Sunday 24 June 2012
Cottaging
I've done it, Canadian-style. And yea, it was wonderful. I'm starting to convert. Check it out: Christian Island, on Georgian Bay, the eastern bulge in Lake Huron (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Christian_Island_(Ontario)). The cottage belongs to a gracious and lovely friend who invited a group of us gals for the weekend. She said it would change my outlook on life in Toronto, and she was right. The scenery made a wonderful impression; the camaraderie a deeper one. 
The Double Double
'What is it with this milk in bags thing?' asked a visiting friend this weekend. My goodness, I had forgotten that I too used to find it strange. Even stranger, this visitor is an old friend who has, like me, lived in California, England, and now Canada. But her Canada is Vancouver, not Toronto. So now I know that milk-in-bags is not a national oddity, but perhaps quite a local one. I still can't find anything good about it. Bah humbug.
In other beverage-related news, I happened to be in a Tim Horton's yesterday. "Timmy's" is a Canadian institution, wielding perhaps more influence over, and commanding more loyalty from the populace than, say, hockey. Or the government. It sells doughnuts, and coffee, and a few other things, but mostly doughnuts and coffee. I don't go there often because a) the coffee is bad and b) they don't have powdered sugar doughnuts, so there's no real point.
But on my way back from my FIRST EVER weekend at a cottage, we stopped along the motorway for a comfort break, and Timmy's was the only (polite) option. I had heard recently about the 'double-double' at Tim Horton's and thought that sounded both interesting and strong. I didn't see it on the menu posted overhead, but ordered one anyway. The server's look was enough to tell me I had blundered. I had asked for no sort of coffee at all, but two sugars and two creams. Perfect for my youngest child, but not for me. I settled for a cappuccino.
In other beverage-related news, I happened to be in a Tim Horton's yesterday. "Timmy's" is a Canadian institution, wielding perhaps more influence over, and commanding more loyalty from the populace than, say, hockey. Or the government. It sells doughnuts, and coffee, and a few other things, but mostly doughnuts and coffee. I don't go there often because a) the coffee is bad and b) they don't have powdered sugar doughnuts, so there's no real point.
But on my way back from my FIRST EVER weekend at a cottage, we stopped along the motorway for a comfort break, and Timmy's was the only (polite) option. I had heard recently about the 'double-double' at Tim Horton's and thought that sounded both interesting and strong. I didn't see it on the menu posted overhead, but ordered one anyway. The server's look was enough to tell me I had blundered. I had asked for no sort of coffee at all, but two sugars and two creams. Perfect for my youngest child, but not for me. I settled for a cappuccino.
Drinking in Toronto
The provincial government owns the rights to sell alcohol in Ontario. In England I could order a nice bottle of Chianti or vinho verde to arrive with my groceries from Sainsbury's, or I could pop round the corner to pick up a six-pack of beer. When we arrived in Toronto, new friends came to visit and generally brought along with them a bottle of wine, so for the first few weeks, we did not really notice that things worked differently here.
Parents and in-laws arrived from afar to view us in our new habitat, and we wanted to serve them something convivial. Tea or coffee worked in the mornings but by nightfall we wanted (perhaps even needed) stronger stuff. At least, some of us did. Where to get it? I enquired of a local friend. 'Oh, at the Elsibio,' she told me, giving me general directions. 'It is big, you can't miss it, it has everything.' I did miss it, so got nothing. But never mind, more friends came for dinner, more bottles arrived, crisis averted.
It was in fact the 'L.C.B.O.' that we wanted: the Licence Control Board of Ontario (or maybe L is for 'liquor'). It is big, it has a lot, it all costs a fortune. It closes at 9:00 pm, it is shut on certain days, it requires some forethought to keep wine and beer in the house. I read a newspaper article this morning bemoaning both the expense and the paternalism imposed on Ontarians by the government monopoly of liquor sales. The primness of the province's imposition of temperance is out of step, out of place, out of its time, said the writer. I agree, I am outraged, I despise being forced to acquire alcohol at the LCBO. How dare they.
And yet I love to walk out my front door in the morning to pick up the paper, and not find beer cans or wine bottles strewn on our urban, downtown street. I love walking along of an evening and not fearing groups of men or boys approaching from the opposite direction. I love overhearing, from our window at midnight, cogent conversations, not shouted strings of slurred syllables. The discussions are sometimes about philosophy, or politics, or perhaps just the streetcar schedule, but the speakers are not inebriated.
People drink here, of course they do. Alcohol abuse is a problem, as is drug addiction, poverty, social injustice. What I notice in comparison with England, though, is that drunkenness is more unusual. It is unexpected, noted, censured. How different to the UK, with its much more liberal access to alcohol. Cause? Correlation? Imagination? I don't know. But I like it.
Parents and in-laws arrived from afar to view us in our new habitat, and we wanted to serve them something convivial. Tea or coffee worked in the mornings but by nightfall we wanted (perhaps even needed) stronger stuff. At least, some of us did. Where to get it? I enquired of a local friend. 'Oh, at the Elsibio,' she told me, giving me general directions. 'It is big, you can't miss it, it has everything.' I did miss it, so got nothing. But never mind, more friends came for dinner, more bottles arrived, crisis averted.
It was in fact the 'L.C.B.O.' that we wanted: the Licence Control Board of Ontario (or maybe L is for 'liquor'). It is big, it has a lot, it all costs a fortune. It closes at 9:00 pm, it is shut on certain days, it requires some forethought to keep wine and beer in the house. I read a newspaper article this morning bemoaning both the expense and the paternalism imposed on Ontarians by the government monopoly of liquor sales. The primness of the province's imposition of temperance is out of step, out of place, out of its time, said the writer. I agree, I am outraged, I despise being forced to acquire alcohol at the LCBO. How dare they.
And yet I love to walk out my front door in the morning to pick up the paper, and not find beer cans or wine bottles strewn on our urban, downtown street. I love walking along of an evening and not fearing groups of men or boys approaching from the opposite direction. I love overhearing, from our window at midnight, cogent conversations, not shouted strings of slurred syllables. The discussions are sometimes about philosophy, or politics, or perhaps just the streetcar schedule, but the speakers are not inebriated.
People drink here, of course they do. Alcohol abuse is a problem, as is drug addiction, poverty, social injustice. What I notice in comparison with England, though, is that drunkenness is more unusual. It is unexpected, noted, censured. How different to the UK, with its much more liberal access to alcohol. Cause? Correlation? Imagination? I don't know. But I like it.
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