Toronto Polish

Before we left for Toronto, Rod mentioned that the city has great street hot dogs. Rod is full of strange recommendations, often for places that have just closed. And I’m not sure not sure that he has ever even been to Toronto. But this is what he wrote:

“Toronto has the second best street hot dogs in the world after Copenhagen. Also, I recall eating at a dim sum place there in 1990 with robotic carts that had a route and would drive through the restaurant. I also recall seeing Dick Tracy at the cinema there. It’s a nice town. Have fun.”

Rod’s words were in my mind as we passed a few street carts (alas, no robotics carts serving dim sum). Then, passing by Union Station, you know the place we were supposed to come in but didn’t, there was a cart between the two buildings. I got a polish sausage. All the carts have a warmer grill area and then a flame grill area. So everything is flame grilled. That’s why they’re so good!

And the condiments are great. There’s a whole line of little flip lid compartments in front, and then a whole ’nother line of different condiments on the side. There are pickles, onions, sauerkraut, great sliced hot peppers, fake bacon bits, sliced green olives, corn, and two other things we can’t remember. And then squeeze bottles with ketchup and mustard and hot mustard, and BBQ sauce. I, thinking Chicago hot dog, put mustard, pickles, hot peppers, onions, and a few fake bacon bits on mine (yeah, lay off me about the bacon bits. They were good).

A few people asked the man for mayonnaise. He had some, but it wasn’t out with the rest of the condiments. Later, I learned from the Toronto Public Health requirements for hot dog carts that mayonnaise is forbidden. So I love the fact that he’s still got a “secret” squeeze container of mayonnaise that he hands out on the sly.

I didn’t go for mayonnaise. Or sauerkraut. I had a vision. Zora put some other gunk on her half, but then sheepishly confirmed that my half was better. Damn right it was. I know what to put on a Polish.

It was delicious. Good sausage. Those flames do wonders. Crispy on the outside. The sausage was cut to give it more surface area. The condiments, especially the hot peppers, were great. The peppers reminded me more of Baltimore’s “hots” than Chicago’s sport peppers. The pickles were a little too sweet, but still good. In fact, it was just as good if not better than a Chicago polish. It costs $3.50 Canadian.

Underwhelmed in Toronto

Zora and I spent the weekend in Toronto and were underwhelmed. We even caught an earlier flight back than the one we were originally schedule on. I don’t know what we were expecting. I guess I was hoping to go block by block and say, “Hey, that looks like Chicago! Hey, that looks like New York! Hey, that looks like Baltimore. Hey that looks like Hong Kong! Hey, is that Jane Jacobs!?”

And then Jane Jacobs would spot me getting off a streetcar and give me a guided walking tour of the city. And then, having drinks afterwards, we would stare longingly in each other’s eyes, knowing but for a 50-year age difference, we could live happily ever after….

I didn’t see Jane anywhere. Damnit. And I was looking, too!

Our trip did have a few strikes against it which weren’t Toronto’s fault.

1) We missed our train from New York. I don’t want to cast blame anywhere, but I can safely say that it sure as hell wasn’t my fault. Except for being at Penn Station at 6:45AM (for a 7:15 train... that we still managed to miss), missing the train wasn’t the end of the world. We were able to go home and take a nap and still get a cheap one-way flight that got us in, if anything, a little earlier. Alas, our packed lunch was all but wasted. The wine still sits unopened. Niagara Falls remains unseen (does it still fall?)

2) Because of my work schedule, we didn’t get in till Thursday. So I had already missed most of the conference I went there for. And then sleeping in late didn’t bode well for my attendance when I was there.

3) Zora just ain’t feeling right. Not quite the bundle of energy and joy one would hope.

But even given all that, it should have been better. We had a nice room. There are streetcars. It’s a new city. The weather was fine (chilly to cold, but fine). And Jane Jacobs loves the place.

First I want to say that residents of Toronto are unfailingly polite. It’s really noteworthy. Everybody says “excuse me” and “thank you” and “you’re welcome” and “please.” In fact, they’re so damn polite I occasionally wanted them to walk faster and push a bit. But that may just be the New Yorker in me.

Let’s keep moving, people! But I’ll take the occasional pedestrian bottleneck for a society of civility. They really are polite and helpful. None of that grumpy poorly-paid service worker or union-padded city-worker attitude you often get here. Maybe it’s universal health care?

That being said, there are a fair number of people begging for money. A bit more than New York, even. Where’s that social net, eh?

And yeah, they all kind of talk a little funny. But they’re so damned polite about it you can’t help but find it endearing in a small-town kind of way. But it’s the big city. And hockey is a major sport.

It’s a city of neighborhoods. For real. Lot’s of minorities. Many many Asians. And more Greeks than I was expecting. But the problem with a city of neighborhoods—the whole place is a bit like a laid-back Chicago—is it’s too damn spread out. Perhaps not compared to most cities. But it’s less fun to walk around than say, Montreal. And they do all speak English, making it inherently less exotic than say, Montreal. And let’s be honest, perhaps it’s not quite like any American city… but it’s awfully close. Why not go to Montreal?

2.5 million people. Five million metro. For the record, the city seems about half that size. A large Boston. I didn’t sense when I was there that it is just about the size of Chicago.

I’m looking this up online now: 50 percent foreign born. You can see that when you're there. 10% Chinese, 10% South Asian (Indian), 8% Black. Plus many Vietnamese, Greeks, and Portuguese.

Same size as Chicago… and about 10% of the murders. What do you make of that? Heavily minority, same screwed up Anglo-Saxon tradition of violence. And about 60 murders a year (and they think that’s high). Could Michael Moore be right? Is it really all about guns and fear? Perhaps. No poverty helps, too.

And the streetcars are very old school. They’re modern and all. Smooth. But they run right down the center of the road. And just stop in the middle of road. No “island” for passengers or anything. And people just pile off the sidewalk to board. Old school. The only place I’ve seen that is Sofia. Cars are supposed to stop for loading streetcars. They mostly do. But I heard more than one streetcar honking at cars that didn’t.

And they call them streetcars. Who was the dumb-assed geeky-foamer engineer that started calling streetcars “light rail” in America? We want to call them “streetcars.” Historically, we’ve called them “streetcars.” And “streetcar” just kind of rolls off the tongue. And yet new “streetcars” are called “light rail”? Oh veh!

The subway, not that you asked, has the same “ridefeel” as Boston’s T. I just made that up, “ridefeel.” It’s a good concept. To public transportation what “mouthfeel” is to snack foods.

And the TCC subway stations have a vaguely pleasant 50’s institutional feel. Like the Museum of Science and Industry in Chicago, before it was remodeled (assume it has been). Or like your elementary school lunchroom, if you're about my age. Or like the State Street Subway in Chicago. But with tiles that have a very bold early 60’s color scheme.

Here’s a street sign in Greektown. I just love transliterated English names in Greek letters.



Cafe Frappe, that’s how you know you’re in Greektown.



Preparing for winter. It snowed a bit the first day. Got up to around 50 when we left. It’s gonna get cold here in New York soon, too.



Does this look like Boston?



Or Chicago?



Point before you cross the street?



Look right!



Mini marts and SUVs. Canada has a very distinct culture that would never be confused with the United States. Yeah right.



Trapezoidal windows on busses. I actually get nostalgic for these. They’re similar to the CTA busses Andrew and I grew up with.



beans or nuts(?) drying. This was in front of most likely an Asian person’s home.



From inside the streetcar.



The friendly driver, who politely urged people to board quickly, sounded just like Apu from the Simpsons. Especially when we crossed the Santa Parade and he gleefully explained, “What a crowd!”

It was kind of cool to cross a parade in a streetcar (the road was closed to normal traffic). It was kind of unfortunate that without Thanksgiving, there’s no limit as to how early Christmas shit can start.

Exiting the streetcar. “Thank you come again!”



Edible shrubbery. There was a lot of this. I approve.



Not so beautiful Toronto.


Hmmm, Zora noticed these bike parts hanging on a fence...



…and looking over the fence!

Mind you, it being Canada, the fence wasn’t actually “protecting” the stuff. The fence was just there as a visual barrier. You could actually walk right around it. And steal shit. But that wouldn’t be hockey, now would it?





It’s a bike friendly town. A lot of bikes. It’s pretty far North. But to be honest, not really much further North than Boston or Chicago. There are a fair number of bike paths. And bike racks everywhere! The same kind they use in Cambridge, Mass. Why don’t we have them in NYC?

I love signs that legalize what bikes are going to do anyway. “Bicycles Excepted” is always my favorite street sign, no matter what it’s attached to.



Here’s a typical bike rack.

This style of rack is nice in that they’re easy to lock to, they don’t take up much room when not used, and they’re kind of aesthetically pleasing.

Meanwhile the City of New York is busy cutting off locks and taking bikes that people ride to the subway in Williamsburg. Uh, that’s not bike friendly. Too many bikes, the city says, locked where they shouldn’t be (you, know, by public transportation). And just why are my tax dollars being spent to keep people from biking to public transportation?

Of course, the city could just take three parking spaces from cars and provide bike parking for about 30 bikes. This shit makes me want to move to Portland. Or Canada.

Bahn Mi

Zora and I love our Vietnamese sandwiches. In fact, it’s one of the reasons we got married. Now I’m not saying that we got married because of Vietnamese sandwiches. But the sandwiches were certainly on our mind when we made our plans to go to City Hall and get married.

I got a couple today. From the only place that makes them really good, on Mott Street just South of Grand. This place used to be crammed under the Mahattan bridge in a stall too small by any standard. Now they share space with a jewelery store. They also (I think) just raised the prices to $3.25 from $3. Noooo problem. Actually, the picture from July confirms the price raise. Good on 'em. I've never tried the chicken sandwich. It's probably great. But the pork is so unbeatably good I have never ordered the chicken.

I thought I’d take a few pictures to share.

Still wrapped. This is how it look after six hours and 12 miles of biking.



On the plate, they look pretty good. The cilantro is wilted, but again, these sandwiches aren’t fresh anymore. When I got them, they were very McDLT. The hot side, the bread and pork, was warm. And the cold side, the veggies, was cool.



Now we’re getting to the good stuff.



Here are the innards. Top to bottom, you’ve got carrots, daikon (I think), sliced jalapenos, cilantro, Vietnamese bologna, pork, and cucumber .



What you can’t see very well is the fish sauce (nuoc nam, probably with lime and sugar), Vietnamese hot sauce, and mayonnaise. Those are the elements. I don’t think the bologna adds to the sandwich, but it’s not bad. I don’t quite know what it is. It’s better than your standard processed meat product. But it is processed meat.

So here’s what’s special:

1) The pork, God bless it, is cooked and then placed in a broiler (or toaster oven) until the top layer gets nice and browned. Then this layer is scrapped off for the sandwiches and the pork is placed back in the oven to brown the next layer. So every little bit of pork is beautifully browned and flavorful.

2) The bread is warm is crispy. Thank you French colonialism. In the picture the bread is bit soggy, but that’s my fault and not the sandwich’s.

3) Mayonnaise. Did I already thank the French?

4) The cross section. Here it is:


The crispy vegetables are all wrapped in the Vietnamese bologna. So the sandwich has many very distinct parts. And depending on the angle of your bite, you can adjust your bite to suit your desires. You bite into the bread, you get some of the fish sauce, then the crispy layer of vegetables, and finally the wonderful pork.

It’s the best sandwich in the world. Bar none.

Don't trust me? Here’s someone else’s writing on bahn mi. And she wears an "I Love Pad Thai" t-shirt (swoon).

No mas

I tried to get some more ceviche late last night. It was gone. Apparently it was for "the game." Which game I'm not sure. But the good money is on Mexico and futbol. The man said there may be some chicken soup tomorrow. He made a big point that it would not be supermarket chicken but rather chicken from the live poultry place on 31st St., but he didn't sound too confident about it being there at all.

Ali and I had some tacos instead. After that we went across the street to the Mexican bar that, despite being on my corner, I've never been in before. Why is that? Well, I've never been in there, but I somehow sensed it's the kind of place where, you know, you can treat the friendly if slightly overweight scantily-clad hispanic women to a beer for $14. For the ladies, small beers are also available for the bargain price of $7. Your beers cost $5. Dances to tunes from the Mexican juke box cost $2. It was kind of charming, in an immigrant working-man kind of way. Not being an immigrant, I let Ali do most of the talking. Such are my adventures when the wife is out of town...

I love Astoria. After work, I met Ali at an Egyptian sheesha joint. Then we went across the street to the Slovakian private bar. Then we walked back to 36th Ave and had Tacos and beer at the Mexican bodega. Followed by a final drink at the, er, working man's (and working ladies') bar.

And civeche too!

So today as I'm leaving for work, I stop by the bodega to tell them how great the soup was, and there was a big tray of Peruvian ceviche and a big platter of larded-up rice. He insisted on giving me some to try. It’s amazing! Both of them. But good civeche is worth telling people about. There’s no guarantee there will be anything special there tomorrow. He says he’s going to try and have more food, now that it’s getting colder (?). The place is open all night. Don’t confuse it with fine dinning. But there are a couple of chairs. Just move the empty beer bottles aside and the sleeping customers are usually quite friendly when they’re awake. The guys who work there are usually the only ones who speak English.