Vancouverites indulge in local bites

I love food. I’ve become a dine-hard one might say, however lately I find myself assuming a pseudo food critic persona whilst dining around town and I’m not sure where this all originated? I could blame it on an overdose of Hells Kitchen, which by the by is making it’s way to Whistler. However, my secret obsession over Chef Ramsey and his volatile ways doesn’t seem to be what has sparked my undying desire to dine. I remember being in my early 20’s and eating raisin bran accompanied by cheap red wine for dinner (please, be kind possums, i was but a wee lass). Fast forward a few years and boom I’m so addicted to our local eateries I get anxious having not tried them all (although, I’m close).

Over the weekend this foodie parked her booty at a few local faves that I’m not only inspired to give a shout out to both, but feel I should share the goods...or the foods, rather.

Jules Bistro, which I have mentioned subtly in previous posts, is a jewel indeed. If you haven’t been, I urge you to go and experience authentic French fare in a delicately elegant atmosphere. There is no dress code, simply come as you are, however the clientele is eclectic allowing you to arrive in your finest frock or your Saturday strolling attire. The service is exceptional but relaxed, with our server boasting a beautiful accent and the owner popping by now and then with a witty comment while he multi-tasked between tables. Jules offered up the kind of meal that subconsciously leaves you appreciating every bite, while falling into a certain food coma...on the other hand, that may have been the bottle of Chablis, but I digress. Try the Moules Frites - steamed mussels in white wine with garlic and parsley served with French fries. My handsome date enjoyed the seafood linguini, fresh and full of flavor. The resident piano player helped top off our night before embarking on our hazy walk home. I’m usually not a sucker for romance, but I was certainly seduced.

The next day, as if we hadn’t been decadent enough, we trotted over to a nearby spot boasting some of the best brunch on Beatty. The Medina Cafe, same owners as Chambar (another Vancouver institution), has been a common discussion among dine-hards for quite some time. Having finally dragged my tookus a mere 5 blocks to this nearby noshery, I arrived with some hefty expectations. Not to sound cliche, in other words, like many bona-fide food critics in town, but I loved my Medina experience. From the street, the cafe looks cramped and just when you think you’re about to embark on an hour long wait...whoops, they walk you through a corridor to the ‘other side’ of the cafe. A spectacular room that opens up to massive windows, exposed beams a la industrial chic, brick walls and all the other Gastown staples. Now we’re talkin’. The menu matched the great room with a fresh Moroccan flare and my lavender latte was the perfect start to my Sunday.

Bon appetit possums!
xx

My Cusack Encounter

As luck would have it - or I simply have a celebrity magnet attached to my person - I had the pleasure of enjoying yet another splendid celebrity encounter. This time, with a certain Mr. John Cusack. In. The. Flesh. This is one celeb that not only impressed, but pleasantly surprised me with his genuine demeanor and understated attire. Cool as a cucumber.

One of my BFF’s and I were en route for some goss and grub at one of Gastown’s finest. A jewel one might say. When we arrived, there wasn’t a single seat free in the house, so we scooted up the block a few doors to another Gastown institution. A bottle of vino later, we rang up some friends to join us for some late night debauchery. While discussing my subtle obsession over celebs, in walks in Cusack....decked out in denim, kicks, a track suit jacket, and his black baseball cap turned backwards. Not an ideal look pour moi, but damn the boy is hot. Unlike other celebs I’ve happened upon, Cusack is tall....really tall. And fit! *Sigh*. I felt like a girl of 29 again.

Having little to no shame, I immediately approached our subject, introduced myself and inquired about his business in our fair city. He explained he was in town to shoot a new film and continued to introduce his director and several cast mates (who had accompanied him) in an endeavor to shift the attention away from himself. How very modest. It didn’t change the fact that I wanted to throw my arms around him and profess my love in manner of Kate Beckinsale a la Serendipity - one of my favorite Cusack flicks. But I digress...

I’ve been a fan for years. John Cusack is the quintessential leading man of romantic comedy, most notably in the hit film High Fidelity. And so possums, I’ll leave you with this....

Fancy a quickie or a courtship?

Bon soir possums! Following up from a previous post where I interviewed some local lads in an endeavor to uncover the vibe of Vancouver’s dating scene, I have new and interesting insight to share. Groundbreaking, maybe not. Fucking hysterical, absolutely.

After countless conversations with a substantial sample of my peer group, it appears that people most commonly gravitate towards 1 of 2 dating sites. Plenty of Fish and eHarmony. POF seems to attract people with a more flakey tendency towards dating whereas eHarmony seemingly sucks in the sincere folk who want to make a connection. Why? For the simple fact that these people have invested some dollas. If you pay, you’re ready to play. If you fish, you’re more likely to ditch. Makes sense. Money means commitment...right? It’s debatable.

Another dating tactic that has somehow survived the ages is the live chat 1-900 numbers. I’m sure you’ve all seen the one with Avangeline Lily where she sold her soul to Live Links, despite being a big star today. Haha...ha...ahem. So, in the spirit of continuing in my quest for the singleton, I decided to take one for Team Possum and do a little research on the subject.

I rang up one of these live chat lines and recorded a pseudo profile message (the bf was present for this, laughing his tookus off, in case you were questioning my morality). And we’re off to the races...

Caller #1 - Keith. He immediately left me a personal message after my profile had been on the line for all but 5 minutes. And I quote, “There’s alot of lying on this line. Maybe I'm too old for you? I dunno.....I’m a 36 year old white male from Vancouver. Looking for the same age...younger...or older, it doesn’t matter. Maybe we’ll end up getting a relationship out of it, or being friends? There’s alot of bullshit on these lines. I want to meet someone normal.”

This man sounds slightly tormented...and clearly has no standards. Never use the word ‘maybe’ on these things. Hey fellas - women like a man who knows what he wants. Next.

Caller #2 - Ryan. “I’m 30, from Surrey, 6’2, 220, slim build, green eyes. Let’s hang out tonight, I want to chat with you.”

Nicely done! This sounds promising. Good show Ryan from Surrey, I hope you’re chatting with an eligible gal as we speak.

Caller #3 - Name unknown. “I’m an energetic white male, 49 years old. I can’t believe it....cant believe time is passing me by so fast. I haven’t been hooked up yet. I’m attractive...I think I am...it’s in the eyes of the beholder. I’m looking to experience activities with someone, and maybe a bright future? I’m a good-hearted gentleman.”

OK - two things here. Girls love a guy with confidence. The delicate flower facade doesn’t go over well with women. Second, this fella reeks of midlife crisis.

Caller #4 - Name unknown. “Hi, what’s up, are you horny tonight?”

He’s forward and knows what he wants. It’s an honest question.

Caller #5 - Sounded suspiciously similar to caller #3. “Hi, I’m wondering how old you are? It’s embarrassing, its been too long. I’m longing to just hug and hold somebody. Well....do the other things too. I’m single and uh...i dunno, um...my last 2 girlfriends...kind of...well, I let them go. They wanted to cause me pain and anguish after they left. I never did them any wrong. Now I'm single.”

I’m certain caller #5 is also caller #3. It seems he wasn’t happy with his first message, so decided to give it another go. I commend his honesty but somehow sense those 2 girlfriends were on to something.

Caller #6 - Name unknown. “5’11, 170 pounds...nice big hard cock.”

Rule of thumb - try to avoid callers who sound like they’re watching the playboy channel.

Caller #7 - John. “Hey ladies, I’m 40, 6’3, very horny and kinky, looking for a live girl to talk soon.”

At least he’s looking for a ‘live’ girl. Good to know.

Please note that the above callers selected the option for ‘meaningful relationships’. I think we’ve heard enough evidence here folks. Perhaps we should let this one die with speed dating.



Taken until proven single

Penis straws, blow up dolls, and push up bras - oh my. Having just recovered from a weekend of bridal debauchery, it would seem that Whistler, BC has become the most sought after destination for stags and stagettes in this nook of the planet. A pre-marital mecca if you will. Never have I been in the company of so many brides-on-deck, determined to hit one last home run before barreling down the aisle. Fucking. Intense.

I’m happy to report that our bride was definitely the most refined of the bunch, refusing the ridiculous get up, and veil and such. However, I did witness a few theme stagettes worth noting, for example, the pirate stagette complete with wench dresses and eye patches. Very creative. Or, the more common ‘suck for a buck’ tank top where men (with little to no coaxing) will approach the blushing bride and suck a life saver from upon her bosom for one measly buck. Best deal in the bar. How about something more substantial like ‘boobies for doobies’, or ‘hooters for shooters’? Just sayin’.

Let’s not forget about the many stags terrorizing the town as well. As it turns out, a nice selection of boys belonging to a nearby stag joined forces with our foxy crew to party the night away. After several sweaty hours of interpretive dance and inappropriately touching the groom’s blow up doll, some of our ladies lingered back to their condo to keep the party going.

Given a majority of our harem is hooked up or engaged, there was little chance of anything occurring between party A and party B. This fact was made even more apparent when the gals arrived to discover all but one of the boys were married. Turns out they decided to take off their wedding rings before hitting the bar.

Now, I’m not one to judge...wait...wait wait, yes I am. I just wonder, is this the norm? Do all boys go on a stag with the intention of behaving badly behind some poor girls back? Or do married men just not get out much?

One of my fabulous coherts and I engaged in quite the rant while en route back to the city, and as she explained, most men are ‘taken until proven single’. In other words, we are to assume a guy is off the market until you have received confirmation otherwise because there are alot of pricks out there posing as nice, single guys. Scandalous!

This cowgirl would like to go on record stating that I do believe in good guys, love, happy endings, bah bah bah...but apparently there are some dirtbags on the lose. Therefore, we need to look out for each other ladies. It’s a jungle out there.

So let this be a lesson to boys attending stags everywhere - be careful who you hit on...your girlfriend could be getting fed the same lines at a stagette sometime soon.

Girl power possums.
xx

Bollywood, brides and butter chicken...

...a delicious combination.

Geetan possums! First you have your blushing bride, sparkly and sacred. Next you have dancing and a celebration not unlike something you’d see at the Raja. Then the food....oh GOD the food. In all it’s spicy splendor, a celebration in itself.

I experienced my first Sikh wedding over the weekend, which as I suspected, did not disappoint. Being an avid Bollywood fan and a member of my local Indo Jazz troupe, I was eager to channel my inner bhungra - full stop.

I have to admit, a commentator would have been helpful as I was a little unclear about some of the customary traditions. Case in point, the ‘man exchange’ before entering the temple. Picture a scene in Hawaii; the brides family in silver turbans on one side of the parking lot, the groom’s on the other in dark red, decorating each other with pseudo-flower lays while carrying a family representative over to the other side. Seemingly a combining of families...at least that was my interpretation. Next up, into the temple you go to a smorgasbord of Indo delights. After stuffing my face with a dozen pekoras, I was whisked away to wash up and position my pashmina accordingly, covering my head and shoulders for the ceremony.

Shoes off. Gals on one side, guys on the other, perched on a carpeted floor. Quite comfy really. The boys were given bandanas in coordination with our friends side of the family. Women in colorful suits surrounded our chick crew, head-to-toe in bling. I felt a tad ordinary and under dressed to be honest. The groom’s ensemble was reminiscent of an emperor while the bride was in red and gold. No idea what the Guru was saying, but he was singing each prayer and there was a backup band so it was entertaining nonetheless. Our friend walked his new bride around the Guru 4 times and bada-bing the ceremony was over. Afterwards, the various Gurus dispersed and distributed an oily piece of doe that tasted much like a squishy pancake. Not bad really. I guessed this could be compared to a Catholic communion?

Several hours later it was time to head to the reception. Picture the party of the year, 700 people deep. These people know how to party. Immediately I was made aware of some significant differences in comparison to your typical western wedding. For example, while lining up for a drinks one of our female friends was tapped on the shoulder and asked to sit down. Okie doke, so apparently it’s not appropriate for women to drink. It is, however, more than appropriate for our dates to bring us drinks all night long which suited us just fine.

The groom, in this case, is the star of the show. In the western culture, it’s all about the bride. Whatever she wants, whatever she says...we are trained to bow down and respect the bride-to-be; no questions asked. Not so in the Sikh culture. It’s all about the groom as he delivers the speeches, he is hoisted above the crowd several times as they chant his name, he’s the one who is honored and cheered on. Kind of refreshing really. Why not let the groom have his day in the sun?
The party was produced to P Diddy-like proportions, with big screens streaming live video coverage and a plethora of papparazzi photo documenting the entire event. Quite the spectacle. Many traditions were similar to what I’m used to, for example, the first dance, the ceremonial cutting of the cake, yada yada. A personal highlight was the bride and groom’s grand entrance to Journey’s Don’t Stop Believing. Priceless.

The only difference was that dinner was served at midnight. Ouch. The sultry smell of butter chicken lingered from the kitchen for hours only to be held hostage until all the wedding rituals had taken place. Needless to say, by the time the food was served I attacked the closest buffet table in a not-so-lady-like manor. Charming.

After tearing up the dance floor with my very best bollywood moves, we called it a night. I’ve been dreaming in bhungra ever since.

Jai ho.
xx