Bazaar
It’s minus fifteen here, but our neighbour Ralph tells us that the mysterious ‘windchill factor’ brought temperatures to minus twenty eight last night. We happened to be walking home at around about that time - in a foolish attempt to save $2.70 worth of streetcar fare - and fortunate enough to experience these temperatures. While we existed in a state I can only describe as hysterical, we still managed to stop off and make essential purchases: a family-size bag of Lays Ketchup Chips, and a box of 20 Rob Roasts.
When we made it home, rigid and trembling, I reached for the only food on the shelf: a box of the long-life meat product Hot Rods. 3 ingredients: Chicken, Pork, Despair. I almost instantly regretted my choice, but will also no doubt fall victim to the Schneider’s charm again in the future.
Despite the sub-zero temperatures, this city is great. The people live up to their ridiculously positive outlook, welcoming us with open arms. Our neighbours shovel eight inches of snow from the sidewalk every day, whilst I wave from the window, sitting and eating cereal in my pants.
A guitar and a houseplant in our living room!
Last night we visited The Royal; a 1930’s cinema with it’s original decor, and 1 screen that plays 3 films a day. We caught the midnight showing of Our Robocop Remak. The tickets were a bargain. Each ticket cost $5, and included $5 in food vouchers. Popcorn and a coffee cost $5, meaning either a free film or free food.
The only popcorn flavour available here is ‘melted butter’.
The movie itself was more bizarre than the pricing. 50 amateur filmmakers each remade a scene from Robocop, leading to a montage of incredibly obscure, funny and disturbing footage. But certainly worth a watch. As if the levy at the cinema wasn’t alarming enough, just two blocks down there’s a fish restaurant, amiably christened The Happy Hooker. At the Happy Hooker a measly $2 buys you a portion of fish and chips substantial enough to strip Cap’n Birdseye of his rank.
Bad Weather + Good Food.
My new favourite place (until I conquer the axe throwing league described later in this posts) is Kensington Market. A dense, snow-covered bazaar, the stalls export some of the finest vintage junk I’ve ever come across. We’re in the land of the plaid shirt. There’s a Levi’s-toting woodsman on every corner, and cowboy boots on every dance floor. And you better believe the spoils are passed down to the vintage stores, and eventually to naive travellers like ourselves. We were overwhelmed by the mounds of hand-me-down clobber.
Bemused by a wall of denim. For more photographs of vintage wares from Kensington Market, visit Danny’s blog.
Speaking of frozen goods, the weather still sits stubbornly south of the zero-degrees mark for the next couple of weeks. But there are rumours that Thursday we’ll have a day with highs of 1 degree. Huzzah!
The only concrete thing on the itinerary at the minute is to visit BATL Grounds. That stands for backyard axe throwing league, if you didn’t guess. A relatively new development at the harbourfront, where one can drink beers and throw axes at wooden targets. Yep, that’s right. The job hunt is on hold for a day or two.
*At the height of windchill hysteria, Danny was only referring to cigarettes using this newfound colloquialism, derived from the notorious crack-smoking Mayor of Toronto - Rob Ford