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.
This summer, I finally made the move back to Toronto after giving Stratford, Ont., – the well-known rural home of Shakespeare, swine and swans – the five-year college try.
After a disappointing dinner at much-touted and chi-chi restaurant Toast! in Quebec City (pricey and, except for the Lobster Risotto, underwhelming), it was wonderful to wind up having breakfast seated on a stool at the counter of Buffet de L’Antiquaire : a charming, authentic diner on the edge of the old city close to the river.
