Kensington Market: my neighbourhood, my family – my first real home.
Located in the heart of downtown Toronto bordered by College and Dundas to the north and south, to the east and west by Spadina and Bathurst, this unique enclave is a quirky, edgy, messy mish-mosh of old and new.
It’s where skinny Victorian row houses stand side-by-side with assorted shops and eateries selling everything from soup and suits to nuts and neckties – with plenty of stuff in between. Read more…
I remember the day I was strolling through Kensington Market in the heart of downtown Toronto and realized that, for the first time in my life, I’d found that place called “home”.
It was the late-’70s and, a divorced single mum of a young daughter Esther (now 40 years old, married and a successful therapist living in B.C.), my career as a food writer was germinating. I was also learning some hard life lessons. While dealing with a lot of painful change, I was about to find my calling.
As often happens in my life, serendipity was about to strike. Read more…
Two weeks in London (U.K.) last month wasn’t long enough to sleuth the hot ‘n’ happening food scene in that fair city.
In the 1950s and ’60s, when I spent formative years there, bagels and baguettes were a novelty In fact, my Canadian dad used to make a pilgrimage to Soho’s Berwick St. Market to find cobs of corn: an imported delicacy in those days that cost the equivalent of a dollar apiece. Sunday was the day for our visit to Zlotnick’s in the North London suburb of Finchley where we lived to purchase bagels – almost unknown in our white, white-collar, white-bread nabe – at that lone Jewish deli.
Today, London is a hot-bed of delicious chow – from the nutrient-packed, luscious Muesli pot at Pret a Manger to high-end stuff like snails at the new St. John Hotel. What’s more, corn is on almost every menu along with harissa, veal cheeks, smoked eel, burrata, lovage and other exotica. Read more…
