romanticizing my weekend
4 days of rose coloured glasses
last weekend i went to vancouver for a mix of work and play. a day on set, some time shopping, lots of good eating, and a dash of hockey. the entire trip felt transportational, a much needed infusion of city energy, after six weeks of insular recovery. i find that every getaway i take with zeke feels like a dumb little fairy tale. we make the most of every meal, coffee, and walk through the city - this trip was no exception.
thursday
we arrived in the city and immediately drove to our oldest haunt. a space that has housed some of the biggest life decisions, health revelations, and general news of our adult lives. thank you pizza. philip greeted us with the world’s biggest smile, and we settled into our seats with a chilled carbonic red. i found myself caught in a real polo phase, wearing a red striped cutie with my new go-to (not denim) pants. we started with a parmesan dusted caesar, crisp greens and a salty bread crumb. as pineapple on pizza believers, we dug into a spicy hawaiian, lip- numbing rings of hot pepper cutting through the fattiness of the pork. the crust chewy and satisfying, ever the perfect sourdough tang. a classic margherita followed, as we dipped the slightly charred crust into blue cheese spiked homemade ranch. the crowd dwindled, and we caught up with the owner, devon, who was slinging pies that night. warmth spread over me, the result of coming back to a familiar place, or the wine? we will never know. philip brought us dessert, something i can only describe as deconstructed pumpkin pie. it was whimsical and nostalgic, yet fresh and exciting. we need to have more fun in dining. we drove home, too late given my early call time the following morning, scream singing to hayley williams new album.
friday
i got ready listening to west end girl. i grabbed flowers and coffee for my team, wading through the torrential downpour over to our shoot location. the day was spent on set, shooting with one of my clients, a bronze age. working with a small, all female crew, felt safe and inviting. pivoting from wellness into fashion has completely revitalized me in the work sense, i’m absorbing as much information at every turn. i! love! learning! while physically demanding on my recovering body, there’s no environment i’d rather be apart of on that given day. my most worn black trousers kept me comfy, paired with a vintage button down tied at the waist, and my forever favourite grey tee. i returned to my hotel room in a daze, ordered our favourite burritos + horchata from sal y limon, and watched stepford wives until i passed out.
saturday
unsurprisingly, this day was pure serotonin. the morning started with a trip to annabelle’s, a quaint cafe with the best baked goods i’ve had since paris. i had a membrillo manchego hand pie and a mug of milky oolong. the pastry was flakey and salty, dripping with honey and filled with tangy cheese and sweet quince paste. it poured rain as we sat in the cramped space, the smell of miso ginger cookies wafting from the ovens, mac demarco minding his business in the corner. we ventured to gastown to re-up on some le labo products, then scooted over to neighbour, neighbour objects, and some vintage stores. crossing the street in the rain, a girl told me she was obsessed with my outfit ‘I LOVE YOU’ we both screamed as we passed each other. ‘my god, girls are the best’ zeke noted. sopping wet, i sought refuge in my favourite boutique, one of a few. like a moth to a flame, the girls immediately knew to take me to their flore flore selection, where i scooped up some shirts. we bonded over pilgrim jewelry and the power of a good basic tank. one of the cuties said i was her first follow on substack, if you’re reading this, HI!!! craving carbs, we wandered into dibeppe and warmed our soggy bones with steaming plates of carbonara. i had a moment of bravery and ventured into the sardine can that is brandy melville. by far the most geriatric person in the joint, i grabbed some pointelle and stripes, then hightailed it out of there. driving back to the hotel, we collectively realized that in our entire 11 year relationship, that was the longest we’ve ever gone out for, without me needing to go home and rest. a shining star in the sky of recovery.
after a rest and a shower, we headed out to our 8pm seating at gary’s. i wore my new flore flore top and my uniform pants. the rain was no match for my vintage trench or loafers. we drank gin and tonics, legs pretzeled into each other at the bar as we entertained one another. hot rye rolls appeared in front of us, along with a sweet, salty butter that was embedded with jewels of caramelized onion. a kampachi that was littered with compressed apple cubes and fatty hazelnuts followed. heirloom tomatoes and the ripest plums were next, resting in a fish sauce jus that redefined the word umami. shiso adorned the dish, zeke’s eyes rolled to the back of his head as he savoured forkful after forkful. the dish felt like a final salute to summer. rain drummed against the pavement outside as we sat pressed against each other, the windows fogging with every passing moment. we transitioned to orange wine and out came the yorkshire pudding. chanterelles sourced up island, swimming in sauce. fatty and rich, yet light and chewy. HOW? gluttenous and glorious, all at once. we talked about upcoming travel plans and our families and how proud we were of each other. there’s no conversation like date night conversation. we fell into fits of laughter, effectively scissoring each other at the bar top. the crowd thinned and we were soon two of six in the restaurant. we bonded with our server (classic) and she handled my many questions with ease and excitement (was chinese five spice used in this pickle brine???). protein was next, arriving on a silver tray. a dish so flavourful it changed my mind about tube-shaped meat. made in house, one massive chicken sausage sat on the plate. it was tender and juicy and freckled with chunks of jalapeno, then bathed in a red fox cheese sauce. finished with a side of collard greens, it was fall comfort in sausage form. about ready to burst, we enjoyed a mid meal cigarette, rain thrumming around us as we recapped the meal thus far. volleying perspectives like two sportscasters, we ran through the dishes. the service! the tomatoes! the wine! the tomatoes! the tampon bouquet in the bathroom! the tomatoes! we were both giddy, vibrating with excitement. how lucky am i to be with someone who finds the utmost pleasure in the same things i do? nothing bonds us like a well-made restauarant experience. the final savoury course was a seared bavette steak, served with a cherry tomato demi glace and shoestring fries. i think i experienced my first bar-side orgasm. we collectively moaned, and i should have felt embarrassed, i know. alas, who cares about trivial things like sex noises when you’re eating the best steak of your life. the night ended with an aperitif soda and a sensational fig leaf creme caramel. we bid a forlorn farewell to our server (have fun in paris, london, and spain!), and ambled back to our car. dionne blared from the speakers, as we coasted, full-bellied, down the rain stained road back to our hotel.
