Day 84: The Gelato Racquet.

Posted on May 23, 2012 by LaLa

Getting back into the swing of things.

A good friend had been trying to drag me out to play badminton with her for months now, and tonight, we finally made that happen.  You see, I used to play the sport über-competitively back in the day, but when you use an expression like that, you know it has been longer than you care to remember, and it kinda makes you unsure whether the levels of embarrassment and frustration will be worth the effort of becoming the Comeback Queen.

I must admit, maybe the most fun I had was watching the encouraging faces on the regulars there when my friend told them that I was brand new to the game, and then having them congratulate me, saying that I had real potential.  Ya, it’s pretty much a slam dunk at this point that my cohorts and I are all going to hell, and, as another one of my friends puts it, it’s now just a matter of seating arrangements.  But I digress.

Where we were playing was at the new-to-me Joseph J. Piccininni Community Recreation Centre at St. Clair and Lansdowne, on the border of Corso Italia.  My relic of a racquet held up decently, helping me to win almost all of my games, even without the luxury of proper court shoes, an ankle brace, a consistent swing, or even a basic understanding of the twenty-one point scoring system that was awarding a point to one side with every single rally.  Oh, how times have changed.

Quite possibly the best part of the evening, though, was the post-gym visit to the conveniently located La Paloma Gelateria & Cafe right next door.  Nothing says time to reward yourself for sweating buckets quite like a cold bite of heaven served in a waffle cone of sugary goodness on a hot summery night.  Did you know that the current version of gelato was invented by the Chinese, who passed it to the Arabs, who passed it to the Sicilians, who, if you ask them, perfected it?  True story!

How do they get all the happiness inside?

After waiting behind a couple of customers who were clearly picking out china patterns that they would have to look at every single meal for the rest of their lives, I ordered the limoncello gelato.  It was divine!  Although, paying retail was a bit of a shock to the system.  Why oh why did I not have a voucher for this?!?  It really did seem like a bit of a racket to me – or should I say racquet.  But what price happiness, especially the kind that comes in a cone full of instant gratification.  Oh tasty treat, forgive me, as you are most definitely worth it!

Speaking of vouchers, the other new thing that made its grand debut in this hodgepodge of a day was the Mini DV Video Camera that I had purchased on a deal way back in February (for $35, retail value $70).  I finally broke down and had to read the manual that came with it, which was written in Chinglish, to get it to work, where I discovered the maximum size of the micro SD memory card it could handle was 16 GB, so the 32 GB I had inserted was blowing its proverbial mind.  Ah, details.

While its compact size is indeed handy, without a viewfinder, it is going to take some practice to capture anything other than the sky and my toes, as you can see in this teensy clip (now edited using iMovie, also a first) taken outside La Paloma.  My first short film… Enjoy!

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Day 83: Chill a Drink Without Ice.

Posted on May 22, 2012 by LaLa

Three cheers for happy hour!

What an incredibly gorgeous long weekend we had!  It was still quite balmy and sunny outside this evening, and, with my air conditioning on the fritz, frankly, I felt like a very cold cocktail would do me a world of good.  The cupboards were a little bare, but I did manage to scrounge up some orange juice and vodka – everything I needed to make a screwdriver.  Perfect!

I mean, I didn’t actually feel like a screwdriver, you know, all straight and metallic, with a flat head to use as leverage for turning myself around in circles, but rather, I felt like I would really enjoy drinking one right about now.  Clearly, it’s been a long day!

And by that, I mean I finally ran out of excuses for pulling my tax stuff together, which I schlepped up to my accountant’s office, and then proceeded to print out a bunch of receipts and slips that I hadn’t gotten around to producing earlier.  Yes, I do realize that they were due at the end of April, but, you know, I’ve been busy!  This not working for a living business is very time-consuming.

I suppose that will technically qualify as yet another first – filing my taxes more than a month late.  In fact, this might even be the first time I have ever filed them late at all… although I find that highly unlikely.  If only I could remember these unimportant details in life – or even the important ones, for that matter!

Screwdriver deconstructed.

Okay, so back to the cocktail…  On a hot, sunny day, well, let’s face it, on any day, you want your drink to stay nice and chilled to the last drop, particularly when you’ve paid a pretty penny for your booze.  And the absolute last thing you want are some ice cubes diluting, or worse, polluting, your delicate concoction’s flavours.

Enter the deal of the day.  Several months ago, I bought a voucher for a ‘whiskey ice stone’ set ($40 value for $19, shipping included) as a birthday gift for the roommate.  As someone who frequently enjoys a pre-dinner aperitif, it seemed like the perfect present.  Well, I came across the still unopened package in the freezer today, and thought I may as well give them a dry run to see if they did in fact live up to the hype.

The rocks working harder than The Rock!

After giving the chilly stones a quick rinse in freezing cold water, I added them to my glass of vodka and orange juice, which I then proceeded to sip as I wrote this post and caught up on a few phone calls.

To be fair, I probably didn’t need to add all 8 of the mini-cubes to the glass, but there was only so much orange juice left, and the space might otherwise get topped up with vodka, and that just seemed a little indulgent for a Tuesday night after a long weekend… Maybe?

Where did all the happiness go?

I am happy to report that the drink did not get diluted towards the bottom of the glass, as expected, and frankly, I’d be more than a little concerned if it had, because that would mean that the cubes were made of something other than granite, and that would completely freak me out.  The cocktail also stayed nicely chilled for the couple of hours that I was sipping it, and I further did not detect any funny flavours from the freezer (I keep meaning to put a box of baking soda in there, but so many other shiny objects keep getting in the way).  The verdict?  Two smiling thumbs up!  No doubt to be followed by a pleasant night’s sleep. G’night!

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Day 82: Try to Light Fireworks.

Posted on May 21, 2012 by LaLa

Such a pretty kaboom!

Maybe it’s a small town thing, but growing up, we were never allowed to even dream about setting off fireworks by ourselves.  This was strictly an activity to be carried out by licensed and knowledgeable pyro-technicians, funded by the city, executed on national holidays, and observed from a safe distance, preferably from inside our family car.

Looking back, this may have been to allow my parents sufficient time to make a speedy getaway in case a mischievous neighbour did decide to set them off nearby and gave us any more crazy ideas (apparently, we came up with enough of those on our own).

Quality family time?!!?

Thus, it came as a huge surprise when a colleague of mine that I was celebrating new year’s eve with one year in Germany invited me to join him and his family to set off fireworks in their local park after dinner.  I honestly thought that this was illegal, and that my host was just trying to get a reaction out of me.  Or, more likely, that he had a secret double-life and was a certifiable pyromaniac by night.  Regardless, I was fascinated and a little giddy with the slight element of danger involved, as I watched the process from a reasonably safe distance.

The sparklers were thrown in for free!

So, today’s mixed results should not really come as  much of a surprise.  As many of my new things do, it all began with a deal.  Yep, it was just another miser, albeit holiday, Monday.  I had purchased a handful of fireworks last week with a voucher (I paid $9 for $20 worth) that was supposed to be used towards a particular selection of combustibles that were unfortunately backordered, so the manager substituted gawd only knows what, which were purportedly worth more than the original deal, and wished me luck.  I managed to get them home without any explosions, and considered that to be a good omen.

The royals were dazzled!

This evening, I met up with some family and friends for a little wine and cheese to watch the officially sanctioned fireworks over Ashbridges Bay.  Mr. Champers insisted on coming along as well, just in case we were able to catch a glimpse of Chuck and Camilla, who were also in the ‘hood for the occasion.  The ever-so-uncarefully crafted plan was to try and light the fireworks prior to the main event, so that we could then relax and enjoy the show.  The only caveat?  I forgot to bring along anything to light them with!  Yep, those pesky details struck again…  Now, I am usually quite thankful that very few people smoke anymore, but this was not one of those times.  So, we decided to try again after the main event.

My brother offered to be my co-conspirator in setting off the fireworks in a park close by my house.  Nothing like a sibling to bring you right back to feeling like your slightly naughty and rebellious youthful self.  I tried both of the barbecue lighters that I could find in the kitchen, and one of them seemed to work, so we stealthily walked over to the basketball court to line them up.

This is not how we do it.

I then tried to light the first one.  My brother, being much more risk averse than me, was bravely standing at least 30 metres away – a mere half of the recommended distance on the side of the ‘Red Burst Volcano’.  Of course, after about five minutes of trying, the barbecue lighter simply refused to spark a proper flame.  Crap.  So we skulked back to the house, where my hand triumphantly emerged from the junk drawer in the kitchen with a box of those really long matchsticks that I vaguely remember picking up in a dollar store many moons ago.  We stealthily returned to the park.

Come on baby light my fire…

At this point, it was already past 11:30 pm and pretty well all of the lights in the nearby houses were long since extinguished.  We resumed our positions, and I began to light the matches.  One by one, they would burst into a dazzling flame, which would just as quickly be extinguished by a gust of wind before the fuse would catch on fire.  I kid you not, I went through twenty-two of those suckers before my brother cautiously approached, raised his eyebrow, and reminded me that he had to be at work very early in the morning, and that perhaps we could try again tomorrow with, oh, I dunno, maybe a working lighter?

Logic and reasoning often have no place once I set my mind to something; however, being the occasionally mature adult that I am, I respected his situation, and agreed that this was probably not going to happen.  I won’t lie when I say that we were both likely a little relieved on some level as we walked back to the house with our heads held just that wee bit higher, with our long-lost childhood guilt somewhat assuaged.  I put the fireworks away where they were unlikely to accidentally catch on fire, to be set ablaze on another day in the hopefully not too distant future.

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Day 81: Visit Norfolk County.

Posted on May 20, 2012 by LaLa

Thankfully, this was not our ride.

Road trip!  Two sweet little words that can inspire so much mystery and excitement all at once.  It was the May long weekend, and in honour of our country’s Commonwealth ancestry, I decided to celebrate the eve of ye olde Queen Vic’s birthday by joining a couple of friends for a bit of an adventure to regions unknown – well, at least, unknown to me.  This took us around the Golden Horseshoe of lake Ontario all the way south of Hamilton into Norfolk County, home to Port Dover and its surrounding hamlets, nestled on another Great Lake, namely, Erie.

The La La Boutique. No affiliation… yet.

Now, it is important not to confuse Port Dover with the English ‘proper’ port city of Dover, renowned for its white cliffs and all of that.  The Canadian Port Dover is, well, um, different, being much closer in spirit and style to the Jersey and Geordie Shores.  The other thing that added to its decidedly shabby chic charm, besides the Giant Tiger and wonderfully monikered La La Boutique on Main street, was the little overlooked detail that it is popular with motorcycle enthusiasts not only on Friday the 13ths, but also every May long weekend.  Who knew?  Apparently, everybody except for the three of us.  Ah, details…

Timeless treasures and trinkets.

The first couple of stops en route were almost accidental, like when we spotted a large ‘Fish Tacos’ banner in one of the towns we were passing through.  Naturally, this merited further investigation, as who doesn’t love fish tacos!  It turned out that the sign was a clever way to attract city folk, such as ourselves, to peruse the aptly named ‘Nice Old Stuff’ shop that was crammed to the rafters with someone else’s treasures.  This disappointment was swiftly alleviated by the 99 cent breakfast sandwich I acquired at the immaculate Country Style doughnut shop just up the road.  Delicious!

This way to the start of summer variety show.

It was with these renewed spirits that we entered the town of Port Dover, which has a decidedly Kellerman’s stuck-in-time summer resort vibe to it, a la Dirty Dancing.  But don’t worry, Baby was not in any corner that we could find.  We ambled up and down ‘the strip’ for a few hours, stopping for the occasional value-laden purchase, which for me, consisted of a couple of types of, what else, cheese, including one merlot-soaked cheddar from Wisconsin of all places that proved to be simply divine.

Beached bliss.

We dipped our toes into Lake Erie at the main beach in town, and I marvelled at the kids frolicking in the effing freezing water.  On the way back to the car, I stopped for the mandatory soft-serve chocolate dip ice cream cone at the infamous Arbor’s, which always seemed to be lined up for its hot dogs and Golden Glow, whatever the heck that is.

Mmmm… ice cream!

From there, we briefly set down at Port Ryerse (inexplicably pronounced rye-er-see by the locals), passed through Fisher Glen, and stopped for a pee break and some yummy Brantford-imported kettle corn at Normandale‘s general, and possibly only, store.  We continued along Front Road near the waterfront all the way to Turkey Point, where we once again immersed ourselves in local colour, by walking the laneway along the beach, and plopping ourselves down on a patio for some much needed refreshments.

It’s not a long walk off this short dock.

We wound our way back through the beautiful countryside more or less the same way through Jarvis, stopping at a roadside farm stand for some freshly harvested and locally grown delicious asparagus.  Happy Spargelfest!  Leave it to the Germans to infuse asparagus with vodka to create Spargeltinis.  Hmm… That actually sounds kind of yummy.  So yeah, besides that, I see cream of asparagus soup, asparagus omelettes, and grilled asparagus in my near future.  Yum!  And with that, I officially declare:  red rover, red rover, we call Port Dover, over.

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Day 80: Midfield Wine Bar.

Posted on May 19, 2012 by LaLa

From time to time, it’s important to branch out of your neighbourhood to try someone else’s local haunts, if only to more fully appreciate your own favourite spots just that wee bit more.  Occasionally, of course, you do run the risk of liking the new place on the other side of town even more than your own, but that’s okay, because eventually, if you’re like me, you’ll probably just forget, so you may as well enjoy yourself everywhere you go.  Yes, this is a little LaLa Logic to liven up your day.  You’re welcome!

Today’s adventure brought me across the city to the newly-ish opened Midfield Wine Bar & Tavern in Little Portugal, just outside of the people’s republic of Parkdale, at Dundas and Gladstone.  Its transformation into an authentic wine-centric drinking establishment is most definitely complete.  The only nosh on the chalkboard menus are strictly there to enhance the core being of the place, which, in case you missed it, is the wine.  Hallelujah!

Of course, that meant it would have been downright rude not to order a cheese platter to accompany our carefully chosen bottle and glass of wines with my gal pals on this hot summer night.  One of the co-owners of the Midfield, Giuseppe, personally helped us to navigate both menus, offering us tastes of the delicious wines before we committed to them, and we were incredibly pleased with the results on all accounts.

It is so nice to see such carefully chosen wines available by the glass in this comfortable, homestyle space, where we were able to relax as we merrily chatted, sipped and nibbled the night away.  Since it wasn’t too busy when we arrived, we even experienced the added pleasure of engaging Giuseppe in conversation, who is clearly very happy with how business is progressing.

The one thing that we struggled with a bit in terms of the decor were the bars on the windows.  Apparently, the neighbourhood is still a bit in transition, so to speak, which means they will remain there for the foreseeable future.  No biggie, really, as they do allow for ample people-watching opportunities of the pedestrian traffic in the summer, so it’s all good.

I have to add a quick shout out here to the cheese platter, naturally.  Not only was it an excellent selection of blue, cheddar, and soft delectable dairy delights from around the globe, but it was also accompanied by little tasty morsels that only heightened their flavour.  I mean, who doesn’t like a few walnuts, dried apricots, and oozing bits of honeycomb to accompany their unobtrusively replenished bread basket?  Simply divine.  Note that the above photo is from another blog, as we devoured ours without a second’s thought to snapping a few photos of our own.  Whoops.

In any case, I should probably get back to my local beloved Swirl wine bar post haste, before they realize I’ve been missing… Okay, maybe just after this one next glass, you know, for the long streetcar ride home.  Cheers!

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