cocktails. The bartender (bartendress?) who served us was smart, funny, knowledgeable, and great with suggestions. (Though I suppose I embarrassed myself when I asked for a Midori Sour -- which may be a New England thing -- and she didn't know what went in it, and neither did I!) This is about the time I can start blaming my wavering memory on the alcohol. She recommended some kind of unusual martini for me, but I can't remember what it was. I'm pretty sure it was on the sweet side. I also tried some scotch with Kelly and Mike T, but unless I try it on the rocks one of these days and like it that way, it is just not going to become one of my drinks.
A delovely selection for an incredible assignation.
Downstairs was Easy, once known apparently as "The Big Easy." Whatever it is now is fun. However, the white decor continuation seems to be an odd choice for a nightclub. It's a strange feeling to have the light package so reflected.
We danced for at least two, maybe three, hours. There weren't a lot of places to sit, and maybe if we (or at least I) had sat and rested more we could have closed the place down.
It was charming to see purportedly straight men trying to dance -- and well, kind of failing. Then again, whenever I get on the dance floor these days, unless it's got the comfortable anonymity of being packed, it helps if I have at least one drink in me. Then, sober or not, whatever I try doing (though I am committed to having fun on the dance floor no matter what anybody thinks of the may-be shabby performance I give) makes me think of a song... that I guess is Soul Decision's "Faded," which sounds a lot like one of those songs in the 90's which was very sensual, and you might be expected to dance well to it, but guys just cannot.
Veronica, one of the young ladies which had joined our troupe this week for the gastronomic enterprises, and I started having the roving eye. Naturally at first we both started looking at the same guy who was tall, wearing a white button-down shirt with stripes, dishwater blonde but well styled and wearing great vintage-type glasses. Those are all the rage now with trendy and bespectacled [gay] men. Maybe I should get new ones to replace these cute little simple ovals. White-Stripe Shirt Guy was dancing in a group with three other guys and a girl. One of the guys was very ... well, either straight-looking, or not a slave to fashion, or the girl's boyfriend. But then again he started dancing with some other woman so that last must not be it. He was primarily in black with facial hair and a sort of dazed or fish-out-of-water-feeling look on his face. I can't remember the third guy with them but he could have been gay, just like White-Stripe Shirt Guy could have been.
I swear I looked at them too much, and eventually this quartet moved around and/or split up. Then Veronica started eyeing this other guy on the other side of our group, in a group of all straight guys. She struck up a conversation with him... but he turned out to be married. A-ha. Not so much going for that one, though hot in his late 20's. Hmph.
We headed home a little before closing time, our coats having been brought down from The 5th. That's just how thorough they are there.
Entry begun: 4:48 am... Finished 6:37 am after the sun is up enough to start using Skycam.
Labels: Originally published
... Scribbled by Bill T ... 2/06/2005 04:48:00 AM ... 
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