My Latest First World Outrage

The other day Patrick offhandedly mentioned to me that a new bakery had opened up just down the street from us. Unlike most of the things he says, this got my immediate attention.

You can pretty much bet that any time the word 'bakery' is mentioned in my presence, I'll stop what I'm doing and make this noise:

(Link)

"Yah, it's an Albertan or Saskatchewan bakery or something?" he said. "I think it was called Prairie Girl."

And that's when I nearly crapped myself.

Since moving to Toronto from Alberta over ten years ago (OMG! Ten years?), I have been missing the sweet, sweet edible love that is western baked goods. Matrimonial Cake, Peanut Butter Slice, Puffed Wheat Squares, Regular and Mint Nanaimo Bars, Alberta Honey Tarts, Lemon Poppyseed Cake - and the Grand Poobah of prairie treats: Saskatoon Berry Pie.

*Droooooool* Source: Saskatoonberry.com

Whenever I've described Saskatoon berries to people, I hear, "So, they're like blueberries?" No, goddamit, they are NOT like blueberries. They are heaven in the mouth. They are sweet orbs of love. They are a taste sensation that your little Ontario minds can't wrap around. And when you put Saskatoon berries in pie (or pierogies, tarts, cobbler, crisp, pancakes ... *slobber*), you create perfection. Pure, calorie-filled perfection.

Surely a place called Prairie Girl Bakery would carry this western staple and satisfy my fix. So, despite being in the midst of some editing work, I put on my underwear shoes, grabbed my purse and headed out.

If you read my blog regularly, you'll by now know that if I've gone into detail about something I'm excited about and have a big, long lead-up for it, you know the story is headed toward something soul-crushing.

Like this:

Fucking. Cupcakes.

How dare they use the prairie name in vain! I didn't realize "prairie" had joined the ranks of other meaningless words like 'unique' and 'social media expert'. YOU KILL ME, PRAIRIE GIRL BAKERY.

Toronto surely needed another cupcake shop. But you have red velvet cupcakes, you say? WHO GIVES A SHIT. It's a cupcake with red friggin' dye in it. Enjoy eating ground-up bugs, you Upper Canadian hipster chumps! I HOPE YOU CHOKE ON IT.

WHERE'S MY SASKATOON BERRY PIE?!?!?

WHERE IS IT!?!?

AAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!! AAAAAAAHHHHH!!!! AAAAAAHHHHH!!!

***

 
I have calmed down since initially writing this post, thanks to an emergency Ativan that we kept from one of my many previous run-ins with the dentist.

Now that I'm in a more mellow place, let me say that I do not bear Prairie Girl Bakery any ill will and will probably shop there one day. In fact, it's miraculous that cupcake crumbs aren't falling from my mouth and onto the keyboard as I type this.

However, should anyone know of a Toronto-based restaurant or "import" company that provides Saskatoon berries and Saskatoon berry products (besides jam and syrup - I've been able to hunt those down), please pass their name along to me. I will be their very best customer.

If there isn't such a place, there really should be. I mean, if we can get dragon fruit from Asia, we can surely ship some berries (or at worst - frozen Saskatoon berry pies) from a few provinces over, right? So, if you're an entrepreneur who wants to start a business but you just need a good idea, there it is: Saskatoon berries. And Puffed Wheat Squares. And Matrimonial Cake. Oh, also lacking? A good donair place. There - that's two good businesses (or one amazing business).

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My Spring Jacket Find

While an evening snowfall the other day seemed to threaten things, it looks like spring has sprung around these parts. This means I get to access some outerwear that I haven't seen in many months.

It's kind of like getting new clothes, except if you're like me - a person who doesn't take exceptional care of her things - they look the furthest thing from new. It's only when I pull a spring jacket out from storage do I see the little stain on the lapel or the missing button that I somehow managed to go all season without noticing. I'm sure if I inspect my winter jacket right now, I'll finally realize that there's a dangling thread in the back and, uh, remnants from The Day I Ran Out of Kleenex.

Anyway, one of my favourite simple pleasures in life is going in the pockets of jackets past. There's always something to discover. Sometimes it's some change or a $5 bill, lipstick I thought I lost or some gum. But most often, it's a list of some kind. I like taking a look at it and seeing what I was buying then and try to remember what meal I had in mind at the time. This year, my spring jacket find was quite the flashback:

So, at first, I was like WTF?!. I don't do a lot of baking, so flour and sugar aren't very typical buys for me. But even stranger were the mentions of chicken livers and canned peas. What on earth was I .... OOOOOOH!

Ha. And I even love that I wrote "hot dogs?" on the list - with a question mark - knowing full well that I'd need to buy them as a back-up dinner.

By the way ... I'm hoping to share some news about the 50s housewife experiment (and other things) shortly, so hang tight!

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How To Woo Me

With a Canadian election on, I should probably be talking about that - but there is something much more important to discuss: a gum commercial.

Excel has these rather cute spots that show animated food items following people around - suggesting that the things you eat linger in your breath until you kill them by brushing your teeth chewing Excel gum. Here are two commercials from the series. The first one aired years ago (random trivia: the subway station it was filmed in, Dupont, was right next to our first home) and the second ad just started airing last month:





Adorable, no?

So, I get the coffee breath, the onion breath, the garlic breath - but doughnut breath?

I'm not saying it couldn't happen. My point is this: why would you ever want to get rid of it? Doughnuts smell amazing - even when in someone else's mouth.

This may be revealing too much, but if someone was speaking to me and had doughnut breath, it would probably act as a pheromone. I would totally creep in closer, lean into them, and the rest of the world would fall away. The person could be saying the most vile, racist, horrible things, and I'd be enamored, encouraging him to go on. ("You know, I just love it when you say 'homosexuals'. Can you say it again? Hhhhhhomosexuals. And where was it you said they were going? Hhhhhell?")

Other people think these things too, right?

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Overheard: Not An April Fool, Just A Regular Fool

Here's an "Overheard", for the "I Weep For The Future" category of life (but props and respect go to the quick-thinking / jerkish guy in this conversation. There is hope.).

A girl and a guy, heading from George Brown College - which means they actually graduated from high school.

Girl: Wait, so March has 31 days?

Guy: Yep.

Girl: Every year?

Guy: Yep.

Girl: Since when?

Guy: Since always!

Girl: Ok, but I thought the rule was that if the month's name is short - like March or May or June - it only had 30 days. Big months like November and December have 31 days.

Guy: Uh, no.

Girl: Crap! Please tell me there's a September 31st! I just sent some post-dated cheques to my landlord!

Guy: *Pauses* Just kidding! April Fool's!

Girl: OMG! You totally got me! I was this close to calling my landlord and making an ass of myself!

Girl: *Pauses* Ok, so there is a September 31st?

Guy: Oh, definitely.

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