The Omnibus Blog is back! Filled with words you want and words you might not want. In this post, I share a few stories that I couldn't fit into my last post.
Calling it a night when it's still night
During one of my Canadian visits a couple of years ago, a few of us found ourselves in a Toronto bar at last call. Only it wasn't last call. It was the end of Daylight Savings Time, which meant the clocks would be set back an hour for more drinking time.
We found one such bar and ordered a round of pints. Then I remembered I had a bottle of Palinka in my knapsack. Why did I have a bottle of Palinka in my knapsack? I must have a vendetta against my liver.
So, I pulled the bottle out. I went to the bar and asked for half dozen empty shot glasses, which, inexplicably, the bartender handed to me without question. I returned to the table are begun pouring shots at 2:30am (our body's time).
No one felt well the next day. Except a Polish friend. He was fine and made it to a client meeting. They're made of different stuff in the East.
This year, a few of us, including a few survivors from the Palinka-After-Last-Call Incident gathered at a Toronto brewery. Shortly after midnight we paid our bills and lingered out front. Someone shrugged and halfheartedly suggested a nightcap.
Everyone grumbled: "It's a work night." "It's the holidays." "I'm tired." So we said our heartfelt goodbyes and called it a night.
Best Party Favour Ever
During my first Christmas away from home, my friends James and Robyn started a Christmas tradition, LudaCristmas.
This is the third year of a tried and true premise: Gather a small, tight group of friends together to drink, eat, drink, and hang out.
As we left in the early morning at this Christmas's edition, we were given a Christmas gift box. Inside we found a jar of Advil, a bottle of Gatorade, an instant coffee packet, and an organic energy bar.
There are hosts who look after you during their party, and there are those rare hosts who look after you the morning after.
The Quest for Mexican Food
Toronto has so many great Mexican restaurants that discussions about which one is the best, or the most authentic, can seem like the 30-year-old Torontonian's equivalent of the Israel-Palestine debate from our university days.
There are a lot of opinion. Everyone is certain their's is right. Then someone mentions an more obscure taqueria that's truly authentic. Someone else says those tacos are SoCal knock offs. Then it gets ugly.
Having never been to Mexico, I am blessed with a blissful ignorance over my tacos. I'm happy as long as they're good.
In passing, I told Kata of Toronto's great Mexican food. She was interested. This marked the beginning of a long quest for Mexican Food in Toronto.
On one of our Discovery Walks I managed to steer us to Kensington Market, thinking that we'd eat some tacos at one of the neighbourhood's little cantinas. It was Sunday night and everything was closed because, well, it's the Lord's day, I guess.
The Quest for Mexican Food was put on hold for a couple of days until my cousin, Yolanda, and Mike took us to their neighbourhood taco joint, Wilbur's. I didn't see Mexicans labouring over my fish tacos, so I'm certain purists will doubt its authenticity. But damn they were good.
My mom also caught wind of Kata's Quest for Mexican and, upon our return from Toronto, cooked up one of our childhood favourites: Make-Your-Own Tacos. Again, they're not authentically Mexican, but they are delicious, and authentically Bellamy.
No comments:
Post a Comment