Sausage Hall (and other wonders)
The AGO, or Art Gallery of Ontario, is a structure that sticks out amongst Chinatown's sprawling neon lights; it's vast ship-like southern facing wall, constructed from arched wooden beams and glass provides onlookers with a brief insight into the Italian Wing (complete with espresso and gelato bar) whilst visitors to the gallery can look out onto the bustling Dundas-Spadina junction. The gallery hosts a free evening every Wednesday between six and eight o'clock, meaning anybody who happens to be in the area can duck in and appreciate the extensive collection of art from around the globe.
Toronto's nighttime cityscape, as viewed from the AGO's westward staircase.
Visiting the gallery on a Wednesday evening is a great opportunity to save sixteen dollars, explore the exhibitions during the twilight hours - when the skyline is arguably at it's best - and look out at a nighttime cityscape from the west facing staircase. Prior to visiting the AGO I had seldom been exposed to Canadian art; inspired by the beautiful scenery this country has to offer, for someone who doesn't know a great deal about landscape paintings, they're easily appreciated. Cornelius Krieghoff, whose oil paintings predominantly feature the native Indians, were particularly striking. Below is a Google image of his Huron Indians at Portage.
C. Krieghoff: Huron Indians at Portage
However, Krieghoff didn’t just paint Indians portaging their canoes. I managed to sneak a photograph of another oil painting, which could be likened to a backstage photograph of the lads on tour, and who’s actual title is unknown to me and so I can only refer to as Bros Shalt be Bros.
Bros Shalt be Bros: C. Kriefhoff.
Canadian oil paintings aside, the AGO is certainly worth a visit, whether you manage dodge the entry fee or not. If Krieghoff ain’t your thing, there are plenty of European painters, sculptors, video artists and anything else you can imagine - plus the gift shop is pretty great. Didn’t manage to sample the gelato, though.
I stand in front of Mike Nelson's projector at the Power Plant
Another great, free gallery is the Power Plant - located on the harbourfront, it’s free all year round and currently has an exhibition by British artist Mike Nelson. The installations Nelson has produced are mainly living spaces, which focus on the idea of abandonment. Drawing influence from fictional motorcycle gang “The Amnesiacs”, the Amnesiac Hide exhibition is an engrossing experience, particularly the eerie Quiver of Arrows: a series of claustrophobic American trailers dating from the 1930s. Walking around inside the trailers I felt like a giant bull in a miniature China shop.
Inside the Quiver of Arrows space
Tuesday this week was Shrove Tuesday, or as it is more widely appreciated: Pancake Day. In a city where you’ll find cheap brunch more readily than you’ll find air to breathe, selecting place to honour this sacred day can be a daunting choice. Word on the street, however, directed us towards a place called Mildred’s Temple Kitchen for a stack of flapjacks that’d make a lengthy period of religious fasting seem like a logical idea.
They were eleven dollars - that’s about six pounds - and there’s a photograph below.
Pancakes, Bacon, Blueberry Compote, Whipped Cream, Maple Syrup, Knife and Fork.
As abundant as the brunch options are in this city, the drinking holes are even more varied, and the inexhaustible King Street West is where we found our Saturday night entertainment in the form of N’awlins - a jazz bar with a somewhat legendary status. We didn’t have any food (although the Cajun-Creole cuisine they serve up comes highly recommended) but we did manage to catch an excellent performance from The All Star Bourbon Street Band. With guitar, bass, piano and an astonishingly good drummer, they played an impressive, diverse set of jazz, rhythm and blues tracks, including a cover selection spanning from Bill Withers to D’angelo. A regular weekend slot at N’awlins means we’ll hopefully be seeing them again soon, perhaps with a side of that much talked about cajun chow.
“Naw man, they only pay us ‘til two AM” The guitarist was packing away his axe, but a sprightly chap -who’d volunteered himself to sing earlier in the night wanted another piece of the action and demanded that they play just one more song, and insisted that he would pay the band personally. Unfortunately they declined, but the bartender told us that N’awlins had a ‘sister bar’ just two doors down, that they had a live band on until four o’clock, and that we’d get free entry if the doorman knew she’d sent us. We obliged and stepped into the tundra outside, stumbled three doors down and into Joe Mama’s; packed out and swelling to the R&B cover band Shugga, who have had a saturday night residency for over ten years . Yes, ten years, and they have been well versed in R&B cover during their lengthy tenure: I’ve never seen a white man sing Sir Duke with such finesse.
A "selfie" of us three bar flies at N'awlins Jazz Bar.
The dining options on King St West are as varied as the bars; you can get your hands on almost anything you fancy, and on Friday night we went to Wvrst - a place that accurately describes itself as a ‘sausage hall’. Based partly on an Oktoberfest tent; we dine on long tables, elbow to elbow on accompanying benches, the ceiling above spattered with dim hanging lightbulbs, it’s certainly intimate. The beer selection is vast, with a particular focus on European options, as is the sausage menu. The old favourites are there; bratwurst, chorizo, kielbasa, but for the adventurous there’s kangaroo, guinea fowl, elk, bison, boar and the list goes on. With a side of duck fat fries and a Belgian beer, a sausage fest has never been so delectable.
It's dark, it's seedy. You're packed like sardines and there's sausages all around you: you can only be in one place.
It was the best of times, it was the wurst of times.