Mateo Granados, Healdsburg Farmer’s Market, Breakfast, May 22, 2010.
 
I’d read about Chef Granados in Edward Behr’s The Art of Eating. I’d put a visit to his stall on my California wish list. The photo speaks to my sense of pleasure — the tiny branches of candy-pink flowers nestled in the greens. We sat in the sun at an oilcloth-covered picnic table with our huevos rancheros and hibiscus iced tea.
 
I was visiting my aunt at her home in St. Helena. I arrived at night. When I opened my bedroom curtains the first morning this was the view. I stood there for a long time — astonishing beauty. Did I wake up in paradise?

***

This is for my Toronto friends,
 
Remember when David Miller took the TTC to city hall? We all saw him. I saw him more times than I can count. There was something reassuring in it. Like he knew what life was like for us.
 
If you travel to work or to medical appointments or school on the TTC, I see you. The only way to describe the experience is awful. I spent more than $100 this week on taxis because of scheduled and emergency subway closures, random stops in the tunnel, and delays. The cost to travel in this city more than doubled for me. What jar do I take that out of? 
 
I like that Olivia Chow rides her bike. I want that infrastructure too. But I have no sense she understands what it's like to commute by public transit in the city of Toronto.
 
The cost of living here is high. Many of us must live at a distance to work. I have a cook-friend who travels from Scarborough to Bloor West Village for work, and lately it’s taken him more than two hours to travel one way. That’s less time with his young children. His eight-hour day stretches to twelve.
 
There is no regard for our time or well-being.
 
Public transportation isn’t a darling of the extractive ruling class at Queen’s Park. They get hot for the private sector...the grocer barons and Roger's board members. They like us best in cars.

Meanwhile "the better way" means abject mediocrity. We're held captive in a failing system. And there's radio silence from the mayor, Mr. Rick Leary, and Rob’s older brother.
 
***

I'd put a French mini moto logo on my chef jacket. Just saying I'm open to transportation sponsorship. It would look cute parked out front of the restaurant. Colour to be negotiated.

***
 
I’ve been loving this new-to-me song this week.

​Royal Hospital Road, Michelin 2-Star, solo lunch, spring 2000.
 
I was a stagiaire at the River Cafe. The brilliant Rose was alive. Both women on the cusp of releasing the Green Book. A pre-tour excitement in the air.
 
Part of the study was going to restaurants.
 
Feeling hugely self-conscious approaching the door in my stagiaire good clothes. IYKYK
 
Then I met Jean-Philippe. For me, the grand master. I cannot untangle him from the good feelings I have about the experience. He was the antidote. The room was calm.
 
Gordon was in the kitchen. I went in to say hello. Looked around for my kind. None in sight.
 
A new generation of Paul Bocuse. 
 
***
 
I missed you. It’s still Sunday.
 
***
 
Steve Winwood was born to sing. Look at the percussion section.