sybarites

While it’s true that, during the long journey around the world, I missed some cushy things from North America (good showers, good coffee, English, an easy existence) I would be remiss not to mention the things I missed about Canada.   I also think it’s fair to say that I’m not sure I would’ve ever really noticed these elements of Canadiana had I not been apart from them.   (Hardly a new observation, I know;  things are never clearer than when seen from afar.)

When I first started to remember to miss Canada, we were on a train in India listening, ironically, to an old broadcast of This American Life.  The broadcast was titled “The Canadians That Walk Among Us” and chronicled the American surprise upon learning that some of the people residing there were actually Canadians.  They seemed to blend so well into American culture (apparently), that you never could tell that a person was from Canada until another famous Canadian was brought up in conversation, at which point any Canadian would be compelled to identify the star as a compatriot.  And we caught ourselves doing the same thing!  Example:
“So the other day, I was listening to ‘Summer of ’69’ and… ”
“Canadian!  Canadian!  Bryan Adams- he’s Canadian!  So am I.  Just thought you should know, neither Bryan or I are American.  Continue with your story.”

Anyway, as a segue in the broadcast, they played a jazz version of Hockey Night in Canada and it had been so long since I had heard that song, it very nearly brought a tear to my eye as I remembered the things I missed about home.  Apart from HNC – which I really never watched as a faithful fan, it’s just a tune that is as much a part of my existence as the national anthem – I have to say that I really missed the diversity of this country.   Now that I’m home, I appreciate much more that I can walk through a major city and see different races and hear several languages and eat sushi for lunch and palak paneer for supper.  (And, really, Canada is hardly an example of an even mixture of races.)  It’s such a relief to have variety again in cuisine and so… I don’t know… comforting to be part of a population composed of different heritages.  Maybe the reason I’m comforted is because that’s what I’m familiar with; so many other places seem, to me, to have a homogenous population, relatively speaking.  Funny the revelations that comparison brings about:  though I can hardly say that I “know” another country, I feel like I now “know” Canada even better.

Otherwise, there were some little, stereotypical things about Canadian culture for which I pined:  politeness, courtesy, personal space, the CBC, the cold, a self-deprecating humour that falls just short of being morose.  On this train in India, where it first occurred to me that I could miss a country, Marc and I started talking about the things that were Canadian – not North American – that we missed.   This eventually led to a discussion about the culture and we gave ourselves the challenge of defining what is to be Canadian without using the word “not”, as in “we’re not American” ; this is trickier to define without that element of comparison that seems to come so naturally.  (Ask an American how they would define themselves and it certainly wouldn’t involve how they are not Canadian. Ha! Can you even imagine!)  I wish that we had recorded our answers because I suspect our answers to that question would be different than before we left and certainly different if we weren’t half a world away struggling through a hot and crowded climate.  Though I remember it involved hockey.

We had to pack a lot of food into one day and two nights. On our first night I insisted we order from Salvatore’s Pizza. They make a plain cheese pizza to die for. We also split a mushroom and garlic pizza, a meatball hero and a salami-pepperoni hero. This was a traditional meal of Danny J and me. I used to favour the salami-pepperoni hero over the meatball, but this time was different. The meatballs are sliced and covered in cheese and sauce. The texture clearly states the sandwich is full of fat. It’s worth it.

The next day required an extra lunch to fit in all the mandatory stops. Ray’s at Scotia Square has a wide selection of Lebanese food. I hadn’t been there in three years. Nothing is fried. Everything is low fat. I always order the barbeque chicken pita. Rather than lettuce, he adds salad with tomatoes and pita croutons. The croutons add a great crunch. The oddest ingredient is roasted potatoes. He finishes it off with hummous and tahini sauce. I guess I’ve been there a lot. Ray looked and me and says, “it’s been a long time.”

Lunch two was chirashi sushi from Dharma. It wasn’t as good as I had remembered. That may have been purely because of the plating. Normally chirashi is served in a bowl with sushi rice at the bottom and assorted shashimi on top. The unique element at Dharma is barbeque eel sauce on the rice. On this occasion the rice was on one side of a plate and the fish on the other. All the fish was excellent, but it didn’t have the usual visual punch.

Steve-o-reno’s has the best coffee in Halifax. We both ordered the double short latte. It wasn’t as good as the Blue Bottle Company in San Francisco, but still very good.

Our next stop was Dio Mio for chocolate ice cream. They do have many more special flavours, but the chocolate is better than almost anywhere. It’s not too sweet. The cocoa flavour is strong. I remembered it being even more so, but the ice cream still tasted very good. I used to eat a small tub of it every week along with another of strawberry sorbet.

Dave and Karen picked up Indian takeout on our last night. Some couple with a hole in the wall sells their own frozen dishes. We had paneer, butter chicken, curry goat, curry vegetables and samosas. All were excellent. The best Indian food I’ve had at a restaurant was only marginally better.

Sammy was introduced to the concept of a beach today. He had never been before and didn’t really “get” the ocean. “What’s that smell? What’s that smell? Why is it moving around? What’s a seaweed?”

Anyway, because there was not a soul about, we dared to let him off his leash to run around. And boy, was there running. It was very windy, with the fog rolling in off the water in wisps so he would kind of blend into the background if he ran too far ahead. Fortunately, he’s too dim to know much about true freedom and so didn’t go very far or where he couldn’t see us. We visited two beaches on which he ran and ran and waded and chased and in the end, we had one very sandy, wet and tired puppy. And that was Sammy’s best day ever. (Soon to be followed by his very worst day ever when he is ‘abandoned’ by his people as they depart on their trip without him.)

My mother made this wonderful molasses bread for Janet and me. I couldn’t get enough. The molasses adds a lot of flavor, but doesn’t make the bread sweet. My mom said it should have risen more. Personally, I like a dense bread. It has more flavor per bite, and it feels hearty when eating it.

After covering the warm fresh bread in butter, I was hesitant to try it any other way. It would probably have toasted quite well. I didn’t want to take the risk.

I’ll need to adapt the recipe to bake it in the oven when we return next year. She made it in her bread machine.