2003-11-13 - 10:33 a.m.
The rain last night was amazing - sheets and sheets of it, washing the Spadina streetcar and all its incoming and outgoing human cargo clean. Thunder clapping over the dinging bell and lightning painting the silver rails and black cables with white.
I stayed in watching the wind move the water around the pavement like a stir stick in a martini pitcher until about eight o'clock. Alastair wanted me to meet him after German class for a bite to eat; I threw on my old beaver coat, grabbed my parasol, laced up my leopard-print clown shoes and braved the storm.
Due to the inclement weather, we didn't want to go far for food. Scurrying wetly along King Street, we turned north on John towards the orange glare of Hooters, and stopped at Avalon for dinner. A tad extravagant for an ordinary Wednesday? Perhaps. But A. and I have a strict policy of eating fancy whenever the mood strikes. Particularly if there's no occasion to celebrate. The meal itself should be celebration enough, and ought not to be detracted from with inane chatter about birthdays or anniversaries.
I was thwarted in my efforts to order a glass of fine Tokay (my desire inspired by Philip Pullman's 'His Dark Materials' novels). Happily, our waiter, sensing my thrifty Scots heritage, offered me a "discounted" flute of champagne in recompense. How could I refuse? I got seven Malpesque oysters to go with it (six for me + one for my companion), and followed it with a duck main and chocolate tart filled with butterscotch mousse for dessert.
The sheer absurdity of lobster pierogies proved irresistable. Ukranian grandmothers everywhere are suffering indignant rage without being entirely sure why: sweet cultural misappropriation, how I adore thee. A. had rabbit as his main, exclaiming, "Damn! Thumper tastes goooood!" To finish, he tried the coconut tapioca with pineapple and fruit sorbet. And then some loose-leaf earl grey and fresh figs to close.
Deeelish.
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