O Canada

Oh, this poor, poor neglected blog. Spending too much time expressing regret will just delay us further, however, now that we are ten months behind... again. Oh well. Upward and onward:

In sunny mid-September, we finally got around to visiting that fair city that has sat invitingly, a mere 3-hour drive north from us, the entire 4 and half years we have lived in Seattle. We took a late Greyhound, snoozing some of the way, on a mission to visit Lesley, one of Charlie's Cordon Bleu classmates and our most popular guest star on Smoking in the Park. The abruptness of the customs and immigration staff at the border shocked me after hearing so much about the stereotypical overly-polite Canadian. The woman who briefly interviewed Charlie and I asked how we had come to know a Canadian, as if it was somehow improbable despite our geographic proximity. She asked what our jobs were (probably to make sure we had them and weren't seeking to leech off of Canadian society) and expressed disbelief that we had never been to Canada in all the time that we had lived in Seattle. Still, I'm sure it's not half as bad as what people go through to get into our own country.

Lesley, her cousin (and our soon to be homie) Amanda, and Lesley's sweet, horse-of-a-dog, Mingus welcomed us at the bus station. After just a few minutes' drive we had arrived at Lesley's chic, modern apartment in historic Gastown. There we sat and chatted as long as our tired heads would allow, which was not very long for Charlie, who had been up since four o'clock that morning.

The following day we awoke to the sun beaming loudly onto our bodies through the tall windows of Lesley's apartment. As soon as I had my wits about me, I went out onto the balcony to get a better look at the city:

 South view

 Northwest view

 Southwest view

  Northeast view

Then I decided to capture the utter loveliness of the apartment.

A monster lurks at the bottom of the stairs.

Oh, it's just a happy Mingus saying, "Good morning."

 La cuisine

Once the Kim/Strachan combo was awake, Lesley kindly chauffeured us to the Grandview-Woodlands neighborhood for breakfast at a joint called Little Nest. When we pulled up, a line was snaking its way around the street corner, which is always a good sign. Visually, Little Nest screamed "family friendly" with its mismatched, brightly colored decorating scheme, giving it the feel of an elementary schoolhouse. There was nothing elementary about the menu, however, which contained creative and refined dishes.

  

Juicy sausage, savory ratatouille, refreshing spring greens, rustic bread and an expertly poached egg.

The color of this egg yolk led to a discussion about how you can't get such nice things in the U.S. unless you want to raise your own chickens (or know someone who does and is willing to share their eggs). The Canadians were bewildered. This sort of thing just comes from the grocery store there.

As Pacific Northwest cities like to do, Vancouver deceived us with such fine weather that weekend. We all know what these northwest coastal cities are really like on an average day for most of the year. We took full advantage of that elusive yellow disk in the sky and headed to the Kitsilano outdoor farmers market.

Lesley and The Strachan marvel at the contestants in the ugly tomato contest.

 Ugly, but probably delicious.

 Need I say more?

We took a short spin over to the Strathcona neighborhood to visit La Casa Gelato, an enormous ice cream shop that, as of the date of this writing, boasts 518 flavors. I'll admit, when we first pulled up to this place I had my doubts. It doesn't look particularly nice from the outside, tucked between some train tracks and a couple of deserted parking lots. However, inside was heaven.

It took me forever to decide, but I think I finally settled on orange creamsicle.

I wrinkled my nose at the thought of a pear, gorgonzola blue cheese ice cream, but now I kind of wish I had tried it. That wasn't even close to their weirdest flavor.

We zipped around the corner for a prolonged stop at the The Gourmet Warehouse where Charlie and Lesley behaved like kids in a candy store. Charlie took the opportunity to collect a few items that cannot be got in the U.S., or can be, but at a prohibitive price.

Then, as if we hadn't had our fill of dairy products already, we took a short jaunt west on Hastings to Les Amis du Fromage, an impressive artisan cheese shop with just about any coagulated milk protein you could wish for... outside of France, of course.

Can't have dairy? No problem!

 Lesley pines.

I think we annoyed the cheese people by not buying anything, but we really didn't need any more foodstuffs at that point. Instead, we drove back to Gastown to collect supplies for our impending tobacco-related activities.

Smokers in their natural habitat

We headed back to the apartment for a wee rest before dinner and happened upon this hilarious and unfortunate bit of graffiti.

The writing on the wall says this was a disappointing date (number blurred for the sake of Heather's privacy).

I actually tried the number some time later to see if it was legit and  did indeed find myself listening to the voicemail greeting of a woman named Heather. Even if she's the worst actor in the world, this was a pretty low blow.

We took a couple hours to recoup our strength and our appetites and then ventured out again into Vancouver's extensive and impressive Chinatown for dinner. After a bit of a wait (well worth it), we were finally seated at Phnom Penh for some divine Cambodian cuisine.

The one picture I managed to take between inhalations of soy- and spice-drenched goodness.

Our starvation must have been imminent because every plate that was brought to the table was gone within minutes. We all ate way more than was comfortable, but every full-bellied moan and groan that followed was justified. This was one of the best Asian food experiences I had ever had outside of Asia.

We went back to Lesley's and stationed ourselves on her spacious balcony, enjoying the last few rays of sun before it set. Of course, no entry on this blog is complete without an episode of Smoking in the Park!

After our relaxing cigar session, we took Mingus out for some play time at a playground in the Shaughnessy neighborhood where Lesley grew up.

Warp speed

Lesley tries to recharge the glow-in-the-dark ball while Mingus looks on in antici..................................pation.

Never too old for this shit.

The next morning I woke just before dawn and took advantage of the view.

Vancouver sleeps

First a spark...

Then an explosion.

Once everyone else had risen, we set out for another satiating breakfast experience at The Red Wagon, located in the Grandview-Woodlands neighborhood. It wasn't even open yet when we arrived but that didn't stop people from lining up to get in. The Red Wagon is known for its pulled pork pancakes and although they sounded delicious, I couldn't pass up on the special that day:

Spring onion pancakes with crispy duck confit, two eggs, arugula salad and hoisin maple syrup. I'm pretty sure I died and went to heaven.

After breakfast we cruised around here and there in search of a place to walk it off. First we stopped at an upscale yard sale where the owner of the goods, a racist, old French guy, went on a rant about how Asians are cheap. Then he berated a potential buyer for politely interrupting his rant to ask how much something cost. As you can guess, we didn't stick around.

Instead we ended up at the Ecological Reserve next to University of British Columbia. We strolled at a leisurely pace, The Strachan impressed us with her rap skills, which I believe included a reference to the Three Musketeers, and we saw a horse run up a hill really fast.

R.K. shows her enthusiasm

The underpants of a fallen tree

Then we jumped back in the car and made another stop at Spanish Banks Beach Park, where the tide had retracted and the mud gripped our shoes. Still, the views of downtown were worth it.

A nice variety of watercraft

Mountainous backdrop

The muddy beach was a little too sloppy to navigate so we didn't stay long. Charlie was chef on deck for that evening, so on our way back into downtown we stopped in at one of Lesley's employers, The Butcher, for supplies.

A breakfast cereal for even the most constipated individual.

Woman with a saw. Watch out!

R.K. and Dick ham it up.

Power tools

We still needed veg, so we stopped over at the Granville Island Market. Its neat organization, variety and cleanliness put Pike Place to shame, especially with regard to that last quality.

You know you're in Canada when...

Bustle

So juicy

So spicy

So creepy

Back at the apartment Charlie got to work on dinner.

Some kind of red kale

Curious pooch

"Got anything for me?"

Lobster mushroom

Basting the leg of lamb

Roasted garlic flan

Beet hash

Browned to perfection

The next day Lesley had to catch a flight out of town, so Amanda showed us around Gastown. Our first order of business was to try Tim Hortons, Canada's version of Dunkin' Donuts. I didn't expect to like it because I don't really like Dunkin' Donuts or Starbucks that much. I ordered a hot chocolate and I must say, they make a damn fine cup of hot chocolate.

After sufficient caffeination we wandered in and out of a few antiques stores. While in the basement of one, the store clerk called down the stairs, "Does anyone speak French?" Charlie answered the call, assisting some French tourists who were trying to determine the price of something.

Then we found a gastropub type place that served poutine, Canada's pride-and-joy gut bomb. For the uninitiated, poutine generally consists of french fries, gravy and cheese curds.

While waiting for our food, I couldn't help but notice the unusual hair scheme of the woman pictured below. She appeared to have straight, mousy brown/gray hair covered with some kind of loose black scarf or do-rag, topped with a wig of tight braids, topped with a pink hat.

Help me understand this.

Finally the poutine arrived. Amanda said it wasn't real or particularly good poutine, but I didn't know the difference.

As a last order of business, we stared a few moments at the Steam Clock doing its thing.

Oooh, aaah

Just before Amanda kindly drove us to the bus station for our return trip, I decided I needed a souvenir. I went into a cheesy Canadian-themed store and bought a pair of bright red pajama pants covered with black maple leaves and the phrase, "Canada, eh?" I always like to do my part when it comes to perpetuating stereotypes.