Tag Archives: Roncesvalles

CHEW ON THIS! stuff to do in Toronto

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Once in a while, I’ll get an email from a local reader or a message on Facebook asking about things to do in Toronto. Where do I begin? Although it’s no secret I do think Toronto can be a bit lack-luster at points in the year, there is no shortage of places to see, rooftops to linger on and patios to pass the day away. Here are few personal “bests” of Toronto for me.

The Thompson Hotel has one of the best pool views in the city (see happy shot of yours truly above). The pool itself is smallish, but the view coupled with a warm breeze? C’mon. Sensational. One small caveat: you can’t get up there unless you’re a hotel guest, live in the condo portion of the hotel or know someone who does.

Rob and I have eaten a lot of sushi over the last six or seven years. I started eating it in university and my guy followed shortly after. Who can resist a spicy crab roll?

Since the majority of major construction work on Roncesvalles Ave is done, we decided to try out Sushi on Roncy. The restaurant itself doesn’t have a ton of atmosphere, but you’ll get the sushi boat of your life, plus they’re generous with a pre- and post-meal snack. A nice touch. (tip: bring sunglasses…it’s friggin bright in there).

Great little sign (and good for a laugh) at the Revue Cinema’s candy counter. Highly, highly recommend a date night here, followed by drinks on the back patio here.

I know a lot about healthy snacking. Like, more than most people should know. I guess those years of research and writing on the subject stuck with me! This is my best  go-to snack. I’ve been using a lavender-honey topper I bought in Paris. Le sigh.

Finally! Someone figured out that bacon and spicy Caesar cocktails do go together. Sheesh. Thanks to the geniuses at Toronto’s newest (& best) smokehouse, Barque. Read a review in Toronto Life magazine here (since they don’t seem to have a website? Hm).

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Four things in my head.

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Sometimes I spend so much time in my head that I don’t put those thoughts here, on the blog.

I mean, I carry a notebook around with me, I leave myself voice mails about great stories to share. I even turn to Rob every now and again and say, “Oooh, I have to put this idea on the blog… please don’t let me forget!” (um, that never works by the way.)

So, in one big swoop, I’m going to list (mmmm…lists…) the happenings that are my life these days, which I mean to blog about, but don’t, and take photographs of and video of, but can’t share because

1) I don’t know how to use my stupid video camera; and
2) I can’t find the adapter for my point and shoot because it’s buried in a box somewhere that isn’t labeled, because, well, we moved recently and my world is a little more than disheveled and just above chaos these days. Which brings me to #1 on the list:

Packing up the last few boxes on Roncesvalles.. bitter-sweet

1. We moved. After a year of renting in our beloved Roncesvalles neighborhood in the West End of Toronto, we bought a little house less than five minutes away in what us Torontonians refer to as “An Up and Coming Area”… (ya, we’ll see). The house is wonderful though. It’s 115 years old. I’ve always wanted to live in an old house with creeky floors and now I do. Although we replaced the floors with new ones… that look old. Make any sense? But they still creek and I love that. We’re in full renovation mode though, expanding closets, painting, repairing things, growing our garden… we’ve been living on a mattress in my soon-to-be-office and out of old cardboard boxes and garbage bags. We complain about it every day… but I’m sure one day we’ll remember this shitty situation fondly. I’ll bet on it.

Our floors. Not bad, eh?

2. I quit my job as an editor for a women’s fitness magazine. I did that on April 29. I mentioned it last week, waaay at the bottom of this post. My last day is this Friday. And, since I’m still at work (right now, in fact) I’m going to save my post about quitting (or as a lovely reader pointed out, ‘moving on’) for another day. It’s only fair that I fully absorb, then share.

Rob took this shot in 2009.. we climbed the Empire State Building (um, took the elevator, really) at midnight. Stunning.

3. I was in New York City the first weekend in May to celebrate a friend’s engagement. It was a bachelorette party of sorts. Loads of fun. I bought Mark Jacobs rain boots for $28. Major score. I mean, if you’re going to wear frumpy rain boots, they might as well be designer, right? I’ll be going back to New York on May 21 to celebrate a friend’s 30th  birthday. All expenses paid. Private plane. A driver. Lavish dinners. I’m not kidding. Full post on that to come, promise x1000.

Marc by Marc Jacobs Rain Boots. $28. I plan to wear these in our new garden, watering the flowers, and dance around in them at some hippie music festival this summer.

4. I’ve been thinking a lot about the fact that my List’s expiry date (aka: My Birthday) is a mere three months away. Things that go through my mind are: Will I finish my List? Will I keep the blog? What’s on my next List?

Completely gratuitous Penelope shot. She's on our make-shift bed here, in the our new-old house.

There it is. Fully spilled. For now.

So, how about you… what’s new? Drop a comment or email me: originalsandyb {at} gmail dot com

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Stick it to me, baby.

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I keep a pregnancy test in the lower cabinet of my bathroom vanity.

Tucked in the back corner, within a tote filled with grooming supplies and feminine hygiene products and body butters that I never use, my just-in-case-we-slipped test sits in an bright white wrapper, inside of a blue and pink box.

Recently, I had to open that box.

The good news is that we’re not picking out baby names this fall. I say good news because making, growing and raising a baby is just not where our hearts are right now. I’m not sure when our hearts will be there, but I don’t spend a lot of time dwelling on the idea of it either. All I know is, I held my breath the whole time I was peeing on that stick.

I’m sure someday, when the stars are aligned and there’s a half empty bottle of Brunello nearby, our hearts will be open to the possibility of a baby. Until then, I have a second pregnancy test tucked away in a safe place for another one of those hold-my-breath moments.

Since we moved to beautiful Roncesvalles, the avenue strewn with as many vintage shops and Polish delis as baby strollers and hipster parents, our social life has been given a rebirth. Our lives changed and grew and brought us closure to the life we never knew we always wanted. We love it this way.

Lately, chatter and baby-speculation flows freely around the diner table with friends. Most recently it happened again on Valentine’s Day. Twelve of us dined at Giancarlo’s on College Street to celebrate love and friendship; and then, somewhere between appetizers and the main course, it came up: “So, who’s thinking about kids?” someone asked,  testing the waters to see who would become the next baby-toting hipster pair.

No one responded. But I’m sure it’s only a matter of time.

Tick-tock.

Maybe it’s living in the city and loving it too much. Maybe it’s fearing things that scream louder than I do. Maybe it’s not feeling rooted since selling our home to move here to Roncesvalles. Maybe all of these reasons keep us from wanting to grow our family of two and half (the cat totally counts as .5). Whatever the reasons, I sure am glad that stick read exactly what I was thinking: Girl, party’s not over yet.

So, is this a topic in your circles, too?

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Weekend in review, last first kisses and why I hate red roses.

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At 1:30 on Sunday morning, Rob and I headed out for the night. Yes, you read that correctly – 1:30am.

My friend has a new beau and he’s in town for the week from London/Nigeria – he’s a world traveler, expat and possibly super hero and divides his time between the UK and Africa.

I had a photo shoot on Saturday and was ex-haust-ed when I got home (why a shoot? I’m updating my other website – the one I use to pimp out my words to magazines and newspapers). The day was such an experience and I met one cool chick with a camera – shout out Cheryl! Needless to say, I was pooched when I got home. But when your friend’s new man has traveled dozens of hours to see her, the least you can do is make your way to Pravda Vodka Bar on King Street to sip on some Dom Perignon to welcome him to your city and celebrate. Right?

Yes, you also read that right – we luxed out on champagne worth more than my pay cheque last week. True story.

I won’t go into details, but the man has had a long, successful career. He likes the finer things in life and isn’t afraid to share the fruits of his labor. Just so happens I love fruit.

Rob and I got home at around 4:30 Sunday morning, which never fails to make us feel like teenagers again, enjoying youth and freedom and fun in a way that makes us feel alive and happy that we’re kid-free and living in one of the best cities in the world. That is, we feel all of those things until we wake up in the morning and feel like 29 and 31 and wish to God we drank less, slept more and didn’t wolf down bacon ‘n’ eggs at 3:30 that morning. Things just don’t digest the same way, apparently.

Youth, as they say, is truly wasted on the young.

At around noon yesterday – Valentine’s Day – Rob surprised with me a medium Americano from Chery Bomb, a box of Godiva truffles and Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair by Pablo Neruda. The man knows the way to my heart: Coffee, chocolate and poetry… oh my. Oh and he also gave me one red rose, which is a bit of inside joke because I don’t like roses, which is exactly why Rob gave me one. There’s a bit of a back story to red roses and how they relate to Valentine’s Day. And no, it’s not a love story, so no need to prep for a gag fest.

Mid-way through my box of truffles and thumbing through poetry, I still hadn’t touched the rose. It was a sweet gesture, absolutely, and  I thanked my husband, but nah, I’m much more into my other mouth-watering gifts than the lowly red rose. I don’t know why the aversion to red roses, but I have one, so whatever. And before you say something out loud, like, “What a douchebag she is… doesn’t even appreciate the rose… from her husband… poor guy…” you should know that Rob takes great pleasure in giving me roses because I don’t like them. We try not to take things too seriously and this is his way of reminding me of just that. So, for the rest of our lives, I will continue to not love roses and he will continue to give them to me.  I will leave the rose in its cellophane, staring at it as I eat truffles and then Rob will  trim the stem, prune back the leaves and pick off the thorns and place it squarely in the center of my pink carnations arrangement sitting on our coffee table. It’s sort of our own symbiosis and it works.

The rose is just sitting there now, towering above my frilly gals, sticking out like a soar thumb. Thank God roses die in three days or less.

My carnations are now on day six. And I’m down to my second last truffle.

… that’s what love is. Ya, something like that.

***

Eleven years ago, Rob sent me a box of red roses and picked me up at my parent’s house after two moths and two days of dates, dozens of shared bottles of wine and not a single kiss between us. He was a bit of a slow mover.

He took me to a romantic little restaurant with a piano and waiters with white gloves. He had the lamb and I had pasta, I think. Later that night we went to one of our favorite pubs in the suburbs. It was quiet and only a few lonely men took up residency at the bar.

After a bottle of wine and two hours of the kind of conversation that makes you fall in love with someone, we leaned in close. Really close.

I think the kiss lasted at least a minute. I know this because that’s how long I can hold my breath before wanting to gasp. And I know for certain that I didn’t breath the entire time he kissed me. And no, it’s not because he took my breath away – although he has long since swept me off of my feet – there had been shit loads of garlic in my pasta and not a mint in sight.

When it was over, we pulled back, in soft shock. It had been two months and two days since our first date and things had been building up to this one first kiss for weeks.

Looking back, I really don’t know what we were waiting for or how we had manged to go so long without it. It was the best last first kiss I ever had… despite the roses.

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So, how was your weekend?

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