Toronto Day 1: Reconnoitering

[muckefuck]

The WiFi does work even in our eyrie, but typing in the semi-dark was driving me mad, so I came down to the lounge and met one of our fellow inhabitants. He's a filmmaker (a claim I couldn't resist verifying with a quick IMDb lookup a moment ago) and a friend of the owners, so he hangs here when he's in town. I'm eager to get a bit more of their story. How do two young Turkish guys end up running a b&b on the rough side of Toronto together.

And make no mistake--this is not a good 'hood. The filmmaker called the corner a block to the west "the worst in Toronto" even while he called this place "the best deal in Toronto". Time will tell if we were pound foolish. So far, the main thing we're missing out on are amenities close at hand. When the GWO asked one half of our host team for a good local coffeeshop, he got walking directions to Cabbagetown. Yeah, not so much.

He seems like a good guy, so well-meaning I felt like I was putting him out rudely showing up exactly when we said we would to find him cleaning the halls. He hurried to bring us cushions for our private deck, but unfortunately no protection from the full sun--and of course neither of us thought to bring a hat. We had a nap and then decided to do some exploring. Finding a decent coffeeshop meant walking all the way to the Eaton Centre, buying tokens meant walking down to one end, and finding an LLBO (state-run liquor store) meant walking the back up to the other end. It was crazy with people; Dundas Square was almost unnavigable.

The place nitouche recommended for feijoada was on Queen St West, so after our drinks in the garden, we headed down to there to catch the streetcar. Not a good plan: you walk straight through the projects that give Moss Park its unsavoury rep. "We're not coming back this way," I told the Old Man, and we didn't. (We took the replacement bus service down Dundas until we could switch to the streetcar.)

Unfortunately, I thought the restaurant would be so easy to spot that I didn't bother to memorise the address. We must've gone right past it since we reached Dovercourt without seeing it and no one we asked had any idea what we were talking about. So it was back to Ossington, up to Dundas, and then into the heart of the Portuguese Village. Brazilian Star Bar was the first place I saw I recognised from Googling "feijoada", so in we went.

I won't say it was superior experience to caipirinhas at Caju, but it was definitely one we couldn't have gotten elsewhere. For starters, we were the only non-Portuguese-speakers in the entire joint. Our vinho verde was inoffensive and refreshing, the Old Man's halibut was tasty and had great texture, and I was in heaven with one bite of the feijoada. I have never eaten pork fat that flavourful before in my life. Such a shame to have to leave any of it behind!

I thought I couldn't eat another bite; I was wrong. At the counter, they had pão de queijo for sale, so I bought one "for tomorrow morning". Then I noticed it was warm. On our way back to the corner, the Old Man spied another LLBO and suggested we pop inside for "a small bottle of something we could sip on the deck." Which is how we found ourselves a half-hour later having a nightcap of sambuca glace on our now-comfortable deck.

I think we're going to make out just fine.

Comments

[(Anonymous)]

Inquiring minds want to know: did they have toasted manioc flour grits to sprinkle on top of the feijoada? I envy you your pao....Gwyn

[bitterlawngnome.livejournal.com]

If you get tired of staying down there, the closet thing we have to a slum, let me know and we can strategise about alternate accomodation.