Toronto City Life

Posts Tagged ‘ chicken ’

A rib, a wing, it’s all a wonderful thing!

Posted on May 30th, 2011 – 2 Comments

Sarah and me had a tasty sampler meal courtesy of the brand-spanking-new St.Louis location at 528 Yonge Street. Thing is, I’m not keen on pushing a new joint just ‘cuz they stuffed me ‘n my gal’s gobs but, in all honesty, if they can keep up the quality of the food we scarfed down last week, I’ll happily recommend the place.

The two headliners, wings and ribs, did well with me; the rack was tender and ensconced in a thick, smoky, ribby sauce (thumbs up), and the wings were crispy and properly spicy (thumbs up again). They weren’t breaded or really very saucy, two things that would bother me on wings of lesser quality, but it worked out well with these ones.

I would’ve liked to have washed our din-dins down with a pint of Rickard’s White but they weren’t quite stocked up ahead of the official opening today. They’re also working on the patio to get it down to legal dimensions, I’m told, so in the meantime the best you can do is sit in the big window facing Yonge. I could think of worse things.

Filed under: Dispatches, Patrick Bay, Pictures

What happens at night, stays at night

Posted on August 31st, 2010 – 4 Comments

Between the vagaries of my web development work and daily life — “minor” updates to glade.ca that turned so easily into a complete three-week site overhaul, that challenging Levi’s “Go Forth” campaign, endless TD Canada Trust banners, assorted Purolator stuff, birthdays, and a visit to Canada’s Wonderland (Behemoth is pretty kick-ass, I must say ), I’ve hardly had room to swing a cat through my schedule.

Just as well – Ollie probably wouldn’t have taken well to it.

I finally managed to convince one of the agencies I work with that the term “independent contractor” isn’t merely a figure of speech (that and the liberal use of the term “employee” – why do I keep running into this?!), so I was looking forward to doing some work from home and mixing in healthy doses of blogging. But fate, being the filthy whore she is, pulled another steamy week out of her ass.

That window fan I’ve had going non-stop for about three months now has simply been circulating oven-like heat throughout my living room, over the exposed chassis of my computer and two surprisingly warm monitors (programming with just one monitor is a sort of punishment), and right back at my puffy, bloated face. Oh yeah, and it’s allergy season again.

Anyhow, I finally ran out of excuses tonight and took it to the streets.

Filed under: B Sides, Patrick Bay, Pictures

Tastes like chicken

Posted on March 18th, 2009 – Comments Off

To use a bovine analogy, there are few things that allow me to stomach the sheer, brutal cud of incompetence that seems so prevalent these days.

A few days ago, for example, I was calling the credit company to declare that I was making my last payment on the card (and the horse it rode in on), and to ask if I “should expect a final interest charge between the time the payment is made and the time it’s actually processed.”

Doesn’t that seem like a common question? Of all the possible, even improbable answers I was expecting, “how should we know what activities take place on your account?”, was just about the only one that didn’t cross my mind. It’s hard to know how to reply to such insult-bordering statements without resorting to violence, but I managed to take in a breath and yield to a cool, curt, “because it’s your card”, while silently mouthing the word “jackass”.

Such tension releasers, however, often don’t come in the moment and are usually insufficient to make you feel better. Abusing your pets/family just isn’t practical these days, and sweet sweet vengeance usually ends up being a George Costanza-type affair that leaves you even more bitter. That dead horse has been beaten enough. Instead, solace must be taken where and when it can.

I take mine in the form of anonymous social commentary, usually spray-painted on walls or sidewalks. No, these are not the usual tags; those are just evidence of perennial self-indulgence. No one cares that you were here, “SnuR<hb 2K9 dash-swirl”! — if that is your real name.

I like the stuff that shows some thought other than “oh shit I’m so wasted, dude!” Stencils are great for this sort of thing. They’re physical evidence that someone planned the affair — going to the trouble of finding the appropriate image(s), contrasting the living bejeezus out of them, cutting them out, etc. Their Holstein pattern, for me, always alludes to greener pastures where bullshit is actually nourishing, and the knowledge that someone out there really just wants to give me a chuckle. Here’s a taste.