CROSS-COUNTRY TRAVELS IN GLOWING LIGHT

Just back in the city after a wonderfully renewing thirty-six hours up north in Grey County. Friends were having a post-Christmas drop-in party yesterday, the weather looked clear (an unusual bonus at this time of year in Grey County), and I had people I wanted to see, so I headed out yesterday morning in the little red Honda Fit. I had cross country skis with me, a jacket and vest, wind pants, a fur coat, ski gloves and a hat, and other oddments of clothing, and well as presents for various people, and a bottle of wine.

There were some patches of wind-swept snow white-out as I drove up, but the roads were dry and I got to my first stop in Markdale easily by noon. My wonderful aunt, youngest of my father's four sisters, is now 82, a young, light on her feet 82. One of her older sisters died two weeks ago, the first of the four to go, and it's a hard thing to loose a sister, whatever your age, whatever hers. Still, there's a resilience that comes with age, and my aunt is plenty strong, good-humoured, and resilent. She's sharp as a tack and a treat to talk to. We gossiped and sipped soup, and then it was time for me to move on.

Next stop was friends north of Markdale who have a second home in a log house on a farm with beautiful woods, pine plantations and hardwood forests, and several ponds and swamps. It's especially spectacular in winter. We went out for a cross country ski, the snow perfect and fluffy with firm snow underneath. Part of the time we were following an already-broken trail, part of the time cutting across an open swamp or breaking trail through the woods. it was as if we were moving through a succession of marvelous rooms in a spectacular outdoor castle or mansion. Each vista was more lovely than the last. There was a plantation of straight-trunked pines, each patched with blobs of white snow, white on reddish brown trunks, lined up in hallucinatorily regular rows. One row was more widely spaced, and down it went a single line of ski tracks, an invitation to disappear into a linear fantasy, is how it felt.

The sun was sinking early, low on the southern horizon, as speckled clouds made sky patterns and the snow became gilded with a soft pink-yellow. It was only 4.30, but at this time of year, that's late in the day. Three of us slid stride by stride abreast across an untracked pond, into the fading warm light. What a magic time. Today my thighs remind me that it wasn't magic but muscle power that carried me through that snowy landscape!

And finally from there I headed west toward the party. The sky was a conflagration of pink-orange threaded with horizontal bands of deep blue-grey. Mesmerizing. But in less than fifteen minutes it had faded to pearl-grey, like a dowsed bonfire, not a spark left. I parked out on the road, then walked up a snowy lane to the party, where friends and a hot wood stove and food and drink and music blended into a sense of welcome and ease.

Later I drove back towards the city through the dark night. I stopped in at friends' whose house is always open and always generous. Lucky traveller, to be sheltered for the night with friendship.

Now I'm back home in Toronto, people from out of town have come by unexpectedly, and tomorrow I'll meet them at Ideal coffee and walk with them through Kensington Market, probably ending with a north Chinese meal at Asian Legend. After that it will be time to clear the rugs and make some food so that we can dance our way through the evening on the 30th with friends of all ages.

Next question: What food shall we make for the party? inari sushi perhaps, and sticky rice too (carbs give good energy for dancing), some cheese to go with Evelyn's Crackers made by Dawn and Ed, and nam prik num, and maybe a chicken salad Viet- or Thai-style...

AND A NOTE ABOUT A NEW BOOK: A few weeks ago I finished reading the latest book by Ma Thanegi, a remarkable woman, a witty and engaged writer who lives in Rangoon/Yangon. It's now available on amazon.com and it's called: Defiled on the Ayeyarwaddy: One Woman's Mid-Life Travel Adventures on Myanmar's Great River by Ma Thanegi, published by Things Asian Press.

THE JOYS OF BREAKING PATTERN WITH OPEN EYES

The miracle of laptops means that I can be sitting here in the dappled shade in Kensington Market, sipping an americano, hearing the garbage guys as they rumble the wheeled trash cpntainers to the huge truck and then press the button that makes the truck whirr it away. This is a kind of village within a village, this corner of Kensington Market. I'm in front of a charming and important bookstore that recently moved here from the east side of downtown called This Aint the Rosedale Library. It's a Toronto landmark for many, a source for poetry, quirky travel and art books, and current culture of all kinds, and a pleasant place to hang around. Next door is Ideal Coffee, another classic, recently bought out, but still quirky and relaxed and full of conversations of all kinds. At the end of the short block are Shoney,'s brilliant thrift store for clothing, and 4-Life, a source of local food and food conversation.

I've been thinking about village and the connections that weave us together, people and places. On the weekend I went for a long bike ride with a friend. We headed south to the lake and then west, and farther west, across the Humber River. I had never been to the lakeside there, with its butterfly park and sheltered bays and marshes. What a treasure. The cooler lakeside climate means that flowering trees come out later than those in my neighbourhood a mile from the lake. This year the lakeside trees are still in bloom, for the storms that came through and ravished my neighbourhood plum and cherry and apple blossom were finished by the time the lakeshore trees came into flower. Next day, out on Toronto Island for a shape-note singing (glorious in the cottagey comfort of St Andrews Church, the doors open to the sun and spring breezes), I pedalled past lilacs and apple blossom, still safely in bloom by the cooling moderating lake. How lucky we are that there are microclimates. Like all differences of place and culture, they enrich us and make us notice and appreciate our surroundings.

Microclimates, I have been thinking, are like villages. They are intimate settings where life (plant life) unfolds in some kind of coherent unison. SImilarly in a city village like Kensington Market, with its daily pattersn of store openings and neighbour greetings and comings and goings of outsiders, has a coherence that weaves us together. It creates a sense of confidence in tomorrow and a warmth of belonging. We bloom in that warmth, just as our gardens come to life in the spring sunshine.

Back to bicycling: My trusty DiamondBack, dating from that incredibly lucky 1986 trip from Kashgar to Gilgit, over the Khunjerab Pass, is still alive and well. And I have gained confidence since I began to ride in the city a year ago. I have come to love whizzing along in the dark with my little mini flashing lights blinking front and back. At this time of year the geography of the city can be written in scents, especially in the soft damp evenings of this month of May. So when I can I choose routes that will take me past a particularly wonderful lilac-blooming corner or yard of lilies of the valley, or under a canopy of blooming chestnuts.

Bicycling has also expanded my horizons, taking me to new places, like my Saturday Humber Bay excursion. I'd been nearby, in a car, but on a bicycle I see and feel so much more.

It's great to break pattern. I often have to remind myself to do it though. I get comfortable with the walk I take to Spadina and into Kensington Market; I find myself following familiar patterns on my various jogging routes, shorter and longer; my thoughts and anxieties, too, follow often-tedious predictable paths! There's comfort in the familiar, but if we let it imprison us, then where are we?

The other day, somehow, and without consciously planning it, I found myself breaking pattern, and was wonderfully rewarded. I was on foot, not bicycling. I discovered a whole world in a narrow strip of land, the boulevard up the centre of University Avenue. Again, it's a place, or series of places, that we all rush past in cars, between stop-lights. As I walked up it (from Adelaide to Elm, just south of College) I discovered that it is thoughtfully designed, carefully gardened, and a distinctive set of environments that feel intact, because of trees and stone walls and artfulness, despite the cars rushing past.

I love discoveries, small and large, of places, people, ideas. So it's up to me to remind myself to look outside my box, my pattern, my expected path, and launch open-eyed into engaging with whatever comes next.

ENGAGING WITH THE WORLD AT HOME

Heat at last, promised for today and tomorrow, hurrah!   I was up in Grey County on the weekend, and only two nights ago there was frost, and then gleaming frosted grasses in the early morning, until the sun reached them and turned them bright green again.  Perhaps with the promised heat, the basil plants that are shivering here in the back garden will at last start to thrive.  Can't wait!

Our young friend Melissa is here from Chiang Mai visiting for several months.  She is a great addition to the household.  And she's wide-eyed out in the city, amazed at chilly rain (rain in Thailand comes after hot season, so it's far from the European style chilly spring rains we have had this month); at the tulips, now finishing, and glorious flowering trees of May (the ornamental plums in King's College Circle at the University of Toronto, just up the street, are in full magnificent deep pink bloom right now); at the pleasure of treasure-hunting for used clothing, in shops and in friends' piles of cast-offs...   

We are delighted Melissa is here, for we get to see everything freshly through her eyes.  And I love coming across pink (pink shoes, pink computer cover, pink socks, etc) in the house.  Pink is usually in short supply in this household of male people.  It feels like another kind of springtime.

May has also brought a nice surprise: we are one of the entries in the wide-ranging list of "Fifty Things We Love About Toronto" that is the cover story in the May issue of Toronto Life magazine.  For the magazine there's a nice cross-connect between our books' exploration of food cultures in ASia and elsewhere, and the food cultures in Toronto.

I've always felt so lucky to live here, and one huge reason is the richness of the culture here, multi-layered, and constantly evolving.  Of course that complexity and creativity is echoed in the food culture, which means I am always a beginner, always coming across foods I don't know in my local Chinese and Vietnamese groceries, or in the Ethiopian store in Kensington Market, or the South American stores along Augusta.  All those are within ten minutes' walk of the house.  It's hard to feel a need to go further afield, but when I do, to say, the wonderful Tamil shops along Parliament, I find lots of familiar produce and products, and again, also often feel like a beginner, ignorant of so much that is there.  (And notice that I haven't even mentioned, let alone described, the extraordinary food culture maps of the inner and outer suburbs here.)

What a luxury, to be reminded every day of how much there is to understand and of how little I still know.  And how lucky to be able to learn every day from my neighbours!  

So it's not just Melissa who is walking around amazed and pleased in Toronto...

PS A friend I ran into the other day at Wychwood Market (Saturday mornings near Christie and St Clair) told me she and her family had been very sick after eating undercooked (they wanted them crunchy) fiddleheads.  Then they googled and it turns out that the Ministry of Health says we should all know that fiddleheads must be cooked through (steam them, cook them in a little boiling water...).  So resist the impulse make them al dente.  Save that for carrots or broccoli or zucchini. 

CELEBRATION

Out shopping in Kensington Market yesterday, I stopped in at 4 Life, at the corner of Augusta and Nassau to say hi to Potz and have a look for some rhubarb.  I had to pick up some apples (fuji's) instead, because there was no rhubarb left (it's just newly arriving here, like the local asparagus)...  

The fruit was for a tart, using the second half of some extremely short pastry I'd made the day before.  The first half did turn into a rhubarb tart with some rhubarb I'd found earlier.  The tart was open-faced, and firmed up with a little custard poured over near the end of baking.  I made it at my friend Pattie's house, baked it in her convection oven.  I've never baked in a convection oven before.  Is it better for pies?  Or is it just generally faster? or?  The pie, improvised, as ever, turned out beautifully.  Last night's, all apples, was melty and delish, the apples still slightly resistant to the bite, which I love.  I had a small bowl of it left over for breakfast this morning.

But I started talking about Potz at 4 Life for another reason.  I told him yesterday that I was planning to grill the wonderful-looking steak I'd bought from him ten days ago (frozen; and at the time he didn't remember the price of the cut, so though I had it in my freezer for a week, it was only paid for on Friday!).  Potz put a generous handful of wild leeks in my hand.  "If you're grilling meat, just put these on the grill alongside," he said.  I did, after brushing them with a little olive oil.  They were gorgeous, beautiful on a yellow Fiesta ware plate, and a delish treat seasoned with a sprinkle of Malden salt.

And the beef?  Well that too was delish, local pasture-fed Ontario beef.  I sliced it thinly, then made a simple "yam neua", Thai grilled beef salad, with just slices of shallot (Asia purple ones), generous garden mint and some store-bought Thai basil, tossed with a lime juice-fish sauce dressing.  I left out chiles because our friend Dina stops breathing if she has any chile (very inconvenient, a sensitivity to capsaicin!) and even in this altered version the salad vanished.

There was a small crowd of friends here yesterday evening, eating and drinking and talking.  The excuse (do we ever really need one?) was that Dom has finished his undergrad, Ian is leaving tomorrow for Thailand, and Melissa has just arrived from Chiang Mai, so we thought we' d pause to enjoy the moment.  It was a kind of improvised celebration, I guess you could say.  (Yesterday was also mothers' day.  Every day is mothers' day, of course.  I find I can accept the Hallmark thing though, because it is a good idea that at least once in a year people get formally reminded of mothers' essential role in the universe!  Don't you agree?)

And what better way to celebrate all good things than by hanging around with friends, being warmed by the extended family?  I can't think of anything I like more.

and for those who want more about the food people brought:

there was prosciutto with sliced figs and lots of lime wedges [I originally wrote "lemon wedges" and then was firmly corrected by Trisha "I ALWAYS use lime wedges, if I have them, with prosciutto!"]; there was a pile of grilled chicken wings from Kung with her fabulous nam jeem (hot and sweet and tart dipping sauce); there was another Thai beef salad from Ben and Susan; an asparagus salad from Emily; a beet and endive and onion salad from Hilary; two great dips from Anne: a hummous and a tapaenade; a Thai red curry with fried tofu, shiitakes, and green eggplants; a plain cake; a huge tin of chocolate chip cookies made with chopped good chocolate; the apple tart; a ricotta galette from Dawn; a huge lasagna from Ethan; and wine of various descriptions from many people.  Warm thoughts and thanks to all...