explorations in toronto art.

There is nothing like having an out-of-town guest to help you appreciate the city in which you live.

In addition to having a good excuse to do fun touristy stuff like going to museums and shopping, you get to see the city through fresh eyes. How many times have I walked down my neighbourhood’s main drag? So many that I don’t even really see it anymore. So all the neat things that I’ve overlooked get called to my attention by my visitor, from hilarious signage, to neat little bookshops,  cafés and bars I meant to try shortly after I moved to the neighbourhood and never got around to.. all good things like these.

When we were deliberating where to go for dinner, a dear visiting pal from Ottawa asked me which of the many nearby Korean restaurants was my favourite. On my revelation that I hadn’t been to a single one, she chided me— “you’ve lived here for six months already, how have you not been to a single one?” Needless to say, she (being a big kimchee lover) picked the restaurant. Another visiting BFF from Ottawa reminded me of the pleasures of vegan eats, thrift shopping, and Queen West walks. Her perceptions of the neighbourhood, not having visited Toronto for five years, were really interesting. That street has gone through so many changes and I liked hearing her talk about what it was like before.

A friend visiting from Montreal last winter took a different approach to acquainting me with my neighbourhood. A few hours before the Christmas party that was taking place at my apartment that night, she headed out to get a few things.. and came back with peanut cookies and seaweed cookies (!) from a nearby bakery. It was eye-opening, to say the least. Her whims also gave me a good reason to explore parts of the city I had never been before (this led to somewhat of a wild goose chase in search of little Malta, but I think that’s another story.)

I’m thinking this probably has something to do with why I look forward to visiting Ottawa: in addition longing for visits with friends, as well as the rosy nostalgia that one can only feel about a hometown left in the past, I get to become a visitor, to pick and choose the best parts, as well as enjoying the local knowledge of, well, a local.

My brief visit to Ottawa over Thanksgiving weekend happily included one of the greatest pleasures of my neighbourhood: walking to the bagel shop on a crisp day, and bringing home a steaming warm bag of delicious baked goodness; cradling it sideways like a baby so the ones at the bottom don’t get squished, and taking a peek and a whiff every so often.

bagels.

Bagels have a special place in my heart for a few reasons (not the least of which is that they are delicious!), and a bite of a fresh bagel brings me back to a few fond experiences. The first time I recall going to the bagel shop with my dad on a weekend morning, it was when I must have been seven, around the time we moved to the neighbourhood where my parents still live (and which I firmly believe is the best neighbourhood in Ottawa, but that’s another story.)

When I was a kid, my dad took my brother and I out somewhere every Saturday morning without fail, to get us out of the house so my mom could have some peace and quiet in which to sleep late. I recall many of those times involving walks to the bagel shop, and the best part was getting to eat a hot bagel on the walk home.

I could hardly write about bagels without mentioning Montréal. I’m not going to get into the Fairmount vs St-Viateur debate, because obviously both are delicious, wood-fired worlds away from what I’ve found in Toronto so far. Maybe I’m just not looking in the right places, but after four years here, I have yet to eat a satisfactory bagel. Which makes my trips to Montréal that much more satisfying.

A year or so ago, I visited my friend who lived in Mile-End at the time, and after a fun night at the pub, we tromped our way home through the snow at 3am. Our walk wouldn’t be complete without stopping at St-Viateur, conveniently on the way home, to pick up hot bagels. Back at the house, we toasted them and dipped them in cream cheese, not even bothering to slice or spread. Between us we devoured half the bag, giggling drunkenly and chatting about everything. It was a huge contrast to my childhood bagel memories, but no less heavenly.