So, I'm still in Toronto. I know, I know, you were expecting me to be back in Barcelona already, rolling around in a bathtub filled with tortillas and chorizo. Or maybe that was just me.
Well, I'm not back until next week. We're all just going to have to accept that and I'm going to have to clean out the drain at my dear friends' Martha and Jeremy's--they've been kind enough to put me up for the next week.
On the up side, I have been keeping myself busy with social engagements and what not. And I'm as delighted as ever with the number of terrific restaurants in Toronto, though sad to see a couple of favourites close (Sugar, Xacutti).
Last night, a couple of generous, well heeled friends took me for dinner at Lucien (36 Wellington, where Pravda used to live). To my great excitement, Babe three ways (belly, crackling and what can only be described as juicy middle) was on the menu, served over a cassoulet. Soo-wee, he was delicious.
I had two bites of crackling left when the waiter tried to remove my plate. I smacked his hand away and said, I'm still working on the crackling. Oh, he said, fear flashing across his face. Don't stand between a girl and her crackling, said my friend Doug. Yeah, I said, making my eyes into tiny little slits. Don't. I finished the crackling and licked my lips with menace.
That pig never stood a chance.