Monday, July 25, 2011

A Quick Refrain



Alright, so, I know I'm in the midst of revealing all things N'Orleans, but after my experiences at Hillside this past weekend, I just couldn't stop myself from writing this entry while it's fresh in my mind.



Hillside, for many, many years now, has done nothing else if promise us a great weekend full of people, music, beer and food. In the grand scheme of things, I will admit to my infancy with the festival, since I've only been a couple of years running; but that in no way should imply that I don't appreciate everything that it stands for and continues to strive doing.

So, what made this year different? What stood out ahead of everything else? The Sausage Brothers? Absolutely. The craft vendors? Without question. Four stages of non-stop music and entertainment? It would be silly to think otherwise. But this year held something extra special to me, and, I believe, to thousands of others who were in the presence off Fred Penner and his guitar.

When I was a young lad, just three apples high in the innocence of my childhood, I remember fewer icons fonder than the kindly, well-spirited, genuinely friendly bearded man who crawled through that magical log and into his getaway in the woods. He sang songs that were catchy in their time, but more than simply being sing-along tunes to make you clap and stomp, they held messages that I think a lot of us loyal viewers quickly forgot. I was reminded of this on Sunday morning at the Lake Stage, where everyone from 5 years to 60 sang in unison, so joyously tearful to the chorus of "I love sandwiches." My childhood rushed back quicker than I could ever have thought possible.

No other I can readily think of tells a story so charismatically and with inclusion, humour, value and infectious smile than that of Mr. Penner. He had a field of strangers connecting over a beautiful message of friendship and the notion that simply being good to each other can make the biggest difference in the world.

And just when the show couldn't have gotten any better, the stage lit up by the presence of Serena Ryder, whose voice filled the heart with happiness and Dan Mangan, whose humbled smile brought everyone to their feet. "Mom," Dan said into the audience, "you better be getting a picture of this." Through the chorus of The Cat Came Back to those 100 tasty sandwiches, Dan Mangan's charming, ear to ear grin was publicly advertising what we were all suddenly feeling: happy.

I have seen a lot of concerts on a lot of different stages in my day and, though there have been more good than bad, no other has so much reminded me that it's great to be a kid sometimes and that those childhood lessons are so unfortunately forgotten and tossed by the wayside foolishly and haphazardly. It reminded me that it's okay to be completely, utterly silly and that making others smile is one of the kindest things you can do for a person.

Sure, you can go ahead and tell me I'm being over the top cheesy and sappy, but, to tell the truth, I'm completely okay with that. Hillside, to me and many others, is a festival built upon the notion of giving back, be it to the environment or each other; and Fred Penner's performance resonated that message beyond the gates of the main campgrounds.

The festival as a whole was, as it always promises to be, fun from start to finish; but to choose one performance worth writing about, there is no other. And so to conclude ever so suiting, in the words of a gentle, kind spirit, to my friends, my family, my one love, and everyone else whose lives have graciously touched mine, the message from this concert I wish to share the most:

always, always remember...."You are my sunshine"



Thank you for reminding me Fred,
-Phil

Sunday, July 17, 2011

The Louisiana Diaries



Introduction

It had been years of intrigue and wonder built up inside of me. The stories of city built on music, food, love and people seemed like something more of a Utopian dream scape than it did a destination for the flesh. I always knew I'd go, I promised myself years ago that I would; it was only a matter of time, how and why.

We sat on our couch one night, surfing through pages of travel information, looking for a deal or a last minute opportunity to satiate our longing for a getaway after the long winter months. So with her on her Mac and I on my PC, we felt slightly overwhelmed, even defeated by so many options, none of which truly exciting us to the point of raising our voice above a mere "hm". That, of course, was until the jazz festival came about.

New Orleans is reputed for many things, the most tourist of all being Mardi Gras. And while Fat Tuesday seems like something of a fun, debauchery-filled week that could very well satisfy most, for us it doesn't quite make the grade. The city itself, however, absolutely captivating. The southern hospitality: yes please! And now the knowledge of an international jazz festival! It would have been unforgivable not to book the tickets right then and there.

I've been to many destinations through the world, not a quarter of the terrain I'd like to cover, but enough to know that there is more out there than I could ever possibly hope to take in. France was beautiful for reasons only France could be. China was a cultural awakening I didn't see coming. Even great British Columbia has its stories to tell. Yes, the globe is a wonderful thing to traverse, and though I'm nowhere near completing my journey for knowledge and understanding, I can honestly say that our time in and around New Orleans, Louisiana, will be one of the greatest experiences to keep dear to my heart.

I'm going to take the next three or so weeks to document the experiences we had on our 9-day road trip into the Big Easy, as one entry simply wouldn't suffice or give justice to the people we encountered along our path. I know it seems like a lot to blog on only one topic but I can assure you that the story I'm going to share is more than just "We went to New Orleans. Stuff happened. It was fun. I got a tan. Sun was hot. We came home." No, from day one and our Diners, Drive-ins and Dives detour to the thug-life motel in Jackson, a friendly "mechanic" named Blue, Cindy Lauper sharing the stage with Arcade Fire and a bar-hopping party in Nashville, this whole experience is worth telling in it's own fair chapters.

My hope by the end of this is to excite people to the point of planning out their own route down, to experience the greatness that I put off for far too long and do what everyone in the country seems to agree on being worth doing. So, if I can say one thing before I even begin telling our story it's to start now! Book a flight, book a hotel, rent a car, call some friends, whatever you need to do to get yourself south, just go for it, I promise you will not be disappointed.

Now, I will do my best to move the process along quickly so that I can return to writing of some upcoming experiences in food and music, but, as mentioned in The World Yearns, I may only be able to promise one entry a week...there's just so much other fun to be had!

Looking forward to sharing it all.
-Phil

Chapter 1: coming soon...

Sunday, July 10, 2011

O.Noir

About three years ago a restaurant was brought to my attention that was said to offer a "truly unique and memorable experience." Given my weakness for such statements, I immediately started asking around who would like to join me at O.Noir for a dining in the dark affair that would promise to offer an experience like no other; that statement has since proven very true.

Years went by quickly, but eventually, as with most things I long for doing, the time came to say "No more procrastinating, no more excuses, and no more talk about the possibility of one day going." I picked up the phone and dialed the Church Street restaurant, securing reservations for a 6:00 seating. The only regret I have is not doing it sooner.

For those who have not heard of this place: it is, as mentioned earlier, a restaurant where diners are stripped of their sense of sight and are forced to eat in complete and total darkness. Now, I had prepared myself for this well in advance, but what I didn't understand until led into the room, was that total darkness really means total darkness. No light could seep into this room from anywhere and we quickly and oddly found ourselves confused as the whether or not our eyes were even open. But, before I get too far ahead of myself here, let's start from the beginning.

O.Noir is located underground on Church Street in Toronto, Ontario. Save for the awning at the front, there is no indication to a passerby that a restaurant would even exist there; but hey, underground = less chance for light to come in I suppose.

When you first walk into the lobby/bar area, you find your eyes already trying to adjust to a very, very dim atmosphere. The lights are kept low, like a candle flickering on it's last breath. The atmosphere is that of a strange underground library or, what my imagination pictures as some old forbidden den where some elite and highly secretive masons would meet to discuss their ancient secrets, far from the eyes and ears of any passing civilian. The room was decorated very simply, with a braille alphabet painted on the wall and some books lining the back area of the room (I found it odd that these books were here as they were printed and not braille...) There was a bar area where you could place an order before entering the dining room and other than that there was nothing to speak of.

As we stood in this room a waitress approached and passed us a menu, the process from there was pretty straight-forward: the menu consisted of fare from which to place you order; one appetizer, one main and one dessert for an extremely reasonable $40 a head.

The neatest part about the menu was that, for those more adventurous, you could bypass the whole thing and simply say "surprise me!" at which point your server would escort you to your table and your senses would be left to fend for themselves. Needless to say, this was the option we chose.

We were taken from this main lobby by a blind man name Arthur. Arthur informed me to place my left hand on his left should and we walked through a door. The room was dark beyond dark. Once that door closed we passed through a second door; and if I thought the first passage was like the depths of some abyss, this second room quickly taught me that I cannot pretend to understand the definition of dark any longer.

We walked slowly, hands on shoulders, through a room full of whispers and nothing else. When we got to our table he described for us in quick detail where and how to sit and what was in front of us. This is where things got interesting for me.

Before he could even tell me where it was, I had my fork and knife in hand. I knew where my wine glass was positioned, and I knew where the napkin was. My mind and body were functioning solely on what I've become accustomed to over the past 29 years, completely without sight.

Our table was against a wall, which helped for spatial awareness, and, just by listening to the echoes and bouncing of voices of thee surrounding walls, we believe there to be ten other tables in that particular dining room (there are 3 or 4 alternate dining rooms in the restaurant, presumably to keep things as orchestrated as possible). As we sat there and talked between ourselves, we found it strange that everyone seemed afraid to speak above a whisper; as though being in the dark meant some sort of signal for the brain to quiet down. Things got louder, however, as people became more comfortable with their environment and eventually it turned into the normal buzz of a restaurant dining room we'd all be used to.

Now, I don't want to focus too much here on whether or not the food was good. It was, let's leave it at that. Instead, what was more interesting was how we tasted the food, which was with our hands.

Remember, we had no idea what was going to be served to us, and so when the server dropped these plates on our table, we had to just trust that it would be something tasty and, well, edible.

We began by going through normal actions of fork meets plate meets food meets mouth. This, in the dark, is rather difficult to accomplish. So, without even thinking about our actions, we found ourselves placing food onto our forks with our other hand, messy, yes, but necessary and a reflex. This eventually brought us to a point where we weren't using forks at all anymore, it was just a primitive rummage for whatever was on the plate and shovelling that into our mouths for quick consumption. What was truly interesting about this, however, was that it helped us to identify the food even more than the taste did. Green beans, for example, have a very distinct feel in your hands. As do potatoes and chicken and lettuce and chocolate mousse cake. You may not think about it when you pick them up at the grocery store, but when your mind is struggling and racing to determine what it is you are about to ingest, it goes through all of those file folders of textures hidden away in your brain and it finds the information it needs to move on.

And so it went on, course by course, deciphering and analyzing each component to each dish until we were totally satisfied that we knew what it was; and by this point we were so comfortable with the situation that it almost didn't need to be talked about anymore. We were happy and comfortable and totally content in experiencing something so completely foreign to our brain. And that's when the mood changed to panic.

When all the food was cleared and there was nothing left for us to explore, we just needed to get up and go, except we couldn't. We were totally and completely dependant on Arthur and without him there was no way we were going to get out of there. So we sat. Engulfed in darkness and nothingness we waited for our guide to return and lead us back into familiarity and independence. I won't say that it was the longest 5 minutes of my life, but it felt darn close to it.

So, when all was said and done, we paid our bill and left the restaurant as though our lives had somehow opened up a little bit. We understood food in a new way, but more than anything, we understood some of the things we take for granted so easily; like just getting up and leaving on our own accord.

I'd recommend O.Noir to anyone in an instant. Like I said, it's $40 for a three course meal that will be unlike anything you've ever had before. The food was very good, though not the greatest I will admit, and the conversations since going have been quite enlightening. It may not be for the less adventurous folks in the crowd, but for those willing to give new things a try, I must highly recommend that you go.

That being said, I doubt very much that I would return, at least not anytime soon. . It's certainly not the type of place where you'd say "Hey, I'm craving chicken, let's go eat in the dark." But, for someone who wants to get a different perspective and appreciation for food, I can honestly say that I once was blind...but now I see.

Cheers everyone and happy eating!


http://www.onoir.com/TO/frames.htm

Sunday, July 3, 2011

As The World Yearns

It has been six months sit I last sat behind the keys of my trusty laptop. An interesting fact that struck me only too hard this past week when I was in Dee's General Store, purchasing some of those tasty, dreamy butter tarts I wrote about oh so many months ago. It was my intention when starting this blog, that I keep up with everything there is to do, see and learn in the city, reporting back on each excursion almost exactly when and as it happened. Time, it seems, got the better of me and I let the this experiment fall by the wayside; always intending to return once I had compiled something truly worthy of writing about.

While going out and exploring this great city of ours has and always will be a core of my adventurous being; when it comes right down to it, there just aren't enough hours in the day, nor are there enough bills in my pocket to make it a daily or even weekly happening. It takes time, thought and energy to write these entries and I've always wanted to them to be worthwhile and, in fairness, not a waste of time to anyone checking in. That being said, I don't believe my own excuse for even a second. There's always something going on if we just take the time to pay attention to it. Enjoy the moment and stop to realize what it is you are experiencing. Do this and my, oh my do will there be stories to share...

From soft shell crab in Myrtle Beach, to Cirque Du Soleil, a more than interesting weekend in Tweed, Ontario, a Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives road trip, winery tours, brewery tours, dining in the dark, finding a mid-week farmer's market, and a music-filled week in New Orleans, there are more adventures to share than any one single posting could possibly do to explain my extended absence.

Because my passion has always been to satiate the thirst for all things new, I have ventured further from Guelph, Ontario, even Canada more in the last six months than it feels I have in the past six years. With excitement at every turn, and more stories than a single conversation could hold, I am going to dedicate the next couple of weeks to breakdown these adventures into their most deserved postings.

My goal now is to bring The Locale back as not just a local online tour book, but as an overall inspiration forum for anyone looking to do something curious and new, no matter where it is. I suppose you could say that, in my absence, I've been expanding my pallet, breaking down borders, discovering new land, and there's no sign of slowing down.

Pursuant to that, I want to make The Locale a shared space for anyone who may have suggestions and stories of their own. With new restaurants opening up all over, bike trails to explore, beaches and highways to travel, and millions of people to meet, I'd love to get a glimpse at the world I haven't yet seen by getting in on some of your stories as well.

From here on, to be realistic with myself and fair to you, I am going to post a new edition of The Locale only every Sunday. The content intended will be, as I mentioned, to share what has happened since 2011 got under way, but there will undoubtedly be injections of new tastes and flavors as this story continues.

It has been sad for me to not log and share these cross-country adventures with the frequency at which I was once used to, but with some changes to my schedule and a fresh new inspiration for writing, I'm excited to get back into a rhythm of consistent reporting.

In addition to the blog as you know it, I am also in the works of creating a calendar through http://www.thelocale.ca/ where local events will be posted as they come up. Of course, it's important to remember that, while I try hard to stay on top of things as they become announced, things can always slip through the cracks and so I, in the true nature of what this blog is all about, encourage you to get out and explore on your own any night of the week.

Glad to be back friends. There are many more stories to come.

See you next Sunday!
-Phil