in which a 32-year-old desire is fulfilled: we eat at stroud's

In 1993 I read a story in the New York Times: a father and his young daughter ate at Stroud's, a Kansas City institution, known for pan-fried chicken, large portions, and a friendly, no-frills atmosphere. (The story is below.)

Stroud's sounded exactly like the kind of place I love -- the kind of place I imagined we'd stumble on during any of our road trips, but which have been mostly replaced by fast-food.  

I never forgot that story, especially a detail about a giant bowl of mashed potatoes (possibly my favourite food) and something about the daughter's eyes opening wide at the mountain of food in front of them. Anytime we would watch a game being played in Kansas City, I would mention Stroud's and wonder if it was still open.

Somewhere along the way, I also learned about ever more reasons to visit KC and Tulsa, which is very nearby. And I would think of Stroud's, and those mashed potatoes.

I'm not saying I was obsessed with Stroud's, but I never forgot it and always wanted to go. And yesterday, we did.

* * * *

There are two Stroud's locations, and we learned that neither is the original restaurant -- so I was a tad concerned that somehow it might no longer be quality or a local favourite. On the way there, I told Allan I was walking back my expectations, which he said was the natural state before realizing something one has long desired.

Then we arrived. The current Stroud's looks like a large house, like you're visiting relatives for dinner. The huge parking lot was packed, and people were waiting for tables. My expectations rose.

After leaving our name, we sat outside at one of the many picnic tables, and played word games on my phone to pass the time. We had eaten very little all day in anticipation of this meal, and were very hungry. After about a half-hour, we heard on the loudspeaker: Laura, party of two.

Inside were multiple rooms, countless tables, all with red-checked tablecloths, all sporting heaping platters of food. 

The menu is very simple. Most of it is pan-fried chicken, with a choice of all white meat, all dark meat, or mixed, or the chef's choice. There is also chicken-fried steak, chicken-fried chicken, and pork chops. Everything comes with a choice of soup or salad, a choice of potatoes, plus green beans and cinnamon rolls. 

I ordered all dark, Allan ordered all light. I didn't want chicken-noodle soup or salad, because I didn't want to waste my tiny appetite. The server offered a few other things, and I chose applesauce. Allan had the soup, and it was delicious -- rich and hearty, very chickeny, with short, thick noodles. The applesauce was also delicious -- obviously homemade without fillers or thickeners, with cubes of apples along with the pureed. We each had some, but I forced myself to stop eating.

All around us, people were digging into big platters and putting food in takeout containers. Many people ended the meal by picking up a basket of cinnamon rolls and sliding them into a takeout container. It was obvious that this is a very common thing to do.

Then came the main attractions. 

The chicken was light and crispy on the outside, moist and tender inside. What else can you say? It was perfect. It was the fried chicken of my dreams. 

The mashed potatoes were the old-fashioned kind: no skin, smooth, light, no frills, just a big bowl of awesome. 

There was also a rich chicken gravy. I don't normally eat gravy -- I don't really like sauces or dressings -- but I did taste some. It could have been a separate course, some kind of obscenely rich soup.

The only thing that was not tasty or even interesting was the green beans. They are cooked with meat, so they should be delicious, but they were soggy -- which I understand is the old-fashioned Southern way. But hey, it's not like we were there for the vegetables!

* * * *

Right before we ordered, I suddenly realized that I had no lactaids with me. I always carry them with me, and had bought a new pack only days earlier in St. Louis, having forgotten to pack them. At home, I keep lactaids in the car, so if we spontaneously have ice cream or whatever, I am prepared. I'm so used to having them in the car and in my bag that I never gave it another thought. Now I was anticipating mashed potatoes -- which might be made with cream or sour cream -- and might get instantly sick. 

Allan was so caring. He suggested we leave, go buy more lactaids, and get on the waiting list again. He suggested coming back another night. He suggested asking other diners if anyone had lactaids. I was thinking, women will ask other women for tampons and any woman will happily oblige -- but lactaids? I can't ask. I said I would just have to take a chance, but I was concerned. 

The answer: no reaction at all. This means the potatoes might be made with butter or whole milk, but there can't be cream or sour cream in them. 

* * * *

The food was just as I had imagined: simple, perfect, plentiful. Nothing fussy, nothing cheap, nothing updated.

I love all kinds of food, and have had the pleasure and privilege of eating many high-end meals at many incredible restaurants. This story isn't "food used to be great and it's been ruined". And it's certainly not nostalgia, because I never ate food like this as a child. I just love this kind of simple food and respect the skills and knowledge of people who know how to make it so perfectly. How they do so, especially in such large quantities, is a beautiful mystery.

The service was friendly and sweet, and there were tons of people working -- taking orders, bringing platters, clearing tables -- no cutbacks or labour shortages there, so customers are not waiting for long.

Stroud's also has a full bar, and I wanted to try a drink that sounded delicious and dessert-y: a Choked Chicken, made with rum, triple sec, brandy, pineapple juice and some other things... but I was just too full.

The cinnamon rolls arrived last (you have a choice of when to get them). They look like square dinner rolls, no icing. We each tasted a bite -- they were warm, sticky, meltingly sweet but not cloying -- incredibly delicious -- then slid them into the takeout box. The meal comes with two cinnamon rolls each.

Even before the cinnamon rolls came to the table, the server asked if we'd need boxes, and brought the takeout containers and bags. You get large containers for chicken, and small round containers and lids for everything else. Even with so many customers taking home leftovers, Stroud's still serves enormous portions. There is something wonderful about that. 

Then came the bill, and we both laughed out-loud: it was under $50. 

I wasn't planning on announcing where we were from or why we were there, but on the way out, a woman, clearly one of the owners, asked us if our meal was satisfactory, if there was anything else we needed. We told her it was excellent, and we loved it... and somehow I ended up saying, You can't imagine how long I've wanted to come here. 

She said, "Well now you have to tell me! How long?" 

Allan told her 32 years. She lit up. "I don't think I've ever heard that before!" 

I explained briefly: New York Times story, big baseball fans, always thinking, we'll see in a game in KC and eat there -- now here visiting from Canada. 

She said that was a lot of pressure, and after 32 years, did it live up to expectations? I told her it was exactly what I hoped and expected, perhaps even better. I also told her that when we got the bill, we laughed. She looked puzzled, and I said, where we live, it easily could have been twice as much. She seemed pleased with that.

She wished us well and asked us not to wait another 32 years before coming back. I hope I gave her a good story.

[PS added later: on the way home, we saw a CVS not 5 minutes from the restaurant. If I had needed Lactaids, they were right down the street.]

* * * *

A few weeks ago, Allan, our head researcher, helped me find the original story in the New York Times archives. We weren't sure of the year, but early 90s was a good guess. It's quite a lovely piece of writing. Thank you, Clyde Edgerton and Catherine!

Pan Fried Heaven
By Clyde Edgerton
May 16, 1993

Catherine is very hungry. 

I am very hungry. We're driving south out of Kansas City. Looking for Stroud's. Something about good fried chicken.

Fifteen minutes from downtown, I start seeing promising signs, actual signs on neighborhood establishments, that begin somehow mysteriously to signal that we may be getting close to a real place, the real thing -- a serious roadhouse fried-foods establishment. The signs are: The Spot Bar, Holiday Hotel (the i dotted with a star), Bob's 24-Hour Breakfast, Gideon Baptist Church, Fellowship Baptist Church, We Sharpen Everything and Herman's Automotive. Good signs.

Stroud's, "The Home of Pan Fried Chicken," is a small, gray, one-story wooden building nestled about one car length off the street at 1015 East 85th. It's almost under a busy overpass, and is backed up against an abandoned railroad track. The small parking lot and all other parking areas nearby -- including both sides of the street for 50 yards each way -- are already full. And it's only 6:30. I was thinking we'd beat the rush.

A man wearing a jacket with "Stroud's" written across the back directs traffic from the parking lot. "Eating in or taking out?" he asks as I drive up and roll down my car window.

"Eating in."

"Park down the street there."

At the front door, we're met by a man carrying out a brown cardboard box full of Styrofoam containers and napkins. Following is a woman with a white Michelob Light cardboard box full of the same.

Stroud's does not manufacture its own food boxes. Good sign.

Inside, the waiting and dining areas are in one fairly large room with a low ceiling. The place feels old and well used. Viewed from above, the room would be shaped like a very short fat T. We have entered at the top of the T.

To our left, in the small waiting area, about 50 people stand on a wooden floor, elbow to elbow, sipping drinks and beer, talking and laughing loudly. The dining area holds around 100 men, women and children, packed in and eating at tables and in a few low-backed booths along two walls. All the tables are covered with red-checkered oilcloth. Good sign.

The reason I keep saying "good sign" is because Stroud's is looking more and more like a good place to do what I am deciding to do tonight -- give in and pig out. I don't care about my "partial diet." I don't care about cholesterol, fat, grease, calories, grease or bread. One night with you, oh pan-fried chicken, oh chicken-fried steak. Catherine -- she's 10, my daughter -- and I have decided she'll order fried chicken and I'll order chicken-fried steak, which I've never had, but a good friend of mine, Buster Quin, eats it often when he and I eat lunch together. It's steak rolled in a seasoned flour mix and fried -- of course. I've watched Buster look very contented while he eats it.

A man takes our name and smiles. "About 50 minutes," he says. Catherine rolls her eyes. To myself I predict an hour-15, at least. We elbow over to the bar -- at the far end of the waiting area -- and order two club sodas, 75 cents each. Catherine sits on a stool while I stand behind her. The bartender smiles and seems as relaxed as the man who took my name.

Catherine points to a mounted rabbit head on the wall behind the bar. It has antlers between its ears, glasses on its nose and a black scarf around its neck. Beside it -- over an antique cash register -- is a mounted deer head. From his antlers hang lighted red heart-shaped Christmas tree lights and a rubber chicken. Not tacky tacky. Real tacky.

On a side wall, beside the standard neon beer signs, is a big, framed picture, hung slightly crooked, of the man who took our names with his arm around Rush Limbaugh. Good sign. Liberals don't do much frying.

***

Over the noise of people talking and laughing, the piano version of "Pink Panther" sounds live. Catherine and I take our free refills and walk over toward the dining area. Sure enough, against a far wall sits a piano player at an old upright. He leans his ear to a customer who offers a request and starts in on "As Time Goes By" -- upbeat.

Now I get a good view of the eating going on at the tables and booths. The service is family style. A little boy close by is eating mashed potatoes with his spoon -- from a plate filled with mashed potatoes, french fries, a pickle, some kind of rolls and something that looks like a fried chicken liver or a hush puppy.

On all the tables are ketchup, hot sauce, sugar, salt and pepper. And an ash tray -- in case you hadn't figured that out already.

The ceiling and floor at Stroud's have a nice sway. The low ceiling has exposed beams painted dark brown against a weathered white. The multiple heat vents in the ceiling are also painted dark brown -- to go with the beams, which are 2 by 4's, by the way. Yes. Just right. Some of these so-called roadhouses with fake Coke signs and old gas pumps and trombones all over the place do not have ceiling beams that are brown painted 2 by 4's.

The windows have fluffed yellow curtains -- which on the west wall are backed by Venetian blinds. The curtains (without the Venetian blind backing) could make certain country people think of their grandmother's kitchen -- and I suppose those with the Venetian blinds could make others think of their grandmother's kitchen, or living room even.

You get the picture. The place was built in 1933 and the sounds of hammers and saws since then have been rare. I am by now really hungry, and so is Catherine.

We're finally seated in the middle of the room -- after a sure-enough 50-minute wait. Our waitress smiles easily and seems relaxed like, well, like everybody else working in the place. She, like all the other waiters and waitresses, is wearing a tasteful T-shirt that across the back says, "We choke our own chickens." Could be a good sign, I suppose.

We order.

The man who took our names at the door walks by carrying a car seat full of big blue-eyed baby. He speaks to a couple as he passes them. He knows quite a few of the customers. He smiles at us.

A bowl of mashed potatoes is placed in front of us. It could feed six lumberjacks and a small mule. Catherine and I look at each other. Make that a large mule.

A bowl of string beans follows, or snap beans, or green beans -- depending on where you're from. What seems clear from the wonderful ham smell coming up from that bowl, and from the obvious soft texture of the beans, is that the cook is from the South, or at least from some rural area where people cook their string beans. For a long time. With something in them that tastes good -- like ham bits.

Next: large bowl of thick, hot, creamy gravy with ladle.

Now Catherine gets her fried chicken. Four big pieces -- white and dark meat -- on a long plate. She looks at me.

I get my chicken-fried steak. It is the biggest one piece of food that I have ever seen served to a human in my life. We both stare at it. It's as big as a place mat. It is falling off one side of the long plate. Covering half of it is what must have been a full ladle of that thick, creamy gravy.

Then our waitress brings the bread. Hold your hat. The bread is this: soft, hot, sticky cinnamon rolls. We had been given the choice of having them with the meal or after. With the meal, Catherine has dictated.

Her eyes are very big.

Mine are too.

It is now 7:40. We never think about how nice it would be to eat slowly and savor our meal. We dive in, trading chicken for chicken-fried steak. Inside its crisp covering, the steak is very tender and moist. The thick gravy makes it all work together just right.

The nice thing about the potatoes and gravy is that both have precisely the right amount of black pepper. Not enough for you to taste, exactly, but enough to remind you that there is black pepper somewhere in the world.

The chicken is tender and smoking hot and at one point a taste of the crisp skin brings back a lost memory from years ago when I was a child at my grandmother's house -- the out-of-this-world, sinful taste of a piece of fried pork skin eaten within hours of the hog-killing. Cracklings, they're called. Yes, this tender crispy chicken that I am eating has something that is an exquisite rarity -- delicious grease. And plenty of it.

Are you with me? Or have you gone to the refrigerator for a fresh green salad, white wine, and turned to the book reviews. If you're with me, you've perhaps eaten cracklings.

As we finish up at about 5 past 8, Catherine says, "Daddy, I know what you're going to say. You're going to say, 'I ate too much.' "

"I said that a while ago."

"Well, maybe you ought to stop eating."

"I don't think I can. It's good, isn't it?"

"It's real, real good," Catherine says. "Do you know who would like this?"

"Who?"

"Grandma."

"And Mama."

"Man, yeah. Anybody would."

We head back to our hotel, then up the elevator to the revolving restaurant and lounge 40 stories up -- one of those that makes a complete revolution each hour. Catherine wants a look at the city. The hostess seats us in the lounge. Here, no people are waiting to get in. And the music is piped in. But the city is beautiful. We are full and content. Catherine wants to know if we can go back to Stroud's tomorrow.

"Let's think about it," I say.

Some random images from Kansas City

greetings from victoria, last post of the trip (days 13-15), plus the ethics of travel

Bluefin Tuna

Yesterday morning we packed up, drove to one of the big drugstore chains, and bought a soft cooler case and ice. The leftovers from Asadero were just too good and too plentiful to leave behind! We'll get good use out of the cold pack.

I also bought a Pyrex (glass food storage) container for our leftover milk. I'd rather add to my vast collection of Pyrex than throw away milk. No matter how many Pyrex containers I have, sometimes they are all in use.

After that, we hit the road and had an easy drive to Port Angeles. We stopped at Joshua's for food. Pro tip: don't plan on eating on the Black Ball Ferry. The offerings there barely qualify as food. BC Ferries, on the other hand, has a White Spot onboard, so you're safe, especially for breakfast.

Traveling by ferry involves a lot of waiting -- boarding, disembarking, clearing customs -- but eventually we made our way, first to BC Liquors for wine, then to the Airbnb in Esquimalt, just outside the Victoria downtown. 

We've been drinking wine on this trip, which has been a nice change. When we get home, we'll go back to hardly drinking or not drinking at all. This has been one of the biggest changes of our lives -- on par with moving west or buying a house! Even more amazing, it started with Allan. He stopped drinking completely a few years ago, and now will sometimes have a glass of wine or a beer when we go out, but not all the time, and very rarely more than one.

Today is Monday. We normally would spend one night in Victoria, then drive home the following day (today). However, on Tuesday morning I have an appointment for a fitting at Victoria Classic Lingerie. Getting to Victoria from Port Hardy is time-consuming and expensive, so it makes sense to take care of things while we're here. The store is closed on Mondays, so we get a free vacation day! (Funny, I believe our first-ever trip to Victoria was timed around a bra-fitting appointment!)

There is a downside to having an extra day of vacation: waiting another day to see Cookie and Kai! We miss them so much. I also wanted an extra day between travel and work, but we'll be home Tuesday night, and I do have Wednesday off before returning to work on Thursday.

Today we are doing "nothing" -- reading, maybe a walk. Tomorrow morning is breakfast at Jam Cafe, then bras, then we drive home, stopping in Campbell River for food shopping.

* * * *

The ethics of travel and eating

I know that many people oppose the use of VRBOs and Airbnbs. There are housing shortages everywhere, especially in large cities, and theoretically, many of the suites used as Airbnbs and VRBOs would be rented or sold. 

I've thought a lot about this. I believe that, like most problems, the housing shortage cannot be meaningfully addressed on the consumer level. Just like boycotting Walmart or Amazon will not change those stores' labour practices, not staying in an Airbnb will not change the housing situation. We live in a society that takes the most basic need, having a roof over one's head, and subjects it to "the market". The housing crisis is capitalism at its worst. 

I'm not suggesting that people should stay at Airbnbs or VRBOs if it troubles them to do so! Nor am I saying their actions are useless. I just don't believe one could ever induce enough people to make the same choice that it would make a significant difference. If we don't want Airbnbs or VRBOs in our communities, we have to join with others who agree, and collectively try to change the laws and regulations on the community level. That is a daunting and possibly fruitless tasks, but it's the only avenue that could make a difference. 

I wonder how many people who claim to never stay in Airbnbs actually travel. It's easy to boycott something when you have no occasion to use it. On this trip, we spent three nights in a comfortable mini apartment for less than the cost of one night in a downtown Seattle hotel. In Victoria, our former go-to hotel has raised its rates by 40-60%. In addition, most hotels have drastically cut back on labour costs, by eliminating services. I don't know many people who would willingly choose the more expensive option based solely on ethical considerations. Choosing hotels over Airbnbs also overlooks the grim state of hotel labour, which is notoriously exploitive.

As I write this, I know that many people will tell me that they do, in fact, eschew Airbnbs when they travel. Others will tell me they don't travel because travel is environmentally unsustainable. If you think something is making a difference and it fits into your life, then you go for it. I question how many people actually do this, and whether it makes any difference.

At least one person will also tell me that I'm a hypocrite and rationalizer. Well... whatever.

The other ethical question -- or questionable ethics -- that came up was at the sushi bar, when I heard the words bluefin tuna. I have learned enough to know there should be a worldwide moratorium on the bluefin. There are more than 25 different species of tuna, and many of them have healthy, sustainable stock. The bluefin is akin to a dolphin or a whale: humans should stop killing them.

Most of us never eat bluefin tuna. The worldwide appetite for high-end sushi, along with high-tech hunting and killing techniques, has tipped the balance. When the chef at Sushi Kashiba said bluefin, I balked. I muttered to Allan, "Bluefin tuna. We're not supposed to eat bluefin." I ate the sushi, then felt sad, and defeated. Today I still feel bad about it, but my feelings don't help the bluefin.

Obviously I could have passed on the two or three pieces that were bluefin, but I didn't -- mostly because I didn't want to learn what else I might have eaten that is similarly endangered. 

I'm not suggesting this is right. I'm just being honest. 

Much is being written about the ethics of travel, sustainable travel, decolonizing travel. It's important to be mindful, especially of how we treat the people and lands we visit. But if we want to change the world, only collective action can create a meaningful difference. 

history and sushi in seattle (day 11)

I'm writing this in the middle of the night, having crashed as soon as we got back to the cottage, then waking up a few hours later, wide awake. This is likely from drinking -- very rare these days, and worth it.

After breakfast and a lot of coffee, we headed to downtown Seattle, meeting our friend J at Cherry Street Coffee, then for Bill Spiedel's Underground Tour. This was the one tourist attraction in town that interested us. It was a very entertaining and enlightening view of Seattle in the early days of European settlement.  

The tour (which is not at all accessible if you have mobility issues) brings you under the sidewalks of the Pioneer Square area, the oldest part of the city. The tour guide acknowledged the original inhabitants of this region, the Salish people of the Duwamish and Suquamish nations. Referencing the US inviting settlers to stake claims to the area, the guide said, "Hey, it's not our land, but we're giving it away!". He also made a few jokes obliquely referencing Trump. There were several Canadians on the tour, in Seattle for a Blue Jays game.

After saying goodbye to J, we headed to the area near the Pike Place Market, not to go to the Market (we've been there in the past), but to find a line-up for a very special dinner. Traffic, parking, heat, and the crowds were a minor nightmare, but when we found the queue, and realized we would definitely be seated, it was instantly worth it.

While in Seattle, we're eating in two restaurants recommended by a nephew and his partner on a recent trip to the city. The first was Sushi Kashiba, home to Shiro, one of the premiere sushi chefs in the country. He trained under Jiro, of the "Jiro Dreams of Sushi" documentary. We couldn't get a reservation, but there is an omakase counter seating, every day at 5:00 and 7:00. They don't take reservations for this, and I read online that people line up as early as 3:00 to secure a place. When we arrived around 3:20, there were three couples already there.

Shortly before 5:00, a host walked through the line, welcoming each person, taking our names, explaining how the dinner would work (and which seating you would get), and handing out the beverage menu. (If you don't make the 5:00 seating, but get in the 7:00, you can leave and come back at 7.) Next the sommelier went through the line, taking beverage orders, helping us choose a bottle of sake. I was surprised, but very pleased, that Allan wanted to include that, as he's usually more concerned with costs than I am. 

From the moment we walked in, it was obvious that the service would be absolutely perfect. There was a lot of staff, and they were warm, friendly, and incredibly meticulous. The menu not only informed of a 20% gratuity, but specified that 100% of that goes to staff (chefs, servers, and support) in the form of wages. A nice touch (and I ended up tipping extra anyway).

The sushi was indescribable, every piece an explosion of texture and taste. I don't know if it was better than Sushi Kaji, our go-to place for special celebrations in Toronto. The menus and styles of the meal were very different, so it's impossible to compare them. Both are the best sushi I've ever eaten, and among the best food of any kind that we've ever had.

There were six chefs preparing the omakase menu; ours was very friendly and talkative. We also chatted with the couple sitting next to me, who were from Kansas City. Their trip started out on Vancouver Island, and we may end up in Kansas City next year, a funny coincidence. 

We drank a bottle of sake, which is a lot for us these days. And there was actually more sushi than I could eat -- I gave up my final pieces to Allan. Between food and drink, I was totally zonked, and totally enjoyed being so.

This was, of course, a wildly expensive meal. We spend next to nothing on entertainment at home, and normally when we travel, we eat well, but still within a middle or average price range. On this trip, we decided to splurge -- one night for this special sushi dinner, and one night its seeming opposite. 

Today, we're going to the Seattle Public Library -- I saw it last year, and want Allan to see it, too -- then Allan has a bookstore crawl planned, and I'm visiting the Seattle Art Museum. After that, steak!

yet another post about tuna: tuna pasta salad, my current favourite way to eat tuna

You might not think that tuna is a frequent topic of this blog. But I blog about tuna more than you might think.

In 2009, after reading about the decline of tuna worldwide, I said I would stop eating tuna. 

This didn't last. I ended up eating tuna, but feeling guilty. Not helpful.

In 2016, I questioned whether it was less expensive to make tuna salad myself, or to buy the delicious tuna salad I loved from Whole Foods. Answer: It was less expensive, and a lot easier, to buy the WF version. 

However: shortly after that, Whole Foods sharply increased their already-expensive prices, and in 2017, we curbed our addiction to that store, and stopped shopping there altogether. Of course, now I don't have access to WF, so it's no longer an issue. 

In 2019, I learned that the tuna I eat is not the same tuna that is in decline. This was a huge relief. I'm using skipjack tuna that is (supposedly) caught without the nets that are so often fatal to so many other sea creatures. I find that skipjack tuna is not delicious enough to flake in a green salad with dressing. It needs more help. I posted my then-current tuna salad recipe: tuna, lite mayo, Dijon mustard, sweet pickle relish. 

Almost immediately after that, I changed this staple of my diet to: tuna, lite mayo, Dijon mustard, scallion, minced celery, and shredded carrot. This was decidedly more work than the earlier incarnation. I ate this for several years.

In 2022, I read the book Four Fish by Paul Greenberg (published in 2010). I learned more about the amazing and endangered bluefin tuna, and more about how the world's food supply has been poisoned and corrupted -- more about a lot of very interesting things, some of them very sad. Greenberg also confirmed my belief that personal choices about seafood do not impact ocean health or seafood health. (Although I'm sure I'd be healthier if I ingested less mercury.)

Last year, in an apparent bid to spend even more time doing food prep, I tried making tuna-pasta salad. I fell in love with it and it is now a go-to staple. It's full of lean protein, healthy fats, and raw vegetables, and the pasta substitutes for the bread or crackers I ate my old tuna salad with. I love the creaminess, and I find a small amount is very satisfying. 

How to make tuna-pasta salad

Combine:
2 cups pasta: use elbow, rotini, penne, orecchiette, or any cut pasta, cooked al dente. I use classic elbow macaroni.
3 cans skipjack tuna, packed in water: drained, flaked, and broken up so there are no chunks
3 ribs of celery, minced
3-4 scallions, green part only, minced
1/2 cup or more shredded carrot

In a separate bowl, combine:
1 cup plain yogurt: I use Greek style, 2% fat, but any plain yogurt of your choice will work
2 tablespoons lite mayo
2 tablespoons Dijon mustard
These proportions are approximate. Adjust as you see fit.
Blend the above ingredients. Then whisk in:
Juice of one lemon: you can substitute red wine vinegar, but lemon is better
Fresh dill: optional

Add dressing to the tuna-pasta mix and blend well. Refrigerate for at least a few hours before eating.

the north island report: where to eat in port hardy and port mcneill, updated for 2022

It seems like everything in our lives will be divided by covid -- pre and post. The lockdown, the  case counts, the death counts. Quarantining our groceries. Masks. Vaccines. Hand sanitizer. The anti-maskers. 

Back in 2019, the beforetime, I listed all the decent restaurants in our town and the nearest neighbouring town (40 minutes away). Now the whole restaurant landscape has changed.

Update: For some additional context, I'm adding this, copied and edited from comments.

The population of the two towns: Port Hardy 4200, Port McNeill 2100. This list covers restaurants in both towns.

Port Hardy is a regional hub. The next population centre is in Campbell River, a 2.5-hour drive away, or 2 hours from McNeill. All the other communities in the region are tiny (less than 500 people) and have no restaurants at all.

Hardy is also a hub for campers, hikers, boaters, and nature-lover tourism.

Breakfast/lunch places are plentiful because many people drive and boat long distances to work. Contractors, loggers, fishers, mine work, all picking up breakfast and/or lunch before they head "into the bush".

So tourism + regional hub + workers traveling great distances = a few more restaurants and cafes in the two towns than might be available in other towns of similar sizes.

Sad changes

Fire Chefs, the most amazing fish and chips place, also home to a truly great grilled halibut burger: gone. 

The (mediocre) restaurant that replaced them: gone.

Ha'me, the dining room at the Kwa'lilas Hotel -- the best year-round food in town -- never reopened post-covid. If you ask, staff still says they are closed for renovations, but it appears to be permanent. This is another big loss.

Most disappointing of all, the late, great Cluxewe Waterfront Bistro is no more. This was the only place in the North Island with truly outstanding food and very good wine. It was also in a beautiful secluded location, right on the water. I used to say, only on the North Island do you drive down a dirt road to a four-star restaurant. 

Our first summer, 2019, we went there a handful of times. In 2020, they were the first restaurant to re-open, and we went as often as possible, usually every-other week. And thank goodness we did, because that autumn, they lost their lease and left the area. Such a loss.

Now, the current list, updated after summer 2022

This is not a list of the best restaurants in Port Hardy and Port McNeill: it's a list of all of them. Fortunately they are all at least decent.

Port Hardy

Glen Lyon Inn

This place has a huge and strangely eclectic menu. Some of the food is quite good -- crab cakes that are fresh and not full of breading, nachos with seriously good toppings, excellent burgers and grilled chicken sandwiches. Other items are good enough -- lasagna, fresh salads, steaks, ribs. Nothing is awful. 

What is awful, for me, is the atmosphere -- despite its beautiful location right on the water. Everything is dingy and run-down. I know renovations are expensive, but how much would it cost to sand and re-paint the wooden chairs? Allan thinks I exaggerate, but I just find the atmosphere depressing. I prefer this food for take-out. 

Interesting note: I've heard that diners have seen whales in the inlet right outside the restaurant. I'm skeptical but folks swear it's true.

Nax'id

At the beautiful Kwa'lilas Hotel, the dining room, Ha'me, never re-opened after covid, so now the pub/lounge Nax'id is their only dining option. The food is consistently good. Everything is made with fresh ingredients and care, and the wait staff is always friendly and helpful. 

The menu is annoyingly inconsistent, probably a function of high turnover in the kitchen. Sometimes there are delicious specials available. Other times, not. So although the food is good, many of my favourite things on their old menu are gone.

Another plus: Kwal'lilas and Nax'id are Indigenous-owned, and have a hiring arrangement with North Island College's hospitality program.

Seto's Wok and Grill

Our local Chinese restaurant continues to have consistently good food, although with a frustratingly limited menu. The food is especially good eaten in their dining room, as opposed to takeout. 

This was the last restaurant to return to eat-in dining, and the community is very happy they're back. They are open Wednesday through Saturday -- which is weird, and annoying.

Sporty Bar and Grill

Here's a happy story: a place that improved post-covid! Sporty updated its menu and added weekly specials, giving us many more choices. The food is consistently good. 

Sporty is close Sunday and Monday, even when there are festivals or a market in the park across the street. Also annoying!

Karai Sushi

The Japanese restaurant moved from its odd location at an airport hotel to the town's main drag (in the spot where Fire Chefs used to be). All the food here is good, and business seems to be off-the-charts busy since they moved into town. I am so grateful there is sushi in Port Hardy!

Macy's Place

This is a fish-and-chips food truck. It doesn't match the quality of the late, great Fire Chefs, but the fish, burgers, fish tacos, and fries are quite good.

They're closed in the winter, and everyone's very happy when they reopen.

The same family owns a seafood store that sells freshly caught-and-canned tuna, salmon, and halibut. I haven't tried this yet, as I fear it would be deliciously addictive, and it's super expensive.

Other food in Port Hardy, not open for dinner

Café Guido has great coffee, baked goods, and simple lunch choices. It's also home to a small book- and gift shop, and a co-op selling the work of local artists and artisans. It's unique on the North Island, and it's mobbed during the summer.

Copper & Kelp is Café Guido's newer store. In the local lingo, it is "at the beach," as opposed to "in town". Besides sandwiches, coffee, and baked goods, they sell local artisan products of all types, plus dinners to go. We were really surprised that Guido's opened a second place in this location, and our fingers are crossed that it will succeed.

Taif's Kitchen is an exciting new option. A family of Syrian refugees opened a food truck! The food is really good and it's a popular choice.

Market Street Cafe has really good -- and ridiculously inexpensive -- breakfasts. They are the only place in town that bakes their own bread and muffins. 

Mo's is a pizza, fried chicken, and gyros joint. The food is not bad. 

U Cafe sells Chinese takeout with a limited menu in the mall. (Don't think suburban mall with dozens of stores and a food court. It's a one-story, T-shaped building with the town's only supermarket, a pharmacy, and a fast-food joint.) U Cafe's food is fair, and it extends our Chinese-food options. The big drawback is that it's cash only.

Port Hardy also has a Subway and an A&W. 

Port McNeill

Devil's Bath Brewery

This is the most exciting new opening in our area: a spacious, hip-looking restaurant specializing in thin-crust pizza and their own microbrews. They serve a variety of interesting pizzas and pastas, plus a few nightly specials, in a lovely relaxing space. Big thumbs up. 

Archipelago's Bistro

Despite its name, this is actually a diner. The food is consistently good food and there are some interesting options on the menu: along with the usual burgers and sandwiches, there are a variety of pastas, risottos, and poutines. They make a salad with figs, roasted pear, and gorgonzola cheese that I cannot resist. 

Sportsman Steak and Pizza House

This place renovated and revamped post-covid, and has a steak, seafood, and pizza menu. The food is good, the atmosphere is very nice, and it's in a nice setting directly across from the marina. 

Gus's Pub

Gus's serves sports-bar standards in a semi- sports bar atmosphere. We've never had bad food here, but I'm bored with these menus. 

Good food, but not dinner

Tia's Cafe has great coffee, breakfasts, and slightly Mexican-themed lunches. This is my top choice if I need to meet someone in Port McNeill for work.

Mugz 2.0 is a cafe serving freshly baked pastries, muffins, and bread. They use fresh, local ingredients and they know what they're doing. Mugz was closed for years, pre-covid, and we're all rooting for it to survive.

Port McNeill also has a Subway. There is also a Chinese takeout place with an ancient, greasy storefront that does not inspire confidence.

what i'm reading: four fish: the future of the last wild food

After reading a review of Paul Greenberg's Four Fish: The Future of the Last Wild Food when it was published in 2010, I added the title to The List. When I read it recently, more than 10 years later, the subject matter had become so much more relevant to me, in a way I could not have imagined in 2010.

In Four Fish, Greenberg unpacks the histories of the salmon, bass, cod, and tuna -- the physical and biological histories of those animals, and the cultural, social, economic, and political histories of human's interactions with them. 

Each fish's story is told through a human element that brings it to life, and through Greenberg's personal connection to fish and fishing, making the stories accessible and engaging. 

And each story is complex and circuitous. Greenberg has a deft touch for imparting the salient bits, (mostly) without getting too bogged down in detail.

I live in salmon country

In the chapter on salmon, Greenberg travels to a remote area of Alaska, where an Indigenous nation is involved in the wild-salmon trade, attempting both sustainability and profitability. 

The story could have taken place in my own community. Living on Canada's far west coast, the salmon and the many ways people's lives are linked to it are ever-present.

Indigenous fishers; non-Indigenous fishers, both commercial and sport; the aquaculture (fish-farm) industry; government regulatory bodies (almost universally hated); conservationists; the tourism and hospitality industry; the food industry; casual environmentalists -- all have a stake in the future of this iconic fish, and each has a different perspective. And other than rapacious Food Inc companies whose practices are completely unsustainable, none of them is wrong. It's complicated, and there are no easy answers. 

Bluefin is the new whale

Greenberg argues passionately that the bluefin tuna should be a protected species, the way whales and dolphins are -- animals no longer thought of as legitimate targets for either hunting or food. The bluefin -- which is but a distant relative of the tuna many of us (including me) eat -- is almost extinct. 

The bluefin conservation advocates, often former tuna fishermen who have been able to pull themselves away from the lure of tuna's silver-ingot bodies and marbled-sirloin flesh, have tried all manner of spells to get those who eat tuna or those officials who legislate over them to somehow sit up and take similar notice -- to abstain from eating them or to pass enforceable regulation for the sake of their preciousness. It is this often-futile battle that is the most telling part of the tuna fishery today. It is the battle with ourselves. A battle between the altruism toward other species that we know we can muster and the primitive greed that lies beneath our relationship with the creatures of the sea.

Greenberg reviews how hunting whales -- how humans' very concept of the whale -- has changed over time, culminating in the end of whaling.

It was the broadest and most far-reaching act of kindness humanity has ever bestowed on another group of species. Though contested and embattled and fraught with disagreements that result in violations, this kindness has persisted. The whaling moratorium remains in effect to this day.

Shifting baselines

Four Fish gave me a name for a concept I have thought about many times: shifting baselines. Greenberg credits marine biologist Daniel Pauly with the term, and says he was struck by

both the profound significance as well as its relative invisibility in the contemporary news cycle.

The idea of shifting baseline is this: Every generation has its own, specific expectations of what "normal" is for nature, a baseline. One generation has one baseline for abundance while the next has a reduced version and the next reduced even more, and so on and so on until expectations of abundance are pathetically low.

Before Daniel Pauly expressed this generational memory loss as a scientific thesis, the fantastical catches of older fishermen could be written off as time-warped nostalgia. But Pauly has tabulated the historical catch data and shown that the good old days were in fact often much better. This is not nostalgia on the part of the old or lack of empathy on the part of the young. It is almost a willful forgetting -- the means by which our species, generation by generation, finds reasonableness amid the irrational destruction of the greatest natural food system on earth.

I can think of a dozen other applications of shifting baselines, from the price of gas to the health of public services to originality in writing and music. Applied to the wild, it is very, very sad.

Q: Which fish should you eat? A: It hardly matters.

Greenberg notes that the issues of the future of fish cannot be managed -- or even significantly impacted -- on the consumer level. I share this perspective on most environmental issues, and I appreciated the validation. 

If you eat fish and care about the planet, you are probably familiar with the Seafood Choices Alliance ratings of fish: fish designated environmentally safe to eat, fish that are on the brink of danger and should be eaten only rarely, and fish you should not eat at all. Greenberg reviews the positive impact this has made and concludes:

For in the end, this somewhat passive response to the global crisis in fisheries robs the conservation movement of the will to stage more radical, directed, and passionate action. Daniel Pauly, the author of the shifting-baselines theory and frequent critic of the limited views of the sustainable seafood movement, said as much in a recent paper. "The current faith in the magic of free-market mechanisms must be questioned," Pauly wrote. "Consumers should not be misled that a system of management or conservation based on purchasing power alone will adequately address the present dilemma facing fisheries globally."

Greenbery notes that when he would say he was writing a book about the future of fish, people everywhere would inevitably ask, "Which fish should I eat?" 

His conclusion: it doesn't much matter. Action must be taken far upstream, and on a much grander scale.

Practical suggestions and solutions

Greenberg closes the book with a set of principles that could steer humans away from the total destruction of the world's fish, while allowing us to harvest and consume fish sustainably. He writes:

For too long it has been entrepreneurs who have decided which species to domesticate and which to leave wild. Their decisions have been based on market principles and profit, and they have historically not consulted with the managers and biologists who study wild-fish dynamics. This is senseless. If we continue along this pathway, we will only destroy one food system and replace it with another, inferior one, just as we have already done in most of the world's freshwater lakes and rivers. We therefore need a set of principles that guide us forward with domestication, one that is inclusive of impacts on wild oceans. 

He then sets out five principles that would guide aquaculture into a new era. Much of it is already taking place, in tiny enterprises scattered around the globe. Will this trend reach a point of global sustainability? Is it even enough to be considered a trend?

The giant web that holds us all

Similar to another book I recently read and reviewed, Animal, Vegetable, Junk by Mark Bittman, Four Fish speaks to the interconnectedness of all living organisms on our planet. Both books reveal the utter foolishness of humans' attempts to interfere with that connectedness, and of the human belief that only more interference, often in the form of technology, can solve the problems that humans have created. 

Like Animal, Vegetable, Junk, Four Fish reveals the breadth and depth of how humans have poisoned the Earth, or as Greenberg writes, "the loss of abundance and the greedy privatization, monopolization, and industrialization of fishing that caused it."

what i'm reading: animal, vegetable, junk: a history of food, from sustainable to suicidal, by mark bittman

Mark Bittman's Animal, Vegetable, Junk: A History of Food, from Sustainable to Suicidal is fascinating, readable, and wide-ranging nonfiction. With clear and simple language, Bittman unpacks the many threads that have determined, throughout history, how we humans feed ourselves. As an alternate subtitle, I might suggest "How Imperialism and Capitalism Ruined the Planet and Everything On It". Or perhaps, "Finally, A Book With Hope".

This is a great book for anyone curious about the nexus of economic and political systems, oppression, and food. Even if you don't think you're interested in the history of food, if you enjoy history, this is a terrific book.

Bittman looks at history through a consistently anti-capitalist, anti-imperialist, and social justice lens. I especially appreciate Bittman's consistent recognition that the problems caused by the industrial food system cannot be solved on an individual, consumer level. To use an example from our current cultural moment, first-world childhood obesity will not corrected by admonishing parents to get their kids more exercise. Individual choices impact individual health; that much is obvious. But people can only choose what is available to them and what they can afford. Individual change will never be, can never be, enough.

Throughout, Bittman gives special focus to how food systems impact Indigenous people, people of colour, and impoverished and low-income people -- and workers.

Since the first enslaved people grew and processed sugar on Madeira, Western food has relied on brutal labor practices. It still does. From industrial agriculture's perspective, labor is a necessary evil -- a nuisance.

Small and biodiverse farms are still labor-intensive. But large farms minimize labor in every way possible, relying instead on chemicals, seeds, and machines.

Yet food always comes back to labor. Without workers, none of us would eat. And just about every hand that helps bring food to our tables belongs to a person who may well be worried about putting food on their own. Eight of the ten worst-paying jobs in the United States involve food. Of the twenty million food system jobs that constitute the largest private labor force in our economy, almost all earn wages that hover around the poverty line. At least a third of farmwokers earn less than the official poverty wage, which is twenty thousand dollars per year per family. That's just about enough to pay for a minimally nutritious diet for a family of four, leaving approximately zero for every other expense other than an unrealistically low rent.

Many of these jobs are repetitive, demeaning, and dangerous. Workers are denied basic rights like regular bathroom breaks; a reliable schedule; freedom from abuse, harassment, and wage theft; and the right to organize and bargain collectively.

That's how the system was designed to work.

And from much later in the book:

Addressing mistreated workers in our food system will require a cascade of changes to the status quo, which makes it a good place to start. And awareness of food-chain labor has accelerated in recent years. It's no coincidence that the "Fight for $15" -- the movement to institute a minimum hourly wage of fifteen dollars in place of the current federal minimum of $7.25 -- began at KFC, McDonald's, and Burger King. 

Animal, Vegetable, Junk introduced me to a new idea: industrial farming is best thought of as an extraction industry, like mining, logging, and commercial fishing. Industrial farming is a health issue, a labour issue, an animal-welfare issue, and of course a climate change issue. The situation is dire, almost beyond comprehension.

The book's penultimate chapter is about the industrial farming of animals. This was very difficult to read, touching on my worst cognitive dissonance. Any thinking person would be disturbed by it. One can choose to be vegan, but that, in itself, will not end or even reduce industrial animal torture. I have taken steps to opt out of factory farming, but there are areas I have not addressed, especially dairy and eggs. Mostly I force myself to look, and feel sick.

Thankfully, in the final chapter, Bittman offers hope. And in this case -- unlike other books I've read where a paragraph of obligatory platitudes are tacked on at the end -- this hope is real. In "The Way Forward," Bittman profiles a diversity of alternative food and health systems and programs that exist and are working. Some are spearheaded by governments, others by self-organized cooperatives -- from Brazil, Chile, Mexico, India, France, Denmark, and some in the United States. 

These positive examples were amazing, and well worth the read. But to truly understand why the alternatives are needed, and what they represent, I hope you will read the full book.

Bittman's writing is simple and clear, and (mostly) refreshingly jargon-free. (The book is heavy on acronyms, but that may be unavoidable.) I first became aware of Bittman through "The Minimalist," his old column in the New York Times. In many ways, he taught me how to cook. Creating delicious, healthy food with a few simple ingredients is an art form. But it turns out Bittman knows a hell of a lot more than that.

See also

You may enjoy reading this excellent review of Animal, Vegetable, Junk in the New York Times. The reviewer, Ted Genoways, wrote a book called The Chain: Farm, Factory, and the Fate of Our Food. It has been on my list since its publication in 2014, but I haven't had the heart to read it.

I was pleased to see Bittman mention and praise the book Salt Sugar Fat: How the Food Giants Hooked Us by Michael Moss (my review is here) -- an important and under-recognized book. I photocopied the selected reading list Animal, Vegetable, Junk for future reference, and was pleased to see that I've read a handful of the titles.

Obviously Bittman is writing from a United States context. In some ways things are a bit better in Canada. But I hope Canadians who will read this book know that all the same problems plague Canadian society, too. As I always say, "better than the United States" is a very low bar.

dog agility, worm composting, and morning tea: three things going on with me

Does it make sense to create compost when you don't garden? I don't know, but I'm doing it.

Worms, but no garden

So, I'm not gardening. 

The Urban Worm Bag v2

Since moving to a cool, wet, temperate climate, I haven't done any successful gardening. My little mini gardens in southern Ontario were fun because they were incredibly easy. They also helped me enjoy being outdoors within the densely packed suburban landscape. 

Now, gardening is much more challenging, and I am able to enjoy the outdoors any time, whether that means sitting on our deck, talking long walks through the woods, or strolling on the beautiful empty beach. Working full-time, with limited time to myself, I really don't want to spend any of it gardening.

Last year, I tried to establish a small garden, and thought I would try vermicomposting -- composting with worms. The garden was a bust, but I've decided to continue my wriggling adventure. 

Why create composting if you're not gardening?

• It reduces waste. We don't have organics recycling here, and it feels really wasteful. Most of what can go in the organics bin can be used as worm food.

• The worm castings (compost created by worms) will improve the soil for all the plants already growing in our yard, including the raspberry bushes that Allan is trying to re-establish.*

• Working with worms, creating this miniature ecosystem, just appeals to me. I want to try it. 

The worm adventure was supposed to start last year, but the worms I ordered never made it here. I had already set up my Urban Worm Bag, organics scrap bin, and so on. So this year, I tried again. 

The worms were shipped from Wormbox, a company in Montreal. They assured me they have successfully shipped live worms to every Canadian province and territory, including remote locations, and that the worms would arrive alive. They wait to ship until there are three consecutive days of temperatures above freezing in Montreal and the worms' destination. That finally happened in early May!

The clock was ticking. With a long weekend coming up, and no mail delivery on Saturdays, I was starting to worry. But hurrah, the little creatures arrived on Friday morning, well packed and wriggling. Now they are in their new home, and my project begins.

Canine agility

Now that I am not taking piano lessons (at least for now), I'm planning to do some agility with Kai, and possibly with Cookie, too. 

I've been thinking about this since we bought our home in 2019. It's great physical exercise and mental stimulation for dogs, and having watched agility competitions on video, and once in person, I've always wanted to try it.

Will Kai ever do this? Time will tell!

Decent equipment is quite expensive. And while building a DIY agility course is A Thing, you may recall that I am not a DIY person. I have zero interest in building or macgyvering this equipment. I've decided to start with one piece of equipment -- one event, so to speak -- and gradually add on, as I can and want to spend more. Agility World has periodic specials where one obstacle is deeply discounted, so I'll track that as I go. (There is also the much less expensive Aosom, but I've read the equipment is quite flimsy and falls apart easily.)

This is decidedly not for competition. Just as my piano lessons were not intended for performance, my interest in canine agility will not leave my backyard. I find the human capacity to fashion nearly every activity into a competition simply baffling. I'm just hoping my dogs and I enjoy this and benefit from it.

A momentous life change

I am not drinking coffee in the morning. I am drinking tea! While not quite on the level of moving to Canada or becoming a librarian, I believe this qualifies for Big Change status.

I love coffee, and I'm completely addicted to caffeine. Although I've cut back by mixing regular and decaf, I've given up trying to eliminate it from my diet. I've gone caffeine-free for months at a time for various reasons, but I have no wish to do that permanently. I figure if caffeine is my worst vice, I'm doing pretty good. Caffeine may even have some health benefits -- although that's not why I love coffee.

I do have sleep issues, though. Like many people, I sometimes struggle mightily with insomnia. And because of this, I've always had a strict cut-off. Coffee in the morning, and strong black tea in the afternoon, but never after 4:00.

Allan and I picked up the afternoon tea habit during our trip to Ireland in 2001. It was November, and every day we'd arrive at a bed-and-breakfast, chilly and windswept. And the host would say, I'll put the kettle on. It became an enjoyable habit.

When we got home, we found a New York source for Bewley's Irish Breakfast tea, and with both of us working at home most days, a tradition was born.

When we moved to the Toronto area, I found it too difficult to get Bewley's, and we switched to Red Rose, the Canadian equivalent of Lipton. Now that we can get anything from anywhere, we're back to Bewley's. 

(We do also have decaf black tea in various flavours, which Allan drinks all the time, and herbal teas in a range of flavours, which I drink both hot and iced. I find iced herbal tea a good way to stay hydrated: tastier than water, but with nothing added.)

Recently I realized I really shouldn't be having caffeine in the afternoon, at all. Cutoff or no, it could be impacting my sleep. So I'm trying -- quite painfully -- to give up my afternoon caffeine. 

I made this decision right after a box of Bewley's arrived in the mail, plus a shopping miscommunication landed a huge box of Red Rose in the house at the same time. I can't return either of them, I don't want them sitting around getting stale, and it's more than I want to give away.

So I had an idea. Maybe I could try drinking tea in the morning, and seeing if I can get enough of a caffeine fix to start the day. When we've travelled in places with bad (or no) coffee but good tea, I have had tea in the morning. Maybe it would be possible?

I bought a teapot, and the experiment has begun. I still miss coffee, so I don't know if this will be permanent. But so far, I appear to be surviving.

And by the way, since giving up afternoon caffeine two months ago, I have had only one night of insomnia -- far less than usual.

* There were amazing raspberries bushes when we moved in. Then we cut them down -- as I read you were supposed to -- and they never returned. Allan is starting over.

most useless and annoying advice ever: it's cheaper if you make it yourself

I did not make this myself.

Ever since moving to Canada, people have been telling me how I could make something myself for less money than I paid for it. Curtains, chair coverings, scarves. Kitchen gadgets. Dog needs. Skin care products. And food of all types. 

You can make that yourself, so much cheaper. 

I've heard this so often and from so many people, one might think everyone in Canada was crafting everything by hand. Which would not explain the crowds buying cheap merchandise in Canadian Tire.

Similarly, in certain Canadian circles, there is disdain for hiring someone for any personal or home labour. Snow shoveling, house cleaning, dogwalking, lawn care. Oo-hoo, look at you, throwing money away instead of picking up a shovel! It seems I am finally old enough for people to give me a pass on this one. The hidden joys of aging!

I find this "you can make it cheaper yourself" mentality annoying on so many levels. One, it's my money. I can spend it however I want, and I'd rather do so without your judgement. Two, isn't your time worth anything? My time is more valuable than money. Money can be earned, but time is a nonrenewable resource. (Yes, I know this is a privilege.) Three, mind your own business!

Perhaps this is not a Canadian thing at all. I don't know if people dole out this "advice" throughout the rest of the US. But I can tell you no one does in New York City! 

Long before the pandemic forced everyone inside, New Yorkers had everything delivered to their apartments. Since everyone walks or takes public transportation everywhere, deliveries are a way of life. So is paying for convenience. New Yorkers eat at restaurants or takeout almost every night of the week. They drop off their laundry. They hire dogwalkers. They rent car shares. And most of all, they have everything delivered. It's not an easy city to live in. Everyone who can afford to buys every convenience possible. And nobody ever tells you how you could make things more cheaply yourself.

Like Elaine Benes, I love a "big salad". In fact, one of my favourite meals are salads with lots of different ingredients. I love chopped-salad restaurants, and happily spend $16 or $18 to choose 10 different ingredients tossed in freshly-made, creative dressing. I am not often in an area with these restaurants, but when I am, I enjoy this very much.

Big salads are something I will never make for myself. I cook a lot, and I do quite a lot of other food prep. We do sometimes have a protein salad for dinner, but it's much more simple: lettuce, tomato, mini cucumber, chicken, cheese. I'm the only big salad fan in the house, plus, it's just too much effort.

In our previous suburban home, there were no restaurants that offered big salads. The closest we came was when Whole Foods opened a Mississauga location, but a salad bar is not the same. And of course there is nothing like this in my tiny little town now.

But now big salads have come to supermarkets! This has been a great development for me. I take a packaged salad kit, add a hardboiled egg and some grated cheese, and I have the perfect dinner. If I have some leftover grilled chicken or salmon on hand, I throw that in instead of the egg. 

This is one of my favourite meals and it helps me eat more vegetables -- more raw vegetables, which is even better. The only downside is there is a lot of plastic waste. This disturbs me... but not enough to stop buying the salads. 

But salad kits are expensive! 

In my experience, if you mention salad kits -- or if a busybody sees you buying a few in the supermarket -- or if you look for information online about a salad kit... You can make that cheaper yourself! 

Is this even true -- can you make the salad more cheaply yourself? I don't know. I haven't tested this claim, because I don't care. But some years ago, I wondered if Whole Foods' delicious, expensive tuna salad would be less expensive to make at home, and discovered it was only slightly more expensive to buy than to create. Sometime after that post, the store's prices went up, and later I started using less expensive tuna (for environmental reasons), so the balance would have changed. But the assumption that the prepared tuna salad was vastly more expensive than homemade was incorrect.

The salad kit I ate for dinner last night contained: white cabbage, red cabbage, kale, romaine lettuce, shredded carrots, cilantro, crispy noodle strips, and slivered almonds, and dressing. I added an egg and a bit of grated cheese. 

• If I had made this myself, how much cheaper would it be? It's not a $6.00 salad versus a free dinner. After I'm done buying all those ingredients, what have I spent? 

• Unless I used two entire heads of cabbage, an entire head of lettuce, and an entire bunch of kale within the upcoming week -- which I won't be able to do -- some of the vegetables will go bad. I would be wasting money and wasting food.

• I can buy all different flavour combinations of salad kits, and eat different ones whenever I like. Having variety helps me maintain a healthy diet.

• And finally -- but most importantly -- making this salad myself is too much effort for the end result. Everyone has (or should have) a personal time vs money formula. I would much rather spend $6 than make this complicated salad myself, and if I had to make it myself, I wouldn't eat it.

In short, it's a no-brainer: healthy, convenient food that I enjoy is worth the price of the kit.

I don't care if I could make it cheaper myself! 

friends and family road trip reunion: day thirteen: portland: books, street art, food

Portland is as advertised: an interesting city with a lot going on. We both look forward to returning, perhaps before or after a family visit. We got only a taste of the town, but it left us wanting more.

In the morning, we dropped off the dogs, along with their beds, toys, and treats, at the daycare, for their day in a private suite. Then we had a quick breakfast at a Peet's Coffee -- my favourite iced coffee -- and were at Powell's when it opened at 10:00.

Powell's. OMG Powell's. It is vast. It is beautifully organized. The staff is amazing. Their customer service is amazing. Did I mention it is vast? Powell's just may be the best bookstore I've ever visited.

Allan and I browsed a bit together, then split up. Since my brother successfully transplanted my old sim card and SD card into an old phone of his, we now have two phones and could safely go our separate ways. (I still need a new phone, but the loaner works as a stopgap.)

Allan had printed out his master to-look-for list, but my list somehow didn't make it here. It's not on Google Drive, not on my USB, not even saved in email drafts, which I often use to save something quickly. I was disappointed, but I contented myself to browse in subject sections. For fiction, I normally use the library, except for my favourite authors, which I'll buy new. But with nonfiction, I don't like the pressure of the due date, so I'm more likely to buy those titles. Often I borrow nonfiction from the library to see if I like it before buying.

As I've mentioned in various "what i'm reading" posts, my List -- the universe of books I might like to read -- is very long and goes back many years and decades. There are always titles growing old and older. I did remember a few authors' works I keep reading reviews of, consistently put on The List, but never seem to read. Little by little, as I browsed, names came back to me, and I was able to look them up on their customer-use computers. I remembered one title without an author and one author without a title... and slowly a mental short-list formed. I ended up with a big pile of nonfiction -- very satisfying.

When I bumped into Allan, we were both holding full shopping baskets, monstrously heavy! Allan found someone on staff to hide our baskets in a holds area. We both picked up fresh baskets, but I needed a break. I'm not a marathoner -- about anything. I had been choosing books for two hours. I needed to rest my feet and to eat something. Allan was still very busy tracking his list. 

I walked to a food cart "pod". Portland's many food carts are grouped into pods, where you can find many varieties of food in the same place. I'd read that many have picnic tables and covered areas. The one near Powell's -- also near our hotel -- has 12 carts, but no tables or even benches. This may be to discourage people without housing from using the facilities. I don't know if that's the case, but I knew I wanted to sit down. I bought pot stickers from a Vietnamese food cart, and ate them while walking back to Powell's. 

I was tired and felt dehydrated and was ready to leave, but Allan was in full-on search mode. We negotiated a bit. By the time I found a bathroom (in a Starbucks) and finished the dumplings, we were now three hours in. 

I spent a full 20 minutes walking in circles looking for a section that didn't seem to exist, plus fielded a phone call from TD Bank, telling me my credit card had been blocked for suspicious activity. Now nearly four hours had gone by, and Allan was still shopping.

I felt the day was shot, and announced I was going back to the room to lie down. This seemed to snap Allan out of his bookstore trance. We found a bench in the children's section, and went through our baskets. I put back any new titles that I can easily find at home. I was tired and cranky.

This scenario is pretty typical for me and Allan, and one of the reasons he usually goes to bookstores without me: a fun outing devolves into frustration and annoyance. No need for reminders: I know how lucky I am to share the love of reading, writing, language, and ideas with my partner. But that doesn't mean we don't get tired and cranky!

* * * *

Overheard at Powell's

Woman: Why are we here? I'm already reading a book.

????

*

Woman, frustrated and resigned: Fine, whatever, we'll stay, I'll just wait.

Man: I'm almost done, I'll only be a few more minutes.

Yeah, right.

 *

Kids: I want this one! Oh look look look look! I've read this book four times! Oh look, I want this one! I want this one! 

Kids who love books! Make me so happy!

*

Adult with child: I'd like you to get a better book. Can you get one better book? 

Me to Allan as we walk away: Let him read whatever he wants, all the books are better books if he's reading them!

*

In the elevator, with a young staff member pushing a cart of books

Me: Do you like working here?

Staff: I really do. I love being around people who are excited about books. I love helping people find books. I love discovering books through our customers.

Me: I'm a librarian, and I say the same things.

Staff: Oooo, I would love to be a librarian...

Me: You can be. You should look into it. 

* * * *

We lugged our bags of books back to the hotel, drank a lot of water, rested our feet, and regrouped with a plan to see some street art. There are murals and street art all over Portland, but there are especially high concentrations in two areas: the Alberta Arts District, and the Central Eastside Industrial District. I found some useful maps of the areas, and asked front desk staff to print one for us.

The Portland Street Art Alliance sounds like an amazing group that does fascinating work. If you like public art, I encourage you to spend some time on their website, which includes information on why street art is a public good, and a reading list.

Their mural map of the Alberta Arts District (pdf here) gave this trenchant introduction:

The Alberta Arts District is a culturally rich and dynamic area that attracts people from all over the city with its fine art galleries, graffiti alleyways, and community murals.  Even the benches and ATMs are works of art! Galleries open their doors and vendors line the street for the monthly Last Thursday Art Walk. The annual Alberta Street Fair draws thousands of people into the streets for a party, complete with local music, food, buskers, and artists.  While many of Portland's neighborhoods have experienced revitalization, Alberta is unique because it was historically home to the highest concentration of African-Americans in the city. With a painful history of racial segregation, redlining, and now gentrification, Alberta is a place of juxtaposition. Few areas in Portland offer the variety of cultures and artistic interventions that can be found in Alberta. This map is just a starting point. The streets are always changing, and finding street art is often times like a scavenger hunt. We have provided you some insider clues, but now it is up to you to find the hidden treasures Alberta has to offer!

I enjoyed this -- not boosterism, not consumerism, but actual social context. And well-written, with the correct "its"!

We drove to the area, found a parking spot, and walked many blocks and saw many interesting murals (photos to follow). It was very hot. We saw two food-cart pods -- probably more than 10 carts between them, both with seating areas -- but it was just too hot.

NE Alberta Street is in the "fun and funky" stage of gentrification, full of independent stores of all types, progressive or radical politics displayed proudly, plenty of cheap eats and entertainment. But the next stage is also beginning to poke through. There are no chain stores (yet) but expensive boutiques are sprinkled in among the more earthy and affordable. I hope the neighbourhood can hold on to its unique life and beauty.

[Some cell-phone pictures of Portland street art are here.]

After murals and other street art, and a fresh, cold juice, we headed back to the hotel, dropped off the car (again), then walked over to the local food-truck pod. 

Many were already closed, which was just as well. From three separate trucks, we picked up a lamb shawarma, Chinese roast pork and rice, and a torta, which turned out to be ginormous. They cost $9-11 each.

We paid for valet parking, which seemed exorbitant until the bellman reduced it to half price. (I assume this is typical.) We've been making ample use of the unlimited in/out service, and have probably spent the other 50% in tips, but that's fine, I'd much rather the money go in a worker's pocket.

We brought the food back to the room to eat and enjoy some air-conditioning. The food was delicious, and we haven't even touched the torta yet. 

After that we picked up the dogs, who were happy and tired. I'd like to know more about how the day went... I may try to get some information. 

Back at the room, Allan was plotting a walk to Voodoo Doughnuts for some baked goods. Donuts don't do much for me, and wacky toppings do even less, but we did identify a few flavours that I wouldn't mind having a taste of. Then Allan asked if he could go back to Powell's. That was kind of cute, because he doesn't need my permission, and kind of annoying, because if he was going back, why did we spend four hours there?

But that's the way it goes. He didn't anticipate having a second shot. I had time to write, and he got two more books, then got lost, then found the doughnuts and came back with a box of four. They were fresh and tasty -- but over-rated. But I would say that about any donuts.

* * * *

I want to note that we have seen hundreds of tent encampments, on the approaches to every city, and within cities themselves. This is very, very sad. Shameful.

Today we begin our two-day drive back to Port Hardy. Allan is ready to go home. I never am: I can always travel more, especially when the dogs are with us. 

I'm pleased to report I have not checked my work email once, the entire trip. I will definitely look at it on the weekend, at least to delete hundreds of useless emails.

trulocal.ca for healthy, local meat and seafood delivered to your home or workplace

Tl;dr version: TruLocal delivers a wide variety of local meat, poultry, and seafood from family farms to your door. They serve Ontario, Alberta, and British Columbia. And they're great!

* * * *

When we lived in Ontario, we often ordered meat from Beretta Farms. Beretta distributes products from small, local farms, as well as from their own, located in King City, Ontario. (Here's an old post about them.)

Distribution is often the missing link between consumers and healthy, local, non-factory-farmed meat, as the large supermarket chains buy in huge volumes that, by definition, excludes these producers.

I personally am not opposed to humans eating animal products, and I quite love them myself. But the horrors of the factory farm are legion -- for animals, for the environment, for human health, for climate change. So I would try to buy meat and poultry either from Beretta, or from Whole Foods, where I could see the local origin.

Now that we live in a small town in a remote area, I assumed those choices would no longer be available. There is one supermarket, and naturally it has to cater to the majority of the community. So I was surprised and pleased to find a small frozen case with a smattering of meat, pork, and chicken from small and organic producers. Prices are high and selection is low, but I'm very glad this option exists.

Finding TruLocal has resolved this issue for me.

TruLocal is set up like a meal-kit delivery service. You subscribe to a box (there are two sizes), which you can have delivered weekly, biweekly or monthly. The price of the box is a flat rate, and you choose what to fill your box with, using a clever point system. A pound of ground beef may be 1 point, while a half-pound of smoked sockeye salmon will be 4 points. A small box for $125 is filled with 9 points worth of food, while a regular-sized box for $249 is filled by 20 points.

The box is delivered to your home or workplace, with the contents packed in dry ice. Based on your postal code, the website tells you what day(s) of the week they ship to your area, then you receive auto-emails with updates. Delivery is free, that is, part of the price.

I appreciate that there wasn't an extra charge for a rural or remote delivery. In fact, I appreciate that they service our area at all! I emailed to ask, and received a very speedy, friendly reply.

So far everything about TruLocal has been great: the order was correct, the delivery was reliable, customer service is great, and most importantly, the products are very high quality.

My only (minor) gripe is that if you don't want a subscription -- if you want to order less frequently or sporadically -- you have to cancel your subscription and start a new one each time. (You don't have to cancel your account, just the subscription.) I'm hoping that enough customers will want this option that TruLocal will soon offer it.

Here's how it works, and here's an FAQ. If you're an omnivore like me and can afford it, perhaps you will give it a try.