Give Me Some Elbow Room Please!

I recently had a good friend of mine from out of town come and stay with me for a few nights. He used to live in Vancouver, in fact, we went to elementary school together. In just a few short years, we will have know each other four decades—yikes! Naturally, when past Vancouverites come back here to play, they want to visit some of their old haunts in this gorgeous and somewhat unique city. David had a few requests of sights to see and places to go, but the one thing that was on his “must do” list was to have breakfast at The Elbow Room...and as soon as he said it, my face lit up.

It all started with two gentlemen (dare I say), Patrick Savoie and Brian Searle, who created a bustling little restaurant with delicious food at reasonable prices. About 13 years after they opened in 1983, they moved to their new location, on Davie St. between Seymour and Richards, with their loyal customer base in tow, still serving up delicious feasts for breakfast and lunch as they did 30 years ago. I hadn’t been there since the late 80‘s / early 90’s when it was will over on Jervis St. in the heritage building (it was the first mayor of Vancouver’s house incidentally), so I was all over the idea.

So why so much fuss over The Elbow Room? How is this restaurant any different than the rest, and, why would David absolutely NEED to go there? Let me tell you why: they are the only place where outside of having a fantastic meal, you will have the most fun getting some friendly abuse from your server AND you can give it back as well. The menu is peppered with clues that this is somewhat of a unique dining experience, and if you don’t get the clues, you’ll figure it out soon enough via the witty servers or with Patrick and Brian (just an FYI, Patrick is the bigger trouble-maker of the two).

My first experience was in the late 80’s when as soon as you walked through the door, you were told to find yourself a table, get your own coffee, and if you didn’t eat your ENTIRE plate of food, you had to make a donation to the charity they supported. Fair enough—I can manage finding a seat and coffee, but finishing a gigantic breakfast pancake that was the size of my wall clock at home was a little challenging. Yes, I did ante-up a little cash in the end, but all for a good cause. Besides, what’s a small donation when you can have a delish meal AND have all this amazing free entertainment? I also got a full-on mocking in front of the whole restaurant because I couldn’t finish my monstrosity of a pancake—naturally, they went with “What’s a matter, it’s too big for you?”. Yep. ‘Cause that’s how they roll.

Flash back to modern day, and David and I gleefully (meaning we may have skipped from the car to the restaurant) made our way into the restaurant that fateful Sunday morning. Being the popular place it is, you can expect you may have to wait a tad for a table, but we lucked out that morning. Immediately, we were engulfed with the hustle and bustle of the servers while taking in the ample nostalgia on the walls. The hostess was gracious, and happily seated us, letting us know our server would be along any moment. We sat down and all I remember saying to David was, “What the hell is this? How come she was so nice? Are we in the right place?”. So the server comes along (she was actually a really cool girl as is all the staff there), and she’s all pleasant and stuff, she takes our order then walks away…and my jaw is on the ground. I came here to be insulted g*d-damn it! And I am older now and I can dish it out WAY better than when I was in my 20’s!

Brian, one of the owners, was the person who brought us our food, which was to die for by the way—I had the French toast—huge and delicious.  He put our plates down with a smile and says he will bring me some syrup. David could see me seething—I just couldn’t take the niceties anymore, so when he came back, I said in a loud, stern tone, “Well it took you long enough old man”. He paused for a moment, and came right back at me basically telling me to stuff it, but in a more direct, non-PG kind of way. AH-HA! Finally, the restaurant I know and love! Well, it just went from there. Then the server got in on it, and others tables around us too—although, I may have inadvertently scared a few people who did not catch on to the gist of how this place works.

If you have not been yet, I would highly recommend a visit—it’s very addictive. You will have a great experience and support a local restaurant that will make you a wonderful meal at a good price, with plenty of friendly abuse thrown in for good measure, if you so please. The main reason they are tops in my book? For their long standing, generous support to A Loving Spoonful, and for truly believing that no one with AIDS should ever go hungry.

In the end, David and I had a blast while eating a fabulous breakfast (that I did finish this time but I still made a donation anyway), throwing around friendly insults and frightening other patrons—now that’s a breakfast!

http://www.theelbowroomcafe.com

From One Canuck to Many

I had the pleasure last night to be invited to the hockey game at Rogers Arena where our beloved Vancouver Canucks were hosting the Calgary Flames. Unless you’re a season ticket holder (or friends with one) or have access to a corporate box, the tickets aren’t so easy to come by unless you’re willing to pay the large price tag attached. I usually go to one game a year, and this was the one for 2014.

I’m a Vancouverite, and have been all my life, but most of all, I’m Canadian. And to be Canadian is to not only enjoy but to also be proud of our national sport--hockey. I believe that to be a globally accepted concept given we just won Olympic Gold for both the women’s and the men’s teams in the recent 2014 Winter Olympics in Sochi.

So on a glorious, rainy evening after working a long day, I stepped out with my good friend Sheila to see the game. Rogers Arena is smack on the border of Yaletown and Downtown in Vancouver. Ah yes, Yaletown--an interesting part of the city and an area that I instantly become directionally challenged in as soon as I enter. Given the insane torrential downpour, we opted for the ridiculous $40 cash parking below the arena (parking is usually much cheaper around the stadium). Funny how when I went to the KISS concert it was only $25…whatever.

I decided to wear my Markus Naslund No. 19 jersey--yes, an original on-ice jersey that you could fit two of me in, but it doubles as a handy top and a coat all in one thanks to its sturdy polyester material (it’s like a little oven in there). I wasn’t alone in my attire--sure enough, as soon as you enter the seating level of the arena, it’s just a sea of chaotic blue. We were already late thanks to the traffic, so we had missed the anthem and the pre-game show, and arrived just 5 minutes into the first period. Sheila had amazing corporate seats--lower bowl, 5 rows up from behind the Calgary net--it was fabulous. It was certainly much easier walking down those stairs in my riding boots versus the 5 inch heels I had on to see KISS!

To be clear, I know enough about hockey to understand the language, the terms, the calls, and whether to jump for joy or shout in anger. I know the players, and which ones I like...based on my terms, such as how cute they are and if they can fight. Take Kevin Bieksa for example; an awesome defenseman, a great fighter, and one very good looking guy. He’s my favourite. Stats? Not sure, but whatever he’s doing, he’s doing a great job of it. I vote for a no-touch jersey-less exhibition game some day *sigh*.

So you noticed I mentioned fighting--now, that doesn’t mean that I’m a fan of violence, but sometimes on the ice there is just cause to make a statement and that statement can only be made through a good punch or two. Besides, the refs usually break it up fairly quickly anyway. I remember taking my friend Hedieh to a game once--it was her first time seeing a hockey game live. I was a little nervous because she had never really seen “that” side of me. We were having a nice, quiet, civil conversation, and all of a sudden one of our players was pulled down with no call against the other team and a fight broke out. Well, no sooner was I talking about afternoon tea when I was on my feet with the rest of the crowd shouting obscenities at the referees. I sat back down after a minute after almost losing my voice, to simply carry on my nice conversation in a much more calmer tone, as if nothing had happend, while Hedieh just looked at me horrified.

I always am interested to see who is sitting around me in my section--that can make or break a game as a spectator. This one time, I was in one of the sections in the upper bowl (it’s usually madness up there), and by the time the game was done, half of the people in the section has been removed--but boy, was it a good time.

Our section this time was pretty quiet--well, there was the guy with Tourette’s Syndrome a few rows down from us that had a lot to say.  I was impressed by the fact that no one gave him a hard time--it was nice to see given mental illness is not always so easily understood.  Then there were the two children (sans adults) sitting in front of us, so I felt I couldn’t be my usual “x-rated-non-child-friendly” self. Lastly, there was the fellow sitting right next to me (I found out later his name was David), who in the third period, was getting calls from his 8 year old daughter, TaylorAnn, trying to figure out where her Daddy was sitting in the arena. We did make it on camera (you could see it on the jumbo-tron), so I suggested he stand up and wave when they came down the ice and the camera panned in our direction. And sure enough, I could see Sheila and myself (I was all hair--hey, it was raining out), all thanks to David, who oddly was the only person in the section wearing a solid red sweater (mmm...kind of Calgary-ish if you ask me). I would like to personally thank David for being the crazed guy in the red waving madly for no reason (that’s how it looked to everyone else in the arena) because it helped my Mom find me too, which then allowed me to make a call to her to stop all her incoming calls, saying “Where are you? I can’t see you? Are you sure you’re there?”.

Watching the game in the arena versus at home is totally different--there’s no announcer giving a play-by-play. It kind of sucks in a way, but then hey, you’ve got those uniformed hockey players right there in front of you. I was surprised how many people there were not really watching the game but just having a lot of side conversations through the whole game. When there’s a break in the game between periods, they throw on some music and get people to do dance-offs or have the little tykes from Tim Horton’s Hockey on the ice to play their game (it was just too cute). Because I’m not the least bit shy, I usually do whatever I can to get on the jumbo-tron, but, thanks to kids directly in front of us and the heavy meal I ate before the game, I wasn’t in usual form. There was one Valentine’s Day where I was stood up by one of my guy friends who was supposed to go to the game with me, and I sat next to a couple who felt sorry for me and felt alchol would be of help. Well, eight Smirnoff Ice later, and you can better believe I got on camera. One thing that was really cool during this game, was an interview they did with a lady who was celebrating her 93rd birthday! The entire arena sang happy birthday to Violet--neat. Incidentally, she happened to be in our row, so we got to personally talk to her--she was amazing for 93!

As I mentioned at the beginning, this game was against Calgary--Vancouver’s arch-nemesis. I’ve been to few of the games against Calgary, and it was always enjoyable to get the section I was sitting in to sing anything loudly enough that made Miikka Kiprusoff (Calgary’s long-time famed goalie) get off his game. Well, Mr. Kiprusoff has since retired and has been replaced with a young fellow, Joni Ortio, who, even while I was in prime seating, was just too young and innocent looking to make fun of--no one wants to see a goalie cry. I did happen to find a second-favourite player...No. 29, Tom Sestito. There’s a nice 6’5” player who looked like he could bowl through anything, and hey, he’s cute too. His name is difficult to say and made me crave tortilla chips, but when said with a Spanish accent, it works quite nicely. 

There’s no question that all these men have talent, and watching them play is like watching a finely choreographed dance (most of the time). It is truly an experience being there, seeing it all happen, especially when they win (which they did that night, 2 to 1). I will add my two humanitarian cents by saying that it does sadden me that society places such a huge spotlight on this form of entertainment along with rather ridiculously large pay cheques. It’s tough when you think about how we don’t even pay our doctors who save people’s lives a fraction of what a professional sports person or actor/actress gets paid. Do I watch movies? Yes. Do I attend an occasional hockey game? Absolutely. So I suppose I could be called a hypocrite then, but it certainly is some food for thought. 

Perhaps it’s best to look at all the good that comes from the support we give our hockey team--the charitable organizations like Canuck Place, and all the support our Canuck players personally give to our children in need who are eternally grateful. Even the joy that Fin, our Canuck’s creepy orca-headed-man-mascot-guy (they should just give him a full orca suit already), brings to the kids--whether it’s in a hospital or in the arena.

Thank you, Vancouver Canucks, for the smiles and fun--your fans love you. Now win the f*cking Cup already please.

My New Furry Bundles of Joy...aka THE FELLOWS

In July last year, my beloved cat Dexter passed away and my home felt empty and lonely without him. The time was right in December last year to fill that void, so I popped on to the net to see how things looked. I will say that I struggled with the thought of not going to a shelter--it’s not my style to not go to one, after all, that’s where most of my animals in the past had come from, and will again someday. This time, I wanted to do things differently.

I wanted a kitten--but a unique one. After a little research, I discovered the lynx breed was for me. Initially, I contacted a fellow in Alaska, and when he sent me pictures of an actual full desert lynx kitten (he was only 4 months old and already 50 cm from nose to tail!) that was playing with a live porcupine, I had to decline. I would like a pet that won’t eat me as a late night snack while I’m sleeping, please. I eventually found Trilhouette Heritage Farms (http://www.trilhouetteheritagefarms.com), run by two wonderful ladies that breed domesticated lynx cats. I drove all the way out to Mission--eek--it’s far, but well worth it, because as soon as I walked through the door and saw Merlin for the first time, I knew he was mine. I’ve always had black cats in my life since I was little, so why would my 40’s be any exception? He was a gorgeous, black desert lynx who stared up into my eyes when I picked him up. Yes, he was the one. He wasn’t ready to come with me just yet, and I was taking a trip to see my Grandparents, so we agreed that the beginning of December was perfect timing.

When I returned from my trip, out to Mission I went again, this time with my Mom in tow. My parents have always been part of big events in my life, and this was no different. The intention was to only get one--Merlin--but I ended up coming home with two. Magi was the other black kitten there--they were from two separate litters and two different breeds (both lynx)--he was so sweet and appeared to be taking care of Merlin. He would affectionately come over to me, rub up against me, and look at me with those big, adorable eyes. How could I do it--leave the last one behind when he was so diligently looking after his little friend and working his magic on me? And so, with a stunned look from my Mom, I packed them both into the cat traveller. What can I say, I went with my gut. As a point of interest, it takes MORE than two cats to make one a crazy cat lady, just incase you were wondering.

And home we drove from Mission that night, bringing them into their new home, or, as they would call it if they could, Disneyland. You have to see my place to understand that these cats, which are part wildcat, could see it as a curious paradise--plants and trees everywhere, nooks and crannies of all sorts in each room...you see my point.

The first night.

The first night I camped out on the sofa so they could just settle in the one space versus having a plethora of rooms to create mischief in. And, after they had a good sniff around, to sleep they finally fell, together in the little bed I bought (remember, there was only supposed to be one).

These guys are special--they are each a mixed breed of domestic cat and jungle cat or bobcat. Merlin is a desert lynx and Magi is a highland lynx. The are both black melanistic lnyx which is a rare colour--they have really neat ghost spots that can only be seen in the light. They also both have polydactyl feet (Merlin on all four and Magi on his front), essentially giving them little hands, if you will. Given their breeds, they will grow to an above-average size relative to the typical domestic cat--about 18 to 20 lbs each. I knew this going in, so that means I have no right to complain one day when I have 40 lbs worth of cat trying to take a nap on me. Incidentally, they have grown exponentially since I got them...it’s a tad worrisome.

Magi having a snooze.

What amazing little personalities they have! Magi is true to his name--he is the protector, the watchful eye--he is graceful, majestic, and is a little more wound up. He has a good healthy appetite, and refuses to be manhandled. He watches over Merlin, cleans him on occasion, and will steal food and treats from him in a heartbeat. Magi also likes to stalk and kill his treats before batting and chasing them around the house, then finally devouring them. If you decide to infringe on his feast, he will growl full-on, which, when I heard that the first time, I was a little concerned. 

Merlin having a stretch.

Merlin is the laid back boy--he’s my Dexter re-incarnated. He rubs his gums on everything, especially my computer, he tries to escape out the front door every chance he gets, and he and I have hugs each morning, just like Dexter and I used to. He’s a bit clumsy and does not have the poise or prowess that Magi seems to have--he’s just a cuddly ball of fur.

They are certainly living up to the cat-like nature of destroying my bath time by making sure I am nicely settled in my beautifully scented bath first before each taking a big sh*t in the litter while I am helpless in the tub. They are definitely nocturnal like most cats, and in such a short time, have already mastered the art of running across my face in the middle of the night routine. Sitting over my breathing passages will be next I’m sure.

Together, they spell trouble with a capital T. I knew that going in--they would keep each other company, in good times and bad. The fact that nothing has been destroyed in my home as of yet (and we’re going on to month No. 3) is a miracle, or the best is yet to come--we’ll see. They have an over-abundance of toys that light up, squeak, etc. and they are so much fun to watch. It’s so good to know that all the money spent on toys becomes redundant when you can throw down a bottle cap or a brown paper bag that cost nothing and it’s way more exciting than the expensive toys. And anything can become a toy--including my Betsey Johnson rings, so I found out. The breeders did a fantastic job training them to scratch on the scratching pads, so my furniture is safe from their very sharp little dagger-like claws (fingers crossed). I have yet to venture into the territory of attempting to trim them--it needs to happen soon though. Apparently to them, my hands are fun things to play with while I’m sleeping--not so easy to explain to clients the next day when it looks like I don't know how to use my cutlery.

My home feels alive again, and I couldn’t be happier. Am I seriously sleep deprived and concerned for my overall well-being at night? Yes, I am. It doesn’t matter though--having these two beautiful creatures, to love and take care of is a joy all of its own. I believe in life being able to connect with life--no matter what species--the animal kingdom demonstrates that to us all the time. I feel lucky that I’ve already established an amazing connection with Merlin and Magi (aka: The Fellows)--one that I know will last a very, very long time.