Take the Good with the Bad

Toronto in February is only slightly more hideous than Toronto in January. Glass half full people talk about the imminent bloom of spring. Those more pessimistic remind the glass half full idiots that we've been suffering in grey mediocrity for that much longer. And, who are we kidding, we have another month of this shit before anything starts to shift.

It's murder on the shoes. Nothing can withstand the days that go from freezing at 6 am, to snowy at 9, and then to melt by noon. The streets are filthy. The geography is ugly. There is not a hint of the rebirth of green. Bone-chilling cold/damp is the utter inverse of hot/humidity. Don't get sick. Don't get cold. Because coming back from it is epic.

But wait. Before you kill yourself, think of the reasons you live here. Like late-April to mid-November. Street patios. Kensington Market under a cloudless sky. Drinks at the Park Hyatt rooftop. The best, and most diverse, food you'll come across anywhere - and that includes NYC. The food here is best in class. OMG - is the only thing I care about food??

To wit, gotta love a town that offers up handmade cupcakes and unpasteurized cheese of the highest calibre, within a city block.

Red Velvet and Dulce de Leche... These are so moist, I almost wrecked them taking them out of the box. And, not an icing lover by nature, caramel and cream cheese totally flip my switch.

Brillat Savarin is like St. Andre but "not crappy" (says the decidedly snobby fromageriste) Honestly though, if your fromageriste can't be the ultimate snob, then what hope is there for your organic butcher?? And the cheddar isn't English applewood, it's Kintyre. Seriously, this stuff is the shit.

Of course, this little indiscretion tiramisu cost me $40.00. Wanna guess how long it's going to last, what with my tween who eats everything in sight and then says she's still hungry? (The one whose legs have outgrown the size 12 pants I bought her last month.)

They say what doesn't kill you makes you stronger.

Update: Scott kindly volunteered to walk up to the liquor store in the wretched damp, to get me a few bottles of wine. Alas, on his return, I reviewed my Visa slip to note that he'd spent $52.00 on one of them. Says he was talking to the cashier so he didn't note the bill - the one he signed off on using my card. Intriguingly, this is the bottle I was about to open 10 minutes ago, but something told me it was really cher. I don't know if it was the label (which I might have recognized subconsciously) or the fact that it simply seemed extra fine, but can you imagine?? That would have been one expensive Sunday afternoon snack.

Now begins the argument over who will return said bottle...