They called him River, because he used to dance. He used to move like water. He sits outside the flower-shop on the concrete, and I sit with him. He’s bright and earthily magnetic. Ronnie River, who used to dance. The blanket wrapped around him is the no-color of age. “Do you still dance, River?” I… Continue reading Ronnie River
I used to manage a disaster of a cafe in the east downtown of Toronto. It was an escape for me from Burrito Boyz, a desolate hellhole of drunks and assholes and two straight years of weekend ‘overnight’ shifts that ran from 6pm-5am. I used to get off the bus at Main and Gerrard at… Continue reading Food service, hookers and bodily fluids.
I am reaching for another wrapped candy and am on the receiving end of a reproachful glare, the potential to be pulled aside and privately shamed hinging on whether or not my hand takes away another Werther’s Original. I am ten years old, and I am ashamed of my body. I am on a hike… Continue reading Traitor Body
I was incredibly lucky to start my foray into professional cooking at The Beech Tree, with a man who was an actual chef, not a ‘good home cook’ given a restaurant by his parents, or a young person who had ascended the ladder much too quickly and taken, perhaps, a presumptive claim of that title.… Continue reading Detour Through Diner Land
When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a woman, I put away childish things. 1 Corinthians 13:11 The city holds her captives fugitive. The winter is impossibly cold with a virulent wind coming off of the lake. The… Continue reading Childish Things
Restaurant cooking has essentially ruined me as a human being. I lack diplomacy in conflict situations and choose, instead, to resolve them with a mixture of incredulity and ham-fisted shaming. “Shame is the only effective teaching tool,” is a mantra I repeat to myself only half-jokingly. A day shorter than ten hours feels unproductive. Pantry… Continue reading The Shittingtons, and other inside jokes.
I’m so fucking bored. The kind of bored that makes me irritable and angry, not listless and still. The kind of bored I feel behind my eyes, a vitriolic little headache that demands I do something about it. The weight is slowly piling back on despite attending the gym and dog walks and working on… Continue reading Boredom