Books · Eating · Food and Drink · Poetry · Television · Toronto

A sensory overload of a day

 

 

 

 

After a leisurely day of sitting at home and writing, and feeling the entire time that I needed to get to work, I finally learned that we were a day late on an ad I was supposed to design for the National Post, so I rushed across town to the office to get there by 2:30 and get the ad ready in time for the 5 pm extension that we had kindly been granted. Whew, and it was done.

Well, since I was at work anyway. . . I got some more work done. Then Calhoun, SJD, M. and I decided to go to Kubo Radio for dinner. They had an interesting Prix Fixe menu that we thought we might try, so we did. Disappointment. Not all around, but there was certainly some deadening of tastebuds on my palate. The starter was a chickpea salad that I could have made at home — vinaigrette, red onions, and arugula leaves. The main course was braised tender beef shank that was dry and overcooked with a bed of mashed sweet potatoes that tasted like Gerber’s baby food and oversalted, oversauteed asparagus. The dessert I chose was a “Kubo Flakey” — phyllo crust interlaced with “ruptured” (the menu made it a point to state that) raspberries, blueberries, and fresh cream. And it was another major disappointment because the phyllo was so greasy that all I could taste was its weight. And that’s unfortunate, considering it’s supposed to be airy phyllo pastry. The mango saketinis were delicious, though. I’d definitely go back there for drinks and appetizers. It’s a great atmosphere and excellent drinks. But I wouldn’t venture there for a meal again. The service was also horrifically slow.

After dinner, which ended far too late for our liking (we entered the restaurant around 5:45 and left close to 8:30), we headed over to the House of Anansi Press poetry launch at the Coupe Space. The delightful Ms. Seen Reading was there, although we didn’t get a chance to talk. Dennis Lee, Erín Moure, Simon Armitage and Barbara Nickel were all reading, although I only heard the Lee, Armitage, and Nickel. I love Erín Moure. Unfortunately, due to the large crowd and high ceilings, the acoustics became complicated, and it was more than a strain to hear anything if you were standing outside the reading room, which was packed to capacity. And we were standing outside the reading room. Being rather overfed and overwhelmed, we felt a bit lethargic, but enjoyed the atmosphere anyway, chatting with a lot of familiar and unknown people, and admiring outfits. There were more than a few authors (and wannabe authors) there, and lots of industry people. I was surprised to see Prof. Nick Mount there as well.

Now I’m home and procrastinating again when I’m supposed to be sending the next chapter of my book off to my mentor. I’m so excited, I’m beside myself.

And finally, although a bit too late, I have jumped on the Sanjaya train. Now, before anyone tears into me for liking him, let me defend my choice. He may not have been the best singer, but he was definitely charming. He may have a Stevie Wonderish voice, but he has a better voice than Blake. Not only that, but he was always polite with the hosts, no matter how much they ripped into him. I just watched him on Leno with Jack Black, and no matter how you cut it, he is a kid. Swinging legs, awkward stretching of shirt sleeves over hands, slouchy shoulders, goofy grin. But he’s a well-brought up kid. Given the flak he got, he didn’t have a single terrible thing to say about anyone, and was refreshingly candid. Even Leno told him that he was gracious and charming, and had carried himself well. So yes, I never would have wanted him to win (Jordin! Melinda! Lakisha!), but I think it’s time for America to stop vilifying him as a media-hungry tv ho. Okay, I’ll stop my TV ranting.

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6 thoughts on “A sensory overload of a day

  1. I must say I enjoyed the meal — my salad was delicious and tho I could make it at home I never ever will. I liked the mushy mash & the salty ‘spargus. Mais chacun a son gout. Fun to have two bookish hangouts in one week with you, K.

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