The Hoof Raw Bar.

All photos in this post are courtesy of Jen.

First stop: The Black Hoof. I read about this place well before we came to Toronto, on the blog of another globetrotting couple. In truth, after reading their post, I had decided I wouldn’t go to Black Hoof because “raw horse sandwich” just doesn’t sound good to me. But Jen said it was a good restaurant, Erik wanted to go, and when we walked by the place earlier in the week I liked its vibe. So we went.

The Black Hoof features mostly meats (as you can tell from the menu) and interesting alcoholic drinks. I was less curious about the individual dishes than I was intrigued by the fact that they make everything themselves, from the cured meats to the bread to the flavored syrups for the cocktails. We ordered carnitas tacos, pork belly with nori, and beef tendon with grits.

I love carnitas, but rarely order it, probably because I’m usually getting fish tacos instead. These were deliciously fatty and flavorful. One taco apiece was plenty.

More fatty pork with this one, though I was grateful to see a big heap of mushrooms and crisped rice (I think it was the same stuff that goes into sizzling rice soup) with the meat. Sometimes I am in the mood for tons of meat, sometimes I’m not; this evening I wasn’t. Fortunately, since we all shared, we only had a few bites each and that was perfect.

My mom makes an unctuous dish of beef tendon braised in soy sauce and spices. The sauce is delicious, but I have never felt the least interest in tendon. I didn’t taste this one either, although it was deep-fried. But I enjoyed the grits and vegetables!

After the meat-fest we went next door to Hoof Raw Bar (see photo at top) to follow up with a seafood-fest. The raw bar (so named for the oysters, I suppose, since the menu items were certainly not all raw) was much more to my liking, having lighter dishes and of course no organ meats. We ordered the cured fish board, a chawan mushi, and what was described rather vaguely on the menu as “fish snacks.”

The cured fish was yummy. From front to back in order of decreasing intensity of flavor: chorizo scallop (nicely firm), mackerel (one of my favorite fishes, though some people find it too strong), albacore tuna, black cod, and branzino. The cod was a revelation, because I usually don’t like cod, but the curing eliminated that threadiness I dislike in the texture. It was just delicate and sweet and delicious. There was pickled cipollini onion as a garnish.

A good chawan mushi is one of my favorite things. I was a little hesitant to order one at a non-Asian restaurant, but I’m very glad we did. It was a smidge on the salty side, and I prefer it served warm rather than cold, but still. Yum. (However, Erik said, “It’s not as good as yours.” I do make a nice one.)

The “fish snacks” turned out to be three kinds of fried fish, served with hot sauce and lime, and intended to be eaten as finger food. Below is the buttermilk fried smelt; we also had rice-flour fried bait fish and BBQ-rubbed shrimp heads. The bait fish were a little too salty, but super fun to eat; I skipped the shrimp heads (they’re like organ meats for me), and although I ate the smelt, I disliked having to work my way around the fine bones. I think you’re supposed to eat them but I’ve become very wary of tiny fish bones ever since I ate some unagi and had one of the bones go straight into my gums. Painful and awkward. (I’ve stopped eating unagi too, since I found out it’s not sustainable.)

When we left the raw bar, we made a big loop west on Dundas, down Ossington to walk by many other enticing-looking restaurants, and east on Queen. Along the way we spotted two beautiful Maine Coon kitties sitting on a porch, and when I called to them, one of them immediately came to say hello. I prefer to think it was my charm that drew it to me, rather than the lingering aroma of fried fish on my fingers. The second kitty was not so forthcoming, but it did meow at me several times and roll around on the steps in a friendly fashion.

Finally we ended up at Nadège, where we enjoyed a luscious salted caramel something-or-other (the dome at left), a tasty grapefruit tart, and a so-so (but stunning-looking) carrot cake called “Beatrix Potter.” Just before closing, one of the women at the shop gave us some of their macarons, and those were delicious (especially the salted caramel and pistachio). I might go back for more of those sometime.

It was lots of fun meeting Jen and talking to her about Toronto and food. Check out her blog for more food pr0n* — most of the posts are Toronto-centric, but there are some like “10 Tips for Eating at a Food Event” that translate across locations.

*It means porn.

In the past few weeks I have been up and down. Mostly up, but I have had more than my usual portion of insomnia, sadness, and self-doubt, and Erik and I had a week or two of regular squabbling. It makes sense. We’re away from our communities, my natural cycles (all of them) have been disrupted, and reports from home are that my Gong-Gong is nearing the end of this life. I always forget how much change affects me, until I find myself teary for “no reason” and awake for hours worrying about everything.

I’m writing this because I don’t want to give the impression that our traveling life is nothing but fun times and Korean food.* When we get invested in showing only the good side, we don’t just misrepresent ourselves to others, we also misrepresent the nature of life itself. I’m talking about those times when status updates on Facebook make you feel you’re the only person not living it up/doing important work/becoming famous/canning your own fruit. So yeah, I’m occasionally miserable, but I accept it as part of the game.** And when I’m not miserable I am having a grand old time. That is the way it goes!

*However: there is a lot of Korean food. Make no mistake!

**THE GAME OF LIFE.

As for us, we are celebrating by resting and playing catch-up. We booked a quick trip to Montréal in June, and are planning another side trip to Ithaca, NY (to see my youngest sister). I’m working my way through a stack of graphic novels I got from the library on Saturday. I’ve cleaned the kitchen and done some laundry, and if I owe you an email, I’m hoping to get to that today too. Later, we might go out to a little historical museum for some afternoon tea.

Here I am on Saturday evening, enjoying a Häagen-Dazs in the symphony hall. I love that they were selling what is basically a fancy popsicle. (But Toronto must be a pretty nonstuffy city — one of the orchestra bassoonists had bright cobalt-blue hair.*)

The ice cream bar was $6, which is insane. On the other hand, our mezzanine tickets were $14 each – for Evgeny Kissin!! — and that’s just as insane. So it all works out… I just hope our $6 went to the symphony and not to some outside company.

Yesterday afternoon, after a two-hour Skype conversation with my family, I walked the half-kilometer to Christie Pits Park and sat on the grass (under a tree, of course) and got some more sketching practice.

I think I need to buy a new green pencil if I’m going to keep drawing outdoor scenes; I don’t like the two colors I’ve got (the darker green in particular doesn’t read “natural” to me). And I feel simultaneously embarrassed and proud of myself for figuring out, while making this drawing, that shadows on grass should be colored with dark green and not with black/grey. Well, I’m learning! And I did capture the feel of the view.

Oh, and it’s my middle sister’s first wedding anniversary. Happy day, Shra and Devin. <3

*Aha! Thanks, internet, and Ms Jackson for describing yourself so well! Okay, maybe it is not cobalt blue, but it looked like it from where I was sitting.

While waiting in line, I sketched the view across the street. Most of my fellow concert-goers were absorbed in conversation or reading a book, but a few of them noticed my drawing and spoke to me. Maybe sketching in public is a good way for me to meet people on my shyer days, when I’m not as willing to approach strangers on my own.

Once inside the hall, I followed the group up a couple of flights of stairs. I had assumed the performance would be in the main concert hall, but we stopped on what seemed to be the mezzanine level, and began taking seats on risers next to a grand piano. The west and north walls were all glass and we had a fantastic view of the corner of Queen Street and University Avenue. (If you read my Monday post, this is directly across from Osgoode Hall.)

I couldn’t believe we were getting 65 minutes of live music in this gleaming light-filled space, free — and all I had to do was show up; I didn’t have to sign up for anything or reserve in advance.

We had half an hour before the concert began, so I made a quick sketch of the piano setup, and then chatted a little with the sweet lady sitting next to me. She said she tries to come to these concerts as often as she can, and they have fed her soul through a difficult time of her life. “After a concert, I just feel nourished,” she said, smiling.

The performers were baritone Adrian Kramer (my favorite male vocal range, yay!) and pianist Christopher (Topher) Mokrzewski; Kramer was making his farewell to the Ensemble Studio, the COC’s 1-3 year training program for young performers; Mokrzewski is an alumnus. They were great individually and together, very talented performers with lots of stage presence. (Bonus: while Googling Kramer, I found the website Barihunks – pronounced “bare a hunks” – which celebrates the deeper-voiced eye candy of the opera world. Who knew?)

I haven’t been to an opera since we lived in LA, and I certainly never sat as close to the stage at the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion as I was sitting to the performers here. I forgot how much acting there is in opera — it’s as much about expression and gesture as it is about musicality. The demanding Schubert “Die schöne Müllerin” song cycle is a first-person story (in 20 songs) of a wandering miller who falls in love with a beautiful miller’s daughter, only to lose her affections to a huntsman. Kramer took us through the gamut of emotions from optimism to infatuation to despair. It was a fantastic concert and I enjoyed every minute of it.

If you want to listen to the song cycle, here is a lovely interpretation online, sung by Randall Scarlata, with piano by Jeremy Denk (from the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum in Boston, via Wikipedia). I recommend it. You may also want to read more about the song cycle, or refer to the text and English translation in this PDF file.

I’d like to do more working in cafes, libraries, and other public spaces from here on out. I’ve noticed my mood has been a little more volatile lately; I’ll feel great in the middle of the day, and then kind of depressed by bedtime. Yesterday I spent the entire day indoors. When I left the apartment today to walk to the cafe, I was surprised by how sunny it was outside. Then I realized I should probably be getting out more, now that we’re living in a basement apartment. Today I plan to try for a free noon concert and another go at the St Lawrence Market.

Oh, and the drawing is about 8″ x 9″ — not huge, but not so tiny as my usual.

And the best for last… except not, because I can’t show you how wonderful these smell:

That said, there are definite challenges to maintaining the “work” part of my life while we’re traveling. At home, I do plenty of exploring, but I know most things will be around indefinitely (or, rather, I know I will be around them indefinitely), so there’s no urgency. Here, though, there are at least three museums I want to visit — and four neighborhoods, a day trip, three road trips, and two weekend events – and we’ve only got forty days remaining before we leave for Glasgow. So on any given morning or afternoon, I have to decide whether I’d rather stay in and work, or go out and play. Yes, yes, my work and play are not mutually exclusive, and that’s a huge gift. But the quality (and by “quality” I mean both “nature” and “standard”) of my work and play changes if I combine them. That is to say, I write differently in a cafe than I do at the kitchen table; I concentrate differently, and choose different subjects, if I sketch in a park as opposed to at a desk at home. In other words, I say that I write and draw/paint, but each of those comprises several different styles of activity, and I have to make time for them all.

As I articulated in my artist statement, I’m equally invested both in living/experiencing, and interpreting/making meaning of what that feels like for me. As I’m finding on our travels, those are definitely distinct processes – at least they are for me. When I’m out experiencing something (like Saturday’s day out), I am mostly just being. I can do some sketches and take some photos; I can jot down notes. But that is not processing; I’m just taking down observations, and I don’t know whether ever they’ll become anything more. In fact, sometimes the important observations aren’t even the ones I record on the spot. This is something it took me a while to grasp. Sometimes I’ll be out and I’ll think I’m having a throwaway experience, but I’ll get home and dream of it that night and think of it the whole week after, and realize that that building I thought I hated, or that experience that seemed pretty boring, actually made a deep impression. Then do I begin to realize what that experience meant for me, and how I might want to record it in writing or images. I’ve written before of my conviction that creation is actually just a process of organization and selection. I don’t know if that works for other people, but it’s absolutely true for me.

I was talking to Elwin once and he said he’s found that it just takes a long time to write something. I haven’t yet had the experience of working on a single project for years, but I do get what he means. Actually, I think we’re always writing (or painting, or whatever), in that we’re always thinking and processing and reformulating; with any given piece that I really feel is representative of myself, I can always trace some of its creative threads back to specific experiences or questions. The first version of “Chickens,” for example, was created in a burst of inspiration and energy during the first session of IWL. On the surface, it looked like our instructor just set us an assignment and then I made this cool piece, but actually, the piece came from a lot of stuff that had been percolating for ages and hit upon this particular outlet as its point of emergence.

Now that I write it all out, I realize that the way I create is also the way I make decisions about how to spend my time: taking a mass of possibility and sifting and selecting and sorting it into a manageable format. I mean, how else does one answer the question, “What should I do now?” when there is no immediate deadline? Some days, I confess, I just don’t succeed; I answer the question with “I don’t know” (which really means I’ve answered, “waste the afternoon on the Internet”). But most of the time, I know there are several viable options, and it’s my job to figure out the best and most important use of my time at the moment. Too much exploring means not enough time to record or processing time; too much processing means I run around in mental circles, dissecting the same things over and over again. Too much “going with the flow” means never prioritizing; over-rigid to-do lists mean never making space for spontaneity and opportunity. It is always a complex, delicate balance, and though navigating that balance is often exhausting (especially now that we’re traveling), I still can’t imagine ever wanting to do anything else.