This much is clear. The iconic butter tart is everything a dessert should be. Read more…
Save Kensington Market: The Battle is on for my Neighbourhood’s Heart and Soul
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…
Britain is a Food Heaven and Haven. What Up Wit Dat?
My recent annual visit to London (U.K.) was the best yet. And, as a long-time defender of British food – yes, this in the face of doubters and haters who think gray roast meat and overcooked brussels sprouts typify that island’s grub – even I was surprised at the high quality of chow (almost) everywhere we ate.
Ross and I spent two weeks covering a wide area of that magnificent city – the place where I lived during formative years from age four to 19 – while sleuthing food, live music and just plain old fun.
This was in between hanging out with my mum who, at age 88, is alive, kicking, still speaking seven languages, being a culture vulture, savouring Goethe in the original with her morning coffee and teaching young ‘uns to read at the local primary school in Primrose Hill. Read more…
A Feast for All the Senses in San Francisco
The last and only time I had been to San Francisco was in 1968, a year after the so-called summer of love.
My then-husband John Kane had a friend living in Haight Ashbury which I recall as a hotbed of head-shops, tie-dye T-shirts, peace symbols and crunchy granola. I also recall buying my first item of vintage clothing in that lively neighborhood: a fur jacket that I wore until it fell apart and was the bellwether of a sartorial style that is my chosen one to this day.
On my recent visit to San Fran – a magical five-day stay in late March complete with sun and balmy temperatures – it looked as if not much had changed in what Hunter Thompson once dubbed Hashbury. The place has been cleaned up, corporatized in spots but there are still head-shops and funky stores specializing in Grateful Dead T-shirts and garments made from home-spun fabrics. Noted: Pipe Dreams, The Anarchist Collective Bookstore and a charming retro diner called The Pork Store that dates back several decades and where I had a tasty salad. Read more…
