Courtyard Café @ the Windsor Arms Hotel

[review]

for winterlicious, we booked a table at the Courtyard Café at the Windsor Arms Hotel for Saturday lunch. we got a big round table in the middle of the room, and being a former courtyard, we also got a (at least) 4 storey ceiling, with a big panel of some faux renaissance woman soaring into the skylight above us. it was a lovely space, nicer in reality than in photos. large and airy, the sounds of our neighbouring diners echoed into the air, but we barely felt or heard it. if you look at the photo and you’ll see our table right behind the yellow banquette. there were eight of us: Y&Y2, beingboring & the love interest, brucebruce & sunshine, eL and me. the table was a bit wide so that it was a little difficult to talk to Ysquared as they both sat across from me. the hotel itself is quite nice. the front lobby was dark, reminding me a little of an old private club entranceway, but it opened into the room so beautifully.

the winterlicious menu was pretty limited, though I didn’t choose the place for the food. I’ve always wanted to check out the hotel, which is by the university and right in Yorkville, down the street from Cole Haan and Roots. fortunately all of us chose the chicken, as our waiter had apparently advised Y that the calamari sandwich (as intriguing as it sounded) was just not very good. why would the waiter make a recommendation on a tiny special occasion menu, I dunno. maybe he was just smitten with Y’s very blue eyes and so was compelled to be charming. after looking at our neighbouring table’s sandwiches while ordering, I quickly surmised he wasn’t kidding. they look a little indigestible. the entrees turned out to be all right, the chicken a little dull, but the dessert was quite good. the chocolate mint mousse was delightful and the coffee was fragrantly strong. the cutlery all had the Windsor coat of arms of the Windsor arms. very fancy, though coulda been tacky. definitely could come back again for dinner. or at least for tea in the Tea Room (which is apparently quite good).

overall, it was really a nice meal, and it was good seeing everyone. time passed quickly with weekend chatter. in contrast to the airy and light ambiance of the restaurant, eL and I discussed last month’s Harper’s article on Israeli democracy and the pressures on a culture(s) besieged. I wanted to know her reaction and hear what she thought. I found the article fascinatingly rational, yet maddeningly puzzling on how rational reasoned thinking was going to solve any of the Israeli/Palestinian issues. the whole basis of his solution was on the secularization of the Israel. but if the conflict is fundamentally about one’s own identity, religion and culture, centred on an artificial construct of a nation-state, how do you convince any of the people there to forget who they are and to embrace each other as equals, both as victims and as victors? it’s a rational resolution to an explosively emotional dilemma.

Toronto has always prided itself on its multiculturalism, accepting of various cultures around the world to settle here and make a community. but at the end of the day, we’re all still hyphenated Canadians, our identities still linked to our origins. you cannot celebrate and accept our differences if we are all the same. we can choose the melting pot, and “neutralize/secularize” our cultures and assimilate, but then we would not be celebrating our differences, but our sameness. and depending on who you ask, that sameness is what makes America truly unique. Canadians mistakenly take pride in rejecting this melting pot. it’s really the same fundamental oxymoronic problem: how do we embrace each other and forget who we are – to become a citizen of a multicultural state?

of course neither eL nor I choked on this claustrophobic question while we ate our dessert. it was better to think about how to get into Bymark instead. beingboring got us on the waiting list for Bymark, but we’re not holding our breaths. we’ve also been trying to get into North 44 )°, but eL had informed us that there was no way we’d get in on a weekend. we might have a better chance for 10PM on Thursday, which would really suck, since none of us are idly rich without needing to work. we could all call in sick on Friday. of course, if we ate the calamari club sandwich, we might’ve had to call in sick.

infinite degrees of disconnectivity

[wishing]

I was chatting with pavel the other night, as he had invited me to join connexion. it's something like friendster (at least I think it is, not having actually used friendster). I put up a profile and then surfed the site. I thought maybe I'd find something interesting, maybe I'm only 2 friends/degrees of separation away from Jimi Mistry (my latest fav)!

in chatting about life and whatnot, I made a comment on why is that the unattainable guys are always the ones I want? either they're married or attached, or they're on the other side of the world, or they are flying away from here to be on the other side of the world. pavel thinks I’m just pining for these unattainable guys to avoid having to actually be with the available guys.

I suppose there’s some truth to that, though I honestly can’t think of any available guys that I really wish for more. it’s not like there’s a crowd of single guys waiting under my window. it’s just from the few available guys I’ve met, I’ve found it difficult to connect. there’s always something missing or something that repels me. sometimes it’s obvious, like the one who told me his whole sex-addict past in terrifying detail over dinner of bento box C and lukewarm tea. sometimes it’s hard to pin down exactly, like the really cute baker-guy whom I can’t keep my eyes off, but after a few minutes of his conversation I’m off dreaming about visiting France to drink allongé at a café or becoming an FBI agent so that I’d meet my Fox Mulder. I try to be open-minded about these things and try to find some commonality, some attractiveness in the other guy... but it’s more like you’re looking too hard and you just don’t see the obvious. your eyes skim over the details, but you know that whatever it is you’re looking for, you won’t find it. at least not in him.

the funny thing is, I didn’t have to look very hard at all to connect to the unattainable guys. they were easy to like, they felt like I’ve known them for years, or that I wanted to know more. I don’t know if pavel is right, but I do know that falling in love with unavailable guys makes rebound so much easier! unrequited love. unattainable love. untouchable hearts. how many degrees away from me are you?

lets talk about crack & McDLT

[time warp]

we survived the power outtage on Sunday, with our lives going back to normal shortly after 7PM. I spent that evening in bed, sitting up by candlelight, fingers frozen, typing on my iBook and listening to my icyPod (which were the only two things that had power), waiting for the electricity to come on. when it happened, the first thing I heard was the fridge turning on and then a cheer from next door... luckily our food didn't go bad in our frozen apartment. and so tonight, we made the surviving green daikon for dinner. while cooking away, Y dashed off to the PC to do a google search of "Super Mario Brothers 2", "daikon" and "vegetable". he said the daikon reminded him of the veggies in Super Mario Bros. well, the only thing that came up in google was this. I rolled on the floor laughing.

anyway, Super Mario Bros. triggered a mad search over the net for pictures of the veggies in the game. instead, Y stumbled upon this website, retrojunk.com. the website has loads of old commericals, theme songs and trailers. it's like traipsing through a time tunnel of pop culture, of things and celebrities I have forgotten. my favourite so far is watching a svelte Jason Alexander sing the praises of McDLT. you remember the McDLT. that's the burger with the hot burger patty on one side of the gigantic white styrofoam box, and the cold lettuce and tomatoes on the other side. of course it came out lukewarm, after sitting under the heat lamps. you remember those big heat lamps, right? wtf were they thinking?

my other favourite is watching Walter Cronkite talk about crack. those silly Americans. I cannot imagine listening to Peter Mansbridge babble about crack on CBC. come to think of it, probably most Americans didn't listen to Walter either.

and then there's the old Michael Jackson Pepsi commercial. this one had some kid go into his dressing room, do some funky dance moves and then put on his hat. flash to MJ. what were we all thinking?

what were you watching in the 1980s? I was watching CHiPs!

rescue me from this icy floe

[refuge]

I woke up this morning freezing. the radio says there is no power in our section of downtown. it's bloody -34C with the wind chill, water is apparently shut down, we have no heat, and we can't cook or make coffee. luckily the stuff in the freezer won't melt.

we called brucebruce, and thankfully, they got power since they're on a different grid. so, here we are having breakfast in a very very warm apartment down the street. in fact, they had to open the door to cool off the place. it's like stepping over to a mirror universe where everything is bizarro. we're frozen, they're melting.

breakfast was yummy! thanks brucebruce!

snow falling on coffee

[view]

it snowed like mad today, with -30C wind chill. the winds blew most of the snow around, while the plows pushed it away. my toes were frozen by the time I got inside to get my soy latte. here's a shot from our table looking out on to Yonge St., the longest street in the world. with a hot mug in my hands, I imagine walking to the end of the street in this weather.

rise...

[coffee/date]

I met A* last Sunday night, for a coffee date - not a real date, because that would mean real date conversation. I didn't have high expectations or anything, since it was just a coffee date, get to know you kinda thing. we met down @ Timothy's in the Village. it was a brutally cold night, and my glasses fogged up when I got inside. I couldn't see anyone around, which made it all the worse. I felt a dozen pairs of eyes staring at me, and I couldn't decide if I was embarrassed or I was flattered. as I got my hot chocolate, I saw him come in, a big handsome burly guy.

“Those are nice tattoos you have,” I said pointing at the skull and the modern German eagle on his arm. we had moved over to the corner.

“I got that in Germany when I was in the armed forces,” he answered. I smiled and admired the details of the eye socket of the skull. "We thought we were hot shit then, and so we all got this tattoo."

“Does it hurt?” I looked up and down both his arms. “I mean there's so many, and so detailed.” I was recalling Mark's recent tattoo.

“If the person knows what they’re doing, it’s not supposed to hurt. I’ve had many over the years and got some touched up, too.” He reached out his left forearm. “See here? That was a cheesy scorpion. This one guy was really good, he made it into a dragon. Fits over it perfectly.”

I examined the red inked Chinese dragon, trying to find the scorpion hidden in the eyes. I was strangely attracted to the tattoos. they covered his arms all over and I wondered how many he had. “Are you getting any more?”

“There aren’t any places left that are easy to cover. Maybe a small one on the small of my back.”

“What’s left are places that’ll probably hurt,” I guessed. “I can’t imagine having any myself.” I was actually imaging the yakuza and photos I’ve seen in books and magazines of tattoo covered fetishists. I was also trying to imagine what he looked like naked with all those tattoos. it seemed absurd that here we were trying to get to know each other, maybe get passed the physical, do that small talk about what we do, what we like, where we’re from… and the entire time I was entranced by the surface, captivated by the pictures on his body. I wasn’t looking at him really, I was looking at my wild dreams and nightmares reflected back from his arms.

...and reverberate

[coffee/break]

as I was relating my coffee date to him, Mark said I need to write down what I want in a guy. I was trying to explain how I’m in this weird limbo where I think I’m ready to really date again and I’m definitely pass that hooking up for fun stage. and yet, I’m not sure what I want. I think I want to find something serious, to really connect. I want to see sparks fly and count stars with someone and just get lost in his eyes. I don’t want to watch the clock while I’m in some (albeit hot) guy's apartment, making sure I can catch the last TTC subway; or worse, wake up in some strange futon discovering that I had forgotten the dude’s name and that he can’t make coffee.

so in theory, I’m open to meeting new people and see where things go. willing to take things slowly, going at a comfortable place. yet, I’m not sure exactly what I want. I meet A* and I think there isn’t that much potential there. he’s interesting enough, well read, pleasant to talk to, attractive, traveled, straight-forward. I think his many, many tattoos are cool. but my intuition is telling me this isn’t going to go anywhere. I don’t feel the sparks, just a subtle attraction. I don’t know if we’re on the same wavelength. I don’t know if it’s just me holding back because I didn’t feel that spark? or is that an excuse? while I’m tempted, I don’t want to shag him without just cause.

Mark suggested the “vampire clause”. that’s where the monster of the horror movie of your life says no matter what he says or how he pleads, under no circumstances should you let him out. you have to decide what you want and don’t want, and decide before going on these dates. you don’t want to be deciding on what you want in the moment of meeting the guy, rationalizing because you’re just horny. the vampire clause keeps you from “being sucked away with it,” from regretting that maybe the cute E-tard in bed with you isn’t so much fun the next morning when he’s coming down from flying the night before. it is easier said than done. so, I think I know that I want something serious, but not too serious. definitely nothing casual, yet I’m so tempted. my friend pavel, who’s in another kind of limbo in a wife-beater-wearing American State, thinks I’m just ready for a rebound.

before –s- flew off to South Korea, he made me realize (without him realizing) that my heart was ready to move on. he touched my heart without trying. I tried to keep cool, but it was so easy to be moved by him. I may never see him again, we'll probably never be in the same city, but he’s taken just a tiny bit of my heart with him. maybe that’s what is holding me back.

my still life

[postcards #2]

you wouldn’t think it when you see me, but I do love to eat. I love trying new restaurants and new foods. I love reading restaurant reviews and love watching cooking shows. I enjoy cooking, but hate cleaning up. when looking at floor plans of new homes and condos, I look at the kitchen (check out The Fash Mag Slag's kitchen!). I’m more impressed with the extra features of a stove than of the latest fancy retro-couch on Queen East. I envy my parental units buying a new refrigerator. when I was really poor, when Y and I lived in east Vancouver, I swore the one thing I wouldn’t ever try to skimp on was food.

eating is such an essential part of life, certainly the main motivation of most animals on earth, and our species is no different. but we’re supposed to have advanced, and I know of some people who think eating is just the first step in the process of defecating. they would value other experiences over eating. why bother, when what you eat is just a momentary pleasure, just one meal out of approx. 87600 (if you live to 80, and had three meals a day)? you can play the same song many times over many days, but you cannot eat the same meal many times over many days. it is this ephemeral pleasure, this fleeting delight after one taste, that makes me love eating. nothing tastes exactly the same twice (except for food made at McD!). you can try to duplicate it, and make the same meal, call it comfort food, but it won’t really be the same.

when I meet him, I wonder if he can cook and if he loves to eat. can he express himself with a carrot and an 8” chef knife? can he dance with the pepper shaker and sing the salt? food is an embodiment of who we are, who we want to be, who we cannot be, but oh, so wish we were.

the first postcard photo is of my 2004 birthday dinner, a wonderful medium rare New York striploin from Cumbrae’s, some garlic mash, along with a great bottle of Bordeaux. the second photo is of a dessert Y had made with the rest of the wild Ontario blueberries we had one summer. Jei emailed me (finally!) from Brighton to let me know his photo is of his meat. well, actually lamb, and a good meal it was. I love seeing what people eat, which is one of the reasons why I travel over to The Fash Mag Slag. invite me to dinner, and I'll be your best friend.

love comes again

[deja vu]

just got back from the movies... I went to see House of Flying Daggers again, with Y and beingboring. *sigh* Takeshi is still cute the second time watching the movie too. I'm such a sap. why can't I find a horse-riding, arrow-shooting, swordsman? of course, I am not implying I'd want to be Zhang Ziyi. my shirt sleeves are not long enough anyway and I can't dance and I have no rhythm. I'd make a crappy blind dancer in a whore house. oh wait, that sounds like me at one of those bad nights at Fly.

I'd settle just being Andy Lau wearing a Tang dynasty uniform making out with my hero. :)

enjoy the silence

[talk & walk]

I've been looking around for a cell phone, doing some research on the net and have been eyeing some at the stores. I actually don't have one and I really enjoy not being able to be reached. at least not easily. everyone complains that I don't have one and I admit looking for a payphone is becoming more difficult. most people can't understand how I can survive without one. but when you don't have something, you don't exactly miss it.

my dad always had one, even when I was in highschool. it was one of those huge suckers with a gigantic antenna, the phone was heavy like a brick, but had really cool red LED lights for a display. really retro&future. by the time I moved out, my dad had a few more cell phones for the family to use. I never really used them, so I didn't care to get one when I was on my own. but now, I'm all grown up. I'm ready to move on with the real world. and now, maybe I want to be reached. I think I'll miss the easy solitude, accessibility denied, the wall of silence when I don't want to be seen or heard. of course I can just turn off the phone, but it's not really the same.

icyblog, however, needs more photos. so I want a camera phone. take some pics of my dates (when and if they're presentable) and post lots of photos of my world. those phones, though, are so damn expensive and not so convenient to use. I never knew! so I'm thinking of getting a Motorola V300 or V220 because they're on sale @ Rogers. or perhaps get a nice Samsung SCH A670 phone @ Telus like Mark's. I don't know know what to get yet, or maybe just wait until they're even better than they are now. the resolution isn't so great and I want to connect it to my PC or iBook without having to buy cables and software. or maybe I'll just borrow Y's digicam more often and let the world enjoy my silence. I'll call you when I decide.

play the elevator muzak

[reunion]

weird friday @ the office, new year's eve: the elevator doors just opened, as I slowed, trying to let the delivery man from Szechuan Szechuan (*1/2 - over-priced, Szechuan restaurant serving underwhelming Chinese food in the finance district) go in first with his delivery cart. he had at least 20 separate orders of Chinese food. I just came back from lunch, deep in thought of the work on my desk and didn’t really notice the delivery man.

once we were in, the doors closed and the elevator started moving, the man looked up, pointed at me and called out a part of my name in Chinese. I was shocked and recollection hit me at once. it was my violin teacher from my youth! I corrected his memory and told him my name. we talked on how I must’ve finished school and what I am doing now. he seemed happy to have bumped into me, a teacher seeing how his student turned out. for me, I just felt how lucky I was that the elevator ride was short as old memories came flooding back of me playing the violin badly, my practising perfunctory. I had no rhythm, no sense of musicality, no natural appreciation of music. after enough years of one-hour lessons in an old dusty music room in East Chinatown every Saturday, I abruptly stopped. I didn’t really say good-bye. I just stopped booking lessons with him and he never called back.

And so I wondered if he ever wondered why or what happened to me. I didn’t care much then, except for the great relief of having my Saturdays back to myself, no more guilty procrastination of bowing exercises and fingerings. No more screeching Paganini, no more Vivaldi massacres. I was happy at my failure.

awkwardly, I bid him good-bye as he left the elevator with his delivery. the doors closed and I wondered what he thought of how I turned out. there are very few teachers and professors I'd want to meet again, and perhaps they'd feel the same about me. certainly not in an elevator with no immediate exit. for the rest of the afternoon, I reminisced, thinking about where I was and where I am going into the new year. what more could I have said? who did I want him to think I've become?

the violin is still in my old bedroom at my parents’, propped against the wall behind the door. I don’t plan to bring it home.

...and why that's a good thing

[catch-up]

a week ago, I was at this starbucks, which was still fairly busy for post-Xmas coffees, especially being a gay one and all. Mark was across from me doing actual work on his iBook and me trying to blog on mine. I was connected to the wi-fi network next door and thought I could post this pretty fast, but my connection dropped before I finished. I’ve been so busy the last few weeks that I have not been able to post. I know I should just post anything, nothing fancy, just a quick blurb on what’s up. instead, I have been running around, doing Christmas things. I miss my blog travels and missed visiting thefashmagslag and his birthday, didn’t even know jadedbitch was ill and forgotten to check how nomilk did on his weblog nomination. there’s a whole blogworld that was sideswiped by the real world. and so what had taken me away from writing…?

…I hate office parties. I especially loathe office holiday parties, formerly known as office Christmas parties. I spend enough time with my colleagues at work, why would I want to spend more time with them? don’t get me wrong, but I do like some of my colleagues and I actually do see some of them outside of work. but what I cannot stand is the officious and odious ways in which a company forces its staff to conform to some artificial corporate family mentality. our corporate shepherds always try to herd us office drones to some function or other. aside from upper management, I don’t see how anyone can enjoy dressing up and hanging out with co-workers, and not being paid for the misery.

…and I hate office gift exchanges. I have enough shopping to do, wracking my brain trying to figure out how to get every gift within budget. why would I want an additional task that would fail my cost/benefit analysis? there was no secret santa this year (yay!), but just a potluck. no official office holiday party at a swank hotel (thank god for the cheap bastards I work for).

in the spirit of the office pot luck, where Christmas music and blaphemous cut-outs of Santa-heads were banned, I experimented with various deep fried wontons and ended up with a pretty yummy pork and shrimp version that went pretty well.the first version wasn't so good, and it's still in my freezer. I didn't have time to make any sauce, so I got some sweet & sour sauce (ugh!) from Dominion's. I packed everything in some take out containers I got at the dollar store to give it that authentic Chinese Canadian restaurant feel. they went pretty fast and I didn’t have to bring any leftovers back with me!

and I helped Y baked cookies, learning how I’m not really a good baker. the first batch we made were horrible, they were like flattened muffin tops. Y got the recipe from a cookbook called Forgotten Recipes of Traditional Québec. I think there was a reason why they were forgotten.

Y found a better recipe on the net, and so we made sugar cookies; different kinds, some with almonds and some with chocolate and some with maple syrup. we sprinkled icing sugar on them and decorated them with almonds. they came out quite wonderful, but each one was like a meal in itself. I could barely eat one without thinking how much gym time this translated into. I brought some to work and guilted everyone into taking one.

for the Christmas party at Sammi’s, I brought over packages of cookies, wrapped up in Japanese bowls and giant red ribbons as Christmas gifts. if I had to bring appetizers, I would’ve brought over the fired wontons. so, boys and girls, the moral of this Christmas tale is that your office colleagues make great guinea pigs. next year, I will volunteer to make Christmas fruitcake for potluck.

Happy New Year!

[wishes]

just got back from a small New Year's party, my head hurts from the cava (or some kind of sparkling wine) and I think I want to lie down and sleep. but before I dream, I wish all a wonderful New Year and may 2005 be filled with lots of joy, love and prosperity... and lots of blog posts!

thanks to all for dropping by icyblog. new adventures and new stories await. why don't you leave a tale or a comment?

hugs to M, WTF, shib, -s-, aysh, Gerry, Joao&M, ox, Jei, who are faraway. for those who are closer, hugs when I'll see you.