The Importance of Being Art

During my last few weeks here in the Big Apple, I have taken myself to a few museums to really drench myself in culture and art.  I am happily saturated.

In Vancouver, I have been working on a project to raise awareness and convince Vancouverites that the city needs a new, purpose-built gallery.  About 90% of those to whom I speak are all for it.  But it's the annoying 10% that is really pissing me off.

Here are some fun facts about the VAG:

- it only holds 3% of its collection.  No museum showcases 100% but 3% is a bit ridiculous
- there is a permanent collection - in jail.  That's right, in the vaults below the gallery (which used to house prisoners - it was a courthouse after all) sit our Carrs and Group of Sevens.  The VAG rotates its' Carr permanent collection which doesn't enable tourists to guarantee a Carr sighting or for a Vancouverite to revisit a favourite painting years later
- 20 000 school kids were turned away last year due to lack of room to educate and inform
- there is no space dedicated to education for children or adults
- the vault/jail has leaks, mice, rats and pot smoke
- there is terrible security as the only doors to get art in are the same ones open to the general public
- those doors are too small to let larger exhibitions in
- the gallery is not climate controlled
- there is terrible handicap access
- if there was an earthquake the building would collapse straight down squishing not only art-lookers-atters but the art in the pot-smoke vault

The list goes on.  And as you see, it's all building related. There is nothing wrong with our art.

Working at the gallery has really made me open my eyes to art and its importance to society.

I can't help but wonder:  what would a world be like without art?

Let's just take the visual arts.  I don't know that my day-to-day life is directly affected by Monet and Renoir.

Or is it?

Take the beauty of emotions, feelings, statements, politics, history, religion, and more that artists transcribe on to blank canvas.  Isn't it possible to think that those watercolour strokes are the inspiration in how we choose the colour to paint our walls or how we place our furniture?

I mean, that's really a prosaic thing for art to inspire.  It's true though.

In a world with no art we have no concept of beauty.  Or what makes us feel. What inspires us.  Art belongs not just in the visual playing field -  but in our books, on our television, on our iPod.  Sure, Paris Hilton's BFF is not exactly the best example of 'art' on television - however, it is a statement to our times.  And that is what art is.

Okay, now I am on a tangent.  Back to my point.

I am so disappointed with Vancouverites and their response to a new building.  They are so attached to the current building (don't get me wrong - it's gorgeous.  But it isn't doing its job anymore.  Let it be a home for a new museum!) that they are unable to envision a future Vancouver.

Imagine a gallery on a rainy winters day.  You take the escalator to the top floor where Emily Carr paintings hang lavishly on the walls.  The room feels like you are in the very rain forests she painted - and with the tap-tap of raindrops on the window pane, her world suddenly becomes intensely real.

This is what art does.

A young teen asked me if we had a permanent collection wouldn't we get bored?

BORED?

She hasn't travelled the world yet to discover the joy of revisiting a work of art time and again.

In order to appreciate and develop a relationship with art, one must be able to grow and mature along with it.

As an example, I have been going to the National in London since I was 19 in 1999.  There is a painting by Delaroche called 'The Execution of Lady Jane Grey'.

For whatever reason,  this painting has always fascinated me.  Her story has fascinated me. I can look at this painting and work through the emotions each person must be feeling.  I can transport myself to that room.

Fast forward ten years.  I have seen that painting on all my return trips to London.  Just this spring I popped in briefly simply to say 'hello'.

The Impressionists are the same for me.  Wherever I bump into them, I feel like I am meeting up with an old friend.  'Oh good afternoon Degas, lovely ballerina's today - I haven't seen this one before'.  OR, 'Monet - I love how you make sunset at Big Ben look the way sitting on Westminster Bridge makes me feel'.

This is what art does.

Art needs to reach people. From a young age preferably. I remember holidays with my parents - them dragging me to art galleries all over the world.  I was bored to tears mostly.  However it's clearly done some good.  I may have been bored, but I was still affected.

Art needs to reflect people.  The VAG isn't showing off its potential.  We do have world class art - BC style.  It's just locked up.

In fact we just acquired this Arthur Lismer in the spring.

Where is it?

IN JAIL!

I urge you to close your eyes and think about a Vancouver in 2030.  Next to the Queen E theatre and down the block from the library sits a beautiful building that reflects British Columbia as a place and people.  The outdoor sculpture garden is teeming with children who are learning to make their own sculptures.  Inside, a group of twenty-something aspiring artists share their sketches over hot tea and debate which medium is better:  oil or pencil.

You are there too, a bit older, and even more in love with art.  You smile as you pass the kids and the artists-to-be, on your way to visit your favourite painting.  You need a bit of a pick-me-up after too many rainy Sundays.  This painting always makes you smile.  It makes you think of golden summers and the way leaves smell when they start turning orange.  You remember seeing it for the first time with your mum, which reminds you to go visit her with some flowers.  You remember the time you came after you had your heart broken and how the quiet loveliness of the gallery soothed you.  You remember having a copy of it on your first apartment bedroom wall after university.  When all your furniture was hand-me-downs and you still tacked posters to the walls.  You remember bringing your daughter to see it for the first time and how she tried to make her own painting at home - on the kitchen door.  You were mad then but now you smile.  You've been through a lot, this painting and you.

Art makes memories.

Please please please take a minute to write to the mayor.  All the actions you can do to help are on this website.  Please remember that in the spirit of 2010 we have to work to make Vancouver as pretty on the inside as it is on the outside.

An ode to Iced Coffee, Tea and basically all that is Iced

Have I mentioned the freaking heat in New York?

DO NOT COME TO NEW YORK IN AUGUST!!!!!!!

It's like descending into hell.  A hell that is like standing behind a bus and feeling the exhaust fumes on your skin and not having the bus pull away.

But it's New York so I love it.

I also love iced coffee.  OH GOD do I love iced coffee.  Every morning the lethargic Mop and I go for a walk to our local deli/grocery/coffee place Jessie's.  We both love the air con that hits us as we walk in, and we love even more, opening the freezer door to get our pre-cooled cup full of ice.

They know me as cream and one sugar - I plunk my money on the counter and happily suck back the cool caffeine as we make our way back home.  The coolness of the coffee lasts only so long and soon I am sweating again.

The other day it was so hot in the apartment that I took a very cold shower.  When getting ready, I ended up sweating so much I had to jump back in to rinse off!  I was trying to apply mascara (which is kept in the fridge) but my eyes were so sweaty it hurt.  I had a pool of sweat in my belly button!

I learned from Male Model not to apply lotion as I had been doing.  Makes sense.  You sweat so much your skin has no chance of getting dry.  I think it was the lotion that lead to me sliding out of the cab.

Now I just have to get ready in the bedroom where I can put the AC on full blast. Or just sit there in my underwear and let it cool me.  Apparently I am now Homer Simpson. I have also taken to pushing the bed in front of the AC at night.

I worry about my Starbucks bill on my VISA when I get home.  I pop in there at least once a day for a shaken black iced tea lemonade half sweet.  I drink it fast and then place the ice down my dress.

Mop hates the heat.  He is not the same dog.  I thought it was his separation from Brooklyn that had made him listless. Alas, on a recent trip to a cooled down Toronto, Mop was back in Mop/crazy animal form.  So Brooklyn is not the ringleader after all.  Mop is just that hot.

He is so hot he won't sleep with me.  I tried to hold him in front of the AC to get cooled down but he is afraid of the whirring noise.  Then I dunked him in a fountain at Central Park.  This only made him roll around in the dirt.  I try giving him cold baths but he hates water (clearly as the fountain trick didn't work).  I even got him a bandanna that you put in the freezer which supposedly cools off their necks.  Unfortunately it is sitting in my Vancouver freezer.

So it's hot.  You can't hang outside so you must trek to the lovely cool inside of museums like the Met.  Or go shopping. Or actually sit at Starbucks all day (I got so cold in their AC I had to order a tea latte).

We couldn't survive this heat if it weren't for the iced coffee.  Oh iced coffee/tea.  I love you.

Gosh, how did women in the 19th century deal in this heat?  I can't see Miss Astor spreading her legs and fanning up her skirt.

Um.  Not that I do that either . . . .

The Mortal and the Models

I have recently found myself in a friendship with a model.

A real, life, MODEL.

A male model.

One who is at least seven feet tall with mocha-cream skin and chiseled good looks.  He once posed as an alligator coming out of a lagoon and made it sexy.

Lucky for the Engineer, he is also a raging homosexual.  Is that offensive?

This said model is also in New York right now - except he has rented a two-floor apartment in Greenwich Village and I continue to live with a slanted floor and a cockroach named Mickey in Brooklyn.

First thing first:  this male model might also be the nicest person I have ever met.  Super genuine and sweet. Really down to earth (mostly).  He just happens to be uber gorgeous.

Models tend to hang out with other models.  So when he invited me to come over to his apartment for a wine and cheese night I should have either (a) said no thank you or (b) ran to the nearest salon for a blow-out and false eyelashes.

I did neither.  I showed up sweaty with Mr. Mop in tow.

Male Model was sharing the apartment with Female Model/Actress who is so pretty you can't take your eyes off of her. All willowy and big eyes.  You sort of want to hit her and kiss her at the same time.

And again, super nice.

Then came in two more models.  Then another.  Well, I don't know if they were all models but they looked like models.  I think I could grate cheese on all of their torsos.

I know I am cute. I am a pretty girl.  But I AM NOT A MODEL.

And nothing will make you feel less like a model than sitting in a Manhattan backyard with models.

#.  Their hair doesn't frizz in the crazy humidity.  Why?  WHY DOESN'T THEIR HAIR FRIZZ?  I have to pull mine up and back just to control it!!  Is there a secret model gene in their hair that makes it look effortlessly pretty and messy in that super annoying 'i just rolled out of bed' look??

#2.  They can eat and drink in a dainty way that suggests that they get to eat whatever they want and look hot while doing it. I dropped cheese on myself.

#3.  They don't seem to sweat or even get the teeniest glisten above their lip in the New York heat.  It's freaking 40 degrees Celcius!!  I have sweat dripping down my elbows, my cankles and between the roll of my belly button and hip.  I literally slid out of a cab the other day.  I am not lying.  I actually slid right out onto the NYC pavement.  Leaving a pool of sweat on the seat.  I am sooooooooo hot and not in the hot model way.

#4.  They all know how to pose for photographs.  I thought I posed well. I think I always look nice in photos.  But I am a trained sorority girl poser.  Chest out, mouth wide, head titled.  This is not  the way of Versace.  I was given a lesson in model pose.  Chest in, chin out and look as though you are in a shower.

Ummmmmm?  What?  All I have to say is when I am in the shower I am rubbing off last night's mascara and often have my mouth open.

#5.  They will make you realize that modeling is actually hard work.  See #4

#6.  They will be really nice that you can't hate them just because they are beautiful.

The lesson here?  Don't judge a model by their beauty.  Just don't take photographs with them.

Sushi Sarah

Writing about Tojo conjured up many a sushi memory.  Or Japanese memory.

Over the past ten years, Japanese food has played a particularly comical role in my life.

During my first year at university in Vancouver, a friend and I went to an all-you-can-eat sushi place on South Granville.  Confident after a meal with my sushi-ordering-pro cousin, I felt I too could order us the perfect amount of all you can eat sushi.

Can you guess the problem?

I mistook the # of rolls for the # of pieces.

Imagine:  you want six pieces of spicy tuna roll.  You put six down on the paper.  Your waitress looks at you like you are nuts, asks if you are sure, and you nod your head.  You roll your eyes when she walks away.  Am I sure?

Clearly not.

Six rolls of spicy tuna arrived.  Or about 20 pieces.  Maybe more.  As well as a plethora of California rolls, maki rolls, and an assortment of sashimi and nigiri.

My friend and I looked at each other with astonishment.  I nearly cried.

If you don't know, here is a fun fact about all-you-can-eat sushi:  you have to pay extra for what you don't eat.

On our student budgets, what we weren't going to eat was like $50 worth of raw fish.

What to do?  Wrap sushi in napkins and deposit the sushi in the bathroom, in our purses, wherever - I think we almost put it down our shirts.

Disaster.

I am much better at ordering sushi now :)

There was then the time I had sushi in Japan.  I was in northern Japan playing an alien in a Japanese play.  Our director, although crazy and chauvinistic, loved to spoil us.  He took us to the #2 sushi restaurant in all of Japan.  Japanese are a modest people - no one wants to take the #1 spot.

It was probably, and will forever be, the most incredible sushi I have ever tasted.  I mean, they grated the wasabi fresh in front of us.  Pretty spectacular.  It was the meal that I discovered toro or tuna belly.  They seared it every so slightly and it literally melted in my mouth.  I also learned not to drench my sashimi in soy sauce.

The deliciousness of the meal is not the reason for its memorability.  It's this.

During the course of the evening we were served a tiny bowl with a lid. I opened the lid to find a yellowish broth with a floating white ball.

A rule in Japan is to eat first, ask later.  Therefore I sipped at the broth and took a brave bite of the white thing.

I had stupidly assumed it was some sort of tofu.

Once it slid down my throat, I knew it was most definitely not tofu.

I asked my friend to translate what it was and he typed something in to his handy little Japanese/English translator. He showed me the word:

Blowfish Sperm

Clearly he must be mistaken.

I asked him to type it again.

Blowfish Sperm.

So many questions were running though my head:  how do you cultivate blowfish sperm, how do you cook it and more importantly - WHY DO YOU EAT IT????

I casually informed the other Canadian girl what it was.  She winced and delicately spit it back into her bowl.

We threw out the 'ask later' rule that night.

On that same journey to Japan, we became very sick of Japanese food quite quickly.  After the amazing sushi meal, we were treated to several more rounds of sashimi.  Which in great quantities soon diminishes in flavour and texture.

There comes a time when one can no longer swallow raw fish meat.

Especially on an evening when you are presented with Whale sashimi. From an endangered whale no less.  The hosts proudly informed me that only 60 of these whales still swam in the ocean.

OH GOD.

So not only was I eating an endangered species, but it was a species that was fatty and oily.  I gagged a bit.  I think I actually threw up in my mouth.

After our 'meal', my other Canadian friend and I sought out Mos Burger.  The Japanese equivalent to McDonald's.  We were in desperate need of cooked flesh and french fries.  There seemed to be no hope, until I spotted the tell-tale red sign about a kilometre away.

I have never run so fast in my life.

We sprinted as if we were in an Olympic race.

And we ordered two burgers each, three packs of fries and gigantic milkshakes.

Sushi may be delightful but nothing can replace a good old-fashioned cheeseburger.

Tojo Is Too Good

As a concept, sushi seems like the most disgusting thing in the world.


Raw fish.  Fish eggs on top of raw fish.  All wrapped in seaweed?  


Really.  I feel this is the most unappetizing sounding food EVER.


And yet, it's oh so tasty.


If you are a Vancouverite, you can hardly walk down a street without at least one sushi restaurant (or Starbucks).  We grab sushi on the go, eat all we can eat for $20, or, if we are really lucky, go to Tojo's.


Lucky because this stuff ain't cheap.


Now I know why.


My friend and I participated in an Edible BC Tojo party.  Have I told you how much I love Edible BC?  I just love the passion Eric Pateman has for local ingredients, chefs, and people in general.  He is perhaps one of the most lovely owner of a business I have ever met.  He's built a successful company by being . . . . nice.  Wow, what a concept.


Anyhoo, this evening was to raise money for the YWCA (who give hot meals to women and children in the east side) and I'll drink sake to that!


The party was held at the back of Granville Island - right on the water, under the Granville Bridge while the sunset of Vancouver's glass making the city turn that glowing amber I love so much. Times like this night make me really love Vancouver.  

We were greeted and shown to the all-you-could drink wine, or sake or beer or  gin martinis.  ALL of which are locally made!  Who knew they made sake on Granville Island??

The toast of the evening however, was Tojo.  


First of all, he is adorable.  He's a Japanese hobbit.  I think he maybe stands at 4'9'' and is so cheerful and happy.  He's also hilarious.  I held out my plate to gather some of his sushi and he piled it himself claiming:  'eat this, you like this, more of this, eat eat'.  

Eat we did.


OH




MY




GOD


It has possibly ruined the $20 all-you-can eat sushi for life.   


I haven't had sushi melt in my mouth like this since Sapporo and my authentic Japanese sushi that I suspect costed more than a month's rent (and holy crap it was good - except for the blowfish balls but that is another story).


The sushi was wrapped in tofu skin which I LOVED.  The roe was HUGE - pearl size - and it popped in my mouth.  Which sounds a bit gross but it was INCREDIBLE.

His spicy tuna roll?  I  . . . . don't . . . . even . . . . . have words.  It was just so . . . . .
good.  


Like really really good.


The whole evening was good.


A good friend, peaceful ambient music, food lovers, interesting people, the sun setting on glass city, tasty delicious food = happiness.

Just when I am bored on Vancouver I uncover a slice of loveliness.

The Writer Returns

Okay, okay.  I have been a terrible blogger of late.

You know, life, moving, work  . . . . . it sort of got in the way.  But that is no excuse!

So this is to let you know I am back and ready to blog!

Hooray!

Bella Bella Bella Gelateria

Remember my Italian adventures that included a gelato, if not two gelatos, a day?

I just had an epiphany!  Could my gelato over-indulgence have led to my pants not fitting????

NAH.

Gelato's too good to be that evil.

Anyhoo, Italian gelato has ruined me for life (just like French coffee - I used to think a Timmy's double double was delicious.  Now it tastes like poop in a cup.) - ice cream from DQ just doesn't cut it.

Until I visited Vancouver's newest Gelateria.  Bella Gelateria.  It shares walls with the new Pacific Rim hotel but isn't part of the hotel.  It does have Fairmont pricing though.  $5.50 for one scoop.

I dashed in one day when it first opened because I had been anticipating its arrival for so long.  I tried 'Chocolate Grand Marnier'.

O. M. G.

The gelato is rich, creamy and FRESHLY made everyday!  No wonder it has a $5.50 price tag!  They fly their lemons in from Sorrento each week.  It's worth it though because the lemon gelato tastes like Italy.  Beautiful and amazing.

I suspect he puts crack into his gelato because just the very next day I had this overwhelming craving for chocolate grand marnier.  I 'dragged' the Engineer (promising him it was as good as our gelato in Sienna) but was dismayed to discover they didn't make that flavour that day.  Apparently it's a hard flavour to make.  They also like to change it up everyday.

I had honey nougat.

It was so good I would take a bath in honey nougat.

Oddly enough, I had a craving the day after that too!  This is when I discovered they always have about four types of chocolate in store.  In varying levels of darkness.  Apparently the owner and gelato master specialized in chocolate. Like, as a job.  Damn, I am pretty specialized in chocolate - how can I get paid for this?

I had milk chocolate.

And would you believe it?  I had a craving the following day!

This time chocolate sorbetto which is made sans dairy.  I poo-pooed this idea at first.  Isn't the whole point of gelato/ice cream is for the creamy texture derived from dairy?

Well, this sorbetto was creamier and richer than any ice cream I have ever had!

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

The evil craving that I just can't deny came back the next evening.  I was at the Fairmont with a friend and just before nine I panicked.  I thought that Bella closed at nine so I literally jumped up and RAN as fast as I could around the corner and down the block.  A family stepped out of my way and offered me their spot in line because I clearly needed a fix.

Turns out Bella closes at 10.

Is this what it feels like to be a drug addict?  You go into sheer panic if you can't get a dose (is that what they call it?  Or is it a hit?).

The next day I looked not only at my bank account (which seemed to be missing about $50) but I saw an unflattering picture of my arms.

You know the saying, 'A moment on the lips, a lifetime on the hips'?  For me it's my arms.  And it appears that in only a week my triceps had become waffle cones of gelato themselves.

Time to wean myself off.

I am allowed to go ONCE a week.

Better for my arms AND my wallet.

Plus it was getting embarrassing walking in there and having them automatically get my order ready.  It's been open less than a month and already I am the freak customer.

The point?

Get your ass downtown for some Bella Gelateria!

I Like to Ride my Bicycle

Just after university, circa 2003 (GAH) I treated myself to an adorable pink cruiser. Due to the fact I was a waitress, I paid for it through layaway.  After collecting my tips for two months, I went to the store, paid the rest in cash and then drove through the streets of Kitsilano with a ridiculous grin on my face.

There is just something about pink cruisers that makes me ridiculously happy.  They make most people happy.  Have you ever seen someone on a cruiser bike with a big frown?  NO.  That is because they are happy bikes.  

Flying down a hill, the wind flying through your hair and perhaps blowing up your dress (which makes you realize one should not wear a dress whilst riding a bike even though all cartoon images of happy girls with flowers and baguettes suggest such) will make your troubles disappear.

It will also make you feel you are a bit too much sometimes.

Then once you have your cruiser and move into a condo with teeny tiny storage, you will let your cruiser pretty much sit in a locker for 5 years.

Sure, I've taken it out about once a year but it's such a pain in the ass.  It basically sits under a suitcase and old VHS tapes.

Until now.

I won't lie. Those cute little cartoon girls you see on greeting cards with girls sitting on a bicycle with a basket holding a dog and a bunch of hydrangeas (or Audrey Hepburn) inspired me to dust off the old cruiser and attach a basket built for two.  Dogs that is.

I found these lovely European bike baskets from Cynthia's Twigs and got mine attached last week, complete with matching pink pillow!  Again, perhaps too much?

Anyhoo, my vision of speeding along the seawall with baguettes in the front and happy dogs in the back wasn't exactly what happened.

On our first ride, Mr. Mop spent most of the journey standing up, scratching my back and making his weird growling noises. Brooklyn was quite good, but I think his barking was hampered by the fact Mop was standing on him.

Again I made the mistake of wearing a dress, so not only was I winding around the seawall on a sunny day with two dogs in a basket on a pink bike, but I was also flashing random tourists.  Needless to say, we got a bit of attention. I think people were mostly staring at the dog trying to escape than my granny panties, so that's okay.

On the way home, in the dark, I managed to pick some hydrangea from a nearby garden (thanks West End landscaping!) so my fantasy of the wind blowing in my hair with purple flowers and dogs in basket had come true.

After their second ride, both boys seemed to start to enjoy the bike.  As I glanced behind me, their little tongues were hanging out as their fur blew in the breeze.

Here's the bad thing about cruisers: they are heavy.  So in hilly city they can be sort of a bitch.  I mean once I had the not-so-brilliant idea of riding my bike to the gym which was located on the other side of Lion's Gate Bridge.  When driving through the Stanley Park Causeway, one never really notices the fact it is a hill.  

But it's a really long, slow, hard incline that you don't notice in a Volkswagon.

It was hell. I was useless. There I was, pedalling away going pretty much nowhere.  I eventually had to get off the bike and push it.  I got passed by racing cars and other bikes.  I felt like that time when I was 9 and drove my bike through mud and spent the better part of an hour getting unstuck.

That may have happened the other night.  Well, not the mud.  But the push part.

The dogs add 25lbs to the bike.  As I was riding to my friend's house, I was passed by all the eager beaver and shall we say, more professional, bike riders in the bike lane.  Here I am, pedalling my heart out with Mop walking around in the basket, on a pink bike being passed by groups of bikers with sleek helmets and shaved legs.  

I was even passed by a woman my mum's age who commented on how cute the dogs were as she raced by me.  

I ate her wind.

The vision I had in my head was a lot less ridiculous.  And didn't cause me to sweat so much.  But I am riding my bike nearly everyday now, the dogs are starting to love it and those hills are not so difficult.  Well, that last one is a lie.  

I still think the basket and the dogs and the pink are a bit too much.  Therefore I am considering a yellow paint job.  Would that make me seem less like a cartoon?  Would I be taken more seriously in the bike lane?  Or do two dogs chewing on a willow basket negate the whole thing?

My Baby

After years of auditioning, the odd parts here and there, and a gig as an alien in Japan. My hard work has FINALLY paid off!

That's right.  I am now the proud host of my very own television show.

Well, it's more like a segment.

On cable.

So basically I am like the Tim 'The Toolman' Taylor of weddings.

Except this is no ordinary cable show!  We're pretty awesome.

I won't lie. It's pretty much the best job in the entire world.  Each week, I get to think of fun things to explore and discover.  Then, my partner extraordinaire, Aubrey Arnason takes the footage and makes it into these adorable segments:






Of course, none of this would be possible without our camera-op and editor extraordinaire: Jon Fenster. His last job was chasing two men around the world.


Now he learns to make pouf balls out of tissue paper.


Lucky guy!


We are so happy to share this with you and would love for you to subscribe to us on You Tube or become our friend on Facebook or follow us on Twitter (WeddingBellesTV) or watch us on Shaw!


Hooray!

Duck Confit

I must take a moment to stop and appreciate the most magnificent and wonderful dish on the planet:
Duck Confit.

D

R

O

O

L

Essentially it is tender meat cooked in its own fat for hours and then served up crisp and warm.  I just salivated thinking about it.

Since France, I have been craving duck confit like I used to crave bacon cheeseburgers.  What has the better calorie count?

So where in Vancouver can we get this delicious dish?

#1.  Les Faux Bourgeious
I love this little place in a random side street.  It gets crazy busy so you need to make resos!  Or show up and sit at the bar with your friend/lover/fiance/Engineer.  Sip wine, listen to the music, and eat crispy duck.  DUCK COOKED IN FAT!!

#2.  Pied a Terre Bistro
Well it's really a toss up here between the milk-fed veal medallions or the DUCK COOKED IN FAT!  Hmm, maybe both?

#3  Oyama Sausage
Okay, not a restaurant but one amazing meat store!  They sell duck confit for $4.99 a piece - so not bad? And they are all amazing staff their who laugh and give you as many sausage samples as you like - and will teach you to cook your confit!  In fact, every meat product is amazing here.  They treat their animals with love in the interior, and you can taste in.

Seriously, my stomach is growling.

So what about cooking duck confit at home? Well, if you don't have Oyama Sausage what can you do? Or if you are not in France and don't have shelves of duck fat what does one do?  Ummm, I'm actually not quite sure where to get the duck fat, but I do know these are amazing cookbooks that I love, have used and totally recommend!



I really love this book.  I actually read it for fun on a roadtrip.  Calder writes with such clarity and passion you want to pack up and move to Paris.

Barefoot in Paris?  I love her.  I love the book.  I especially love making cauliflower with a ton of cream and butter.  YUM.









  I was told about Joanna Harris's book while in that amazing bed and breakfast in Chinon.  This is the same author as 'Chocolat' and now she has two cookbooks!  If it's good enough for the Closerie in Chinon, it's good enough for me!

I love love love Chocolate and Zucchini!  It's a fun read and full of unique recipes.  Especially for the pastries and desserts.  Should I attempt croissants and duck confit?






Okay, time for bed.  For dreams of magical France and its even more magical DUCK COOKED IN FAT!

The Dog Park Debate

I have recently started a debate on Facebook regarding dogs, children and the dog park.

Here's what I think:  kids don't belong in the dog park.  Just like dogs don't belong in the playground.

There are two off-leash parks I tend to visit in Vancouver. One is Coopers Park near Yaletown and the other is Charleston Park near Granville Island.  Both parks are very near playgrounds and grassy knolls where dogs are not allowed off leash. Heck, dogs aren't allowed in the playgrounds full stop.

I respect that.  Kids running around free should not have to worry about being afraid of dogs chasing them or nipping them.  Parents can sit happily watching their kids knowing there is nothing to hurt their child.  Except for the asshole kid who throws rocks.

Same goes for my dog park.

Albeit, I am very sensitive about kids and Mr. Mop.  Mop is highly unpredictable around children.  Mostly he ignores kids. But if a kid comes chasing after him, squealing, he gets upset and will nip/snap at them. Therefore, I make sure he is kept away from children.  When we go to the dog park, I love watching him race around with Brookie and feel happy not having to worry about him.

I shouldn't say kids are never allowed in the dog park.  Sure, they can come with the dogs they bring.  And you know what?  The kids of the dog-owning parents either stay in the stroller or are told strictly not to chase or bother any of the dogs and if they want to pet a dog they must ask permission.  These types of parents are dog owners and thus respect dog behaviour.

Now here is were I get pissed off.  On several occasions, I have been at my dog park, around 4/5pm when it's nice outside therefore there are tons of dogs running around like mad, and seen parents, without dogs, allowing their very small child (around 2 years old) to toddle among the dogs.

They think it's cute to see their child chase the doggies.  Did they notice about 5 dogs left the park? Or that other dog owners are shooting them dirty looks?  Why would it be okay when I am picking up Brooklyn's poop and not looking, bring their toddler over to Mr. Mop without consulting me to let him 'pat' him?

No No No No!

Just like the playground without dogs, I don't want to be worried about my dogs, or their actions, when it comes to kids.

Here are more scenarios to ponder:  what if a child gets in the middle of three dogs wrestling? Or worse, fighting?  They get bitten and suddenly all dogs are put to sleep?  Or what if a toddler gets run over by the hyper-lab puppy and begins to cry?  Not only will he now be afraid of dogs, but it hurts to get trampled.  What if the paw cut up his face by accident?  What if a child reaches for a dog's toy, with the intention to throw it, but the dog doesn't know and snaps at the child because it seems to have stolen the toy?

These are all innocent things that not only can hurt child, but affect dogs and their owners.  I would feel awful if Mop ran a kid over.  And Mop has been that dog with the toy.  Luckily that parent was understanding.

All I am saying is that kids have their own parks.  In a city where playgrounds/green space outnumbers the dog parks, I don't know why we can't just be happily separate.  You don't see parents with kids and dogs letting their dogs run around the playground when their kid is playing, so why should we see dog parks with kids running all over them?

And you know what?  Not everyone thinks a kid with a dog is as adorable as the parents might think.  I don't expect everyone to love my dogs.  I think they are super cute, but not everyone agrees with me.  When I have kids, I know I will think they are awesome and say adorable things.  But I don't expect the general public to feel the same way.  So your toddler petting my dog is not as cute to me as it is to you.

On a similar note:  toys should also be examined at dog parks.  My dogs don't really care about balls or toys at the park.  But I have a friend who has a dog that LOVES chasing and getting the ball.  Does he know that the ball belongs to the standard poodle?  Nope.  Dogs don't understand ownership and sharing.

Most owners could care less if another dog takes their dog's toy.  But there are that odd few that take great offence when Mercury or any other ball-loving dog gets the ball.  Ummmm?  They don't know.  If you bring a ball to the park it's fair game.  You'll get your ball back. If the ball is that precious to you, maybe you shouldn't throw it at the dog park.  Also, some dogs are very possessive over their toys.  If you know this is the case, then when the dog park is busy perhaps let your dog play without their toy.   He'll play nicely and not start any fighting over the ball that another dog will want to play with as well.

God, I think only in Vancouver does the simplicity of a dog park get political.  And yet I can't get people to email the Mayor to get him to build a new art gallery.

Woof woof  - let's all exist in our own places and no one gets hurt!

Saying Yes To a Dress

I said yes to a dress!


And I said it at the place where every bride wants to say it:


Kleinfeld!!!!!

Some people have not seen the program that I am referring to.  Apparently they live in caves. Or don't have cable.


Anyhoo, 'Say Yes to the Dress' is a program on TLC.  I can't embed it so you can get the link to see it HERE.





I first saw the show on one of TLC's marathons with my mum on Christmas Eve.  We got seriously addicted.  


So it's no wonder that when the Engineer popped the question, one of my first thoughts was "I can go to Kleinfelds to find a dress!!!!"  


I was in NYC for the Engineer's NYU graduation as was my future mother-in-law, sister-in-law/bridesmaid, and two of my bridesmaids. Perfect timing?  


Ummm, yes.


My mother-in-law and sister-in-law were super excited to go and it wasn't until afterwards that I discovered that they had no idea there was a show!  WOW - they were just excited to see me in wedding dresses!  Warm feeling inside.


Trying on dresses at Kleinfeld is exactly like the show.  In fact they were filming when we were there!  I was ushered into the room.  Okay, every room looks exactly the same but whatever, it was like I was on TV.  And just like on the show you sit in the room with the women you brought, tell your consultant what you want and she goes and gets the dresses.


The ladies in waiting were ushered to that grey couch you see on the show - behind the pedestal where I get to stand (like a princess.  It's the only time in one's life when one can stand on a pedestal.  Let me tell you:  I wish I could have a pedestal everyday).


Dress number one was similar to this number:

Personally, I love love love this dress.  It's glamourous, elegant and it has pockets.  The reaction on everyone was like, 'yes, it's nice' but not the crazy clapping fest I was hoping for.


Then came out dress number two.  Now, this is the dress that I have had in mind for ages.  It's basically the dress I was coming to try on.  On the hanger it didn't look like anything.


Then I put it on.  


And apparently I half danced and skipped to the pedestal - which was a sign to my friends that this might be the dress.  


The reaction?  All four girls, including my future mother-in-law went nutty.  Clapping, squealing and general excitement that really sealed the deal on this puppy.  


You'll have to wait until my wedding day to see what it looks like.  The Engineer reads my blog :)


So apparently this doesn't happen often.  A bride bringing in a photo of a dress and actually having it be the dress.


I tried to Skype my mum to show her.  But seeing as she is a 64-year old woman (who is very adept at internet things mind you) she couldn't figure out the right program to let Kleinfeld in.  Therefore, Joan - you know the manager who is on the show? - let me take a picture of the dress to show my mum!  EEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

Okay, the dress was meh on the hanger but amazing on and I was sure it was it.  But that's it?  Two dresses and I know?  Helllooooooo I am at Kleinfeld!  I had to be sure that was the right dress so tried on another one:

The girls thought it was pretty but I didn't prance out like a little girl at a candy shop.  


And that's when you know it's your dress right?  When you run around like a lunatic.  


So I tried it on again just to be sure.  And again.  


Yup, it's the one.


Here's the thing about wedding dresses:  odds are many dresses are going to look gorgeous. I still love dress #1.  I love another dress I tried on in Vancouver.  But the chosen one suits my wedding the best.  It suits the place and my theme and pretty much everything to do with my wedding.  


It's just too bad I can't get married every year (to the Engineer of course!) so I could wear them all!


Because saying yes to a dress is just so much fun.