School Me

I was a good student. I liked going to school. I hugged my teachers as long as was socially acceptable. All in all, the idea of school holds mostly positive memories. Which surprises me, really, considering the amount of bullying I withstood. From as early as I can remember until the end of Grade 9, I was tormented by an assortment of boys. And not in a good way.

After that, I settled nicely into the comfort and safety of the Music Department where I was, in relative terms, extremely cool. My best friend Sandi and I rose the ranks and eventually led the department, socially, by way of the Music Council. Like Student Council. For nerds.

This morning Sandi took me for a belated-birthday-brunch at a newish place in Liberty Village. It's called, aptly, School. It's a charming little cafe in, what looks like, a reclaimed auto-shop. They are wholly devoted to their theme, with more academic tchotches than most modern-day underfunded innercity schools.

It's such a neat spot. Matte black paint everywhere, chalkboard-style. A "film strip" on a big screen humming in the background. Great fixtures and chairs and high ceilings.

At first, I thought we'd stepped into Hipster Central - a place for the too-cool-for-school type, but the service was excellent and attentive, friendly and easygoing. The menu is fastened to a clipboard and the rich, gut-rotting coffee is served in giant mugs, rather than can-I-get-a-refill diner cups.

We both got the standard breakfast plate, which was just that: nothing particularly mind-blowing, though the sweet potato hashbrowns were a nice touch. A table nearby ordered a platter of tastes from the waffles and pancakes menu which looked incredible. Our server noted that he just threw it together for them. I like a restaurant that isn't married to its menu.

This was a case of sum total dining: Though our particular choices weren't groundbreaking, the atmosphere and service made the whole thing fun and kitschy. A red delicious apple at each setting and the bill tucked into a cute Progress Report envelope threw everything over the top cute-city.

Always Better The Second Day

When I was a kid, our typical leftovers were bland slabs of meatloaf or a Tupperware stuffed with Kraft Dinner. They were usually consumed by my Dad, standing over the sink, joyfully munching on the cold, tasteless shapes. And then, for years, I could barely afford to eat meals, let alone have leftovers.

And then a half Polish, half Italian mamacita came into our lives and we started seeing leftovers again. Whenever we go to Nick and Natasha's, we are loaded-up on the way out. Hunks of parmesan cheese her Dad got somewhere, or a bottle filled with olive oil more virginal than Taylor Swift. A slab of yesterday's cheese cake or a bag full of limes they won't get through.

(Giada has nothin' on her. Taken in 2006. Deserves a blog of its own.)

On Sunday, she not only cooked an incredible meal, she also sent us home with some high-end leftovers. The night before she'd made the most perfectly gorgeous beef tenderloin, beautifully seasoned parisienne potatoes and crisp green beans with crushed hazelnuts. I'd get less from an a-list caterer. And Gladware doesn't do it justice.

Your Roving Eyes: honey & jam

I can't get enough of this blog.

Not So Fast

On November 1st I wrote about the view from our apartment. Leaves were falling quickly at that point, the initial drop so drastic. But they seem to have slowed a little. Or perhaps I've adjusted to the shift, my focus drifting from the shock of autumn's end and letting go of the notion that we might skip winter and go straight back to spring.

I've been noticing, though, that three weeks later (the light colder and much lower in the sky) some leaves are still clinging to the hope.

These Roving Tastebuds

As a reader pointed out, I do realize this blog is increasingly pornographic, food-wise. But 'tis the season for my most-favourite foods. I find great comfort in eating (thank god for a bossy metabolism) and particularly the foods of autumn and winter: soups, chili, bread, cookies and pies and turkey and potatoes. Red wine and mulled wine and apple cider. Oh my.

Sunday Night Family Dinner with Nick and Natasha continued tonight. And she didn't disappoint, serving up an incredible pizza of figs, blue cheese, and onions. Fresh, strong wedges of garlic. A pesto sauce. Incredible.

She followed it up with a hearty, perfect-for-November lentil soup. Carrots and celery and chunks of kielbasa in a broth she made from the roast chicken we had last week. Served with fresh grated parmesan, it was heaven.

Natasha is also getting right into the Christmas spirit, at least as far as decor goes. She's added hits of silver and pine cones and gorgeous greenery. The whole apartment feels warm and festive, rich with textures.

And there's no better way to follow-up a wonderful meal than with repeats of 30 Rock. I hope you're all spending quiet, comfortable time with the ones you love.

Coming up soon: Recipes for all of Natasha's food (though I'm trying to get her to start a blog!) and a house tour of the beautiful apartment she and Nick share.

On Aging and Cheese

Yesterday I turned another year older. But somehow 28 doesn't fit.

I've always felt older than I am, have always run with an older crowd (read: Moms, teachers, my sister and her friends) and have been described as an "old soul" more times than I can count. And maybe that's why I sort of can't wait to be 43. Not that I'm wishing my life away, but I just think that's when I'll be at my best: my 40's are really gonna be my decade.

So, for now I'll wait. I'll chip away at my flaws, analysing and refining, to figure out what it's all about. And I'll celebrate the parts of myself that simply are. There's a point when you can't deny those deep-seated quirks, those parts of your character that might be a blight, but actually add up to part of your charm. And if that's getting older, bring it.

My beautiful dreamboat took me and our dearest friends for a fantastic meal at Caren's Wine and Cheese Bar. And while the service left much to be desired, the food more than made up for it. Cheese fondue and steak and syrupy, apple-tinged red cabbage. Mixed grills and lambchops and Caren's famous macaroni and cheese. Crab cakes, stilton-stuffed burgers and the best apple pie my friend T.J. has ever tasted.

And two small words that changed the world: au gratin.