Postal Systems of the World

There's a leap of faith involved for me every time I put a letter in a mailbox or hand a package over to a post office clerk. I love mailing things but I get way too stressed out worrying that it's never going to arrive at its destination. There's so much potential - so many different places along the way - that my letter could get lost. Even though the track record for my mail arriving is very good (the only notable exception being the package I sent to S. in Salt Lake City during my time in Paris, which included a very long letter I spent a long time writing and thinking about, which never arrived; I was (and remain to this day actually) so disappointed it got lost) I never feel completely confident it is going to arrive.

But clearly stressing out over whether my mail is going to arrive doesn't stop me from writing and sending letters/cards/packages, etc. I love post offices. Once I move to a new city, the post office is one of the very first places I find. I don't like post offices as much in Montreal or Toronto though (not sure what they're like in the rest of Canada)because most of them are in Shoppers Drug Marts or card stores. All of the other stuff - especially shampoo, Advil etc. - getting in the way just doesn't feel right; I want them to be purely about the mail.

In the US and France, I'm pretty sure post offices are always only ever post offices and can't be in drug stores. The post office in Berkeley near the campus was always packed - average wait time to get served was probably 30 mins - and I could not go in there without hearing the post office staff yell at at least one of the customers. Finally in my last year living on Hilgard, I clued in to the fact that the North Berkeley post office was way closer to my apt, way less busy, and that the staff did not yell. I lived about a 10 minute walk from a pretty nice post office in Austin. It was often fairly crowded too, but the staff there managed to keep things moving pretty quickly, and never yelled. There was one employee in particular I especially liked, a man with tattoos all over his arms and a gruff - but still nice - manner. He looked more like he belonged in a motor cycle gang than working at the post office, which made me like him even more.

As with cafes, I loved going to post offices all over Paris. There is a 24 hour post office near the Louvre (see picture below). I only ever went there on Sunday afternoons (when all other Paris post offices were closed) but it was nice to know that if I ever desperately needed to mail something at 4 am, I could. (Side note: I wish Toronto had a really big old post office downtown (or even a modern, new post office anywhere in the city) that was open 24 hours. I think a 24 hour post office is a very practical thing to have.)

I always enjoy my walks to the post office, wherever I'm living. Despite my apprehension about the letter getting lost, it feels good to send it off and complete the process I started when I actually wrote the letter/card etc. One of my favourite memories of Santiago is every Sunday writing letters in my favourite cafe, and then every Monday walking to the post office to mail them. The Chilean post was pretty solid but not amazing. One time, I mailed a letter to A. in Berkeley at the same time as a letter to S. in Bordeaux. Unable to find regular scotch tape, I ended up having to buy this weird tape that was sticky on both sides. I used that tape to make sure S.'s letter was sealed properly, and then somehow A.'s letter must have gotten stuck to it either by me when I was paying for the postage, or by the post office worker. In any event, A.'s letter ended up travelling from Santiago to Bordeaux, where S. received both her letter and A.'s. Thankfully, she stuck a French stamp on it and put it in the mail and it eventually reached A. in Berkeley, but it took a very circuitous route! And is a cool story of a letter almost lost...but then not!

Out of all the postal systems I've used, I think England's Royal Mail is the best; it is definitely the fastest. When I was in London once visiting a friend, I sent a little package to my mom and it arrived in 4 days, which is amazing given it often takes 4 days for a letter to get from Montreal to Toronto. La Poste is pretty good too, and I like how in Paris the mailboxes have different slots for Paris, and then the rest of the world, confirming Paris's position as the most important place in the world :) I'm not that impressed with Canada Post. The stamp prices are always going up, it costs A LOT to send packages to the US or France, and its mail delivery is very slow. Plus, I wish they delivered on Saturdays like they do in the States. The US Postal Service is definitely faster, and way cheaper for packages, although stamp prices rise regularly there too. Since it's cheaper to mail packages there (especially since the packages I'm mailing are usually to friends in the States) whenever I go to the States I try to send my packages from a post office there. The last two late falls (December of 2009 in New York City, and late November of 2010 in DC) I've dragged L. to long lined, stressful and tense post offices just so I could mail my packages for cheaper. Our visits in both cities definitely confirmed to me that the post office in Austin is by far the most laid back of all the ones I've been to in the US.

Sometimes I wish that just for a week (I'm pretty sure I wouldn't want it to be my permanent job) I could work in a post office sorting the mail. I'd love to see all the letters and postcards - where they're coming from, where they're going... It would be so fun. But alas, instead I have to content myself with just making sure that I always visit a post office in whatever new country or city I visit.

The very much alive art of letter writing!

My friend J. suggested recently I write a post on the art of letter writing, and wouldn't he know it but I had already been planning on writing a post about stationery and writing letters! Both posts this month will deal with mail: this one on the actual writing of letters and postcards, and the next one about post offices and postal systems.

First, I don't really think letter writing is an art. Or rather, maybe it is but at least it's an art that everyone can do and everyone can appreciate. I love getting postcards/cards/mail from anyone - whether they just write a few lines or they fill the entire card and write really small. In other words, everyone can be good at it and you don't need any special talent to do it!

It annoys me that some people constantly bemoan the lost art of real mail and think no one (particularly some ones aged 30 and younger) writes anymore. I've read too many articles or blog posts joking about whether people actually still know what a mail box is, where to find envelopes and stamps etc etc. It irritates me because it is not all that realistic in my experience - I write and receive letters/cards regularly and every time I go to post offices, they are usually crowded! And while I'm all for and love the internet and email, I still think there's room for both real and email and I don't like the idea that the internet has to replace all forms of hard copy communication.

If you're reading this, you have probably received a letter or a postcard or both (and hopefully more than one!) from me over the time we've known each other. Writing letters and postcards is one of my very favourite things to do! I am content to sit and write my letters and postcards anywhere, but I do particularly love writing in cafes (like in the picture below). I have to admit I sometimes find sending postcards slightly stressful as on some trips I've had to stay up late at night frantically trying to get them all written. It's worth it though because I love putting down on paper what I've been up to, what I think about the place I'm visiting, etc. I also love filling all the space on the postcard - there's always lots to say and I could probably easily write 2 postcards to every person I send one to!

One thing that has made me happy since I moved to Montreal is that A. and I have been sending each other cards and letters on a regular basis. It's been fabulous to get regular mail and to be able to send it so much too. When I was thinking about writing this post, I realized happily that writing letters has been a part of my life since I was a kid. The summer I was 12 I went to overnight camp for 2 weeks at this camp called Celtic on the Bruce Peninsula. It wasn't right on Lake Huron but it was very close and they used to take us there to go swimming almost every day. Even though I haven't been back to Lake Huron since, it is definitely my second favourite Great Lake (after Lake Ontario of course!) Anyway, instead of just letting you pick up your mail yourself or giving it to you in a quiet way, they made this big deal about announcing mail after lunch. Everyone was in the dining hall and they'd call you up for each individual piece of mail. So if you got 3 letters one day, you had to walk up to the front three times. Practically everyone I knew in elementary school (this was the summer after grade six) went to overnight camp and every summer we would write letters. And that summer we wrote a lot... and so I got mail every day. At the time it was cool but looking back now, I imagine some kids who never got mail must have felt pretty left out and maybe the camp shouldn't have made such a big deal about it. I did feel pretty popular and pretty great about mail though :)

The next summer, when I was 13, A. and I had just become best friends and we spent almost the entire month of July together. We had sleep overs or hung out all the time, we talked on the phone every night, we emailed or chatted online regularly (and those were still the early days of the internet) and we wrote long letters to each other too. (There's something special about sending mail to someone in the same city you live in, I think.) I still, to this day, think it's a sign that I'm truly good friends with someone if, in addition to seeing them in person, we also occasionally talk on the phone (in general I talk on the phone less now than I did in high school), send emails, and write real mail.

The main (perhaps only?) downside I see to real letters is that unlike with email, you can't go back and check what you wrote. But I'm sure there are some who would argue that part of the charm in letters lies with their being lost to us forever as soon as we've written them. Maybe the writing and then sending it knowing you won't ever get to read it again makes it more meaningful? That's not to say that email can't be meaningful too. I've printed out some particularly important ones (and I know others who have done the same) but I think the printing out ties in to what makes real mail extra special - there's something about the tangibleness of real cards, and actually holding in your hands what the other person held in theirs, that is significant.

In closing, I'll write about stationery. It is has become, over the last several years, somewhat of an obsession of mine! It used to be that I couldn't stop buying tote bags, but now that's been replaced with stationery. (It also doesn't help that I now bring my knapsack to school every day since my laptop and all my course materials are too heavy for one shoulder only.) I adore going to paper stores! Avant Card in Berkeley is one of my favourites - I used to go in there all the time, and would, without fail, even when I didn't intend to, buy something. I miss that store a lot! I've found a place I really like in Toronto, which is great, the Paper Place. However, my best experiences with buying stationery have been in Paris and Tokyo. Postcards are readily available in most big cities, especially super visited ones like Paris. But the quality of postcards in Paris kiosks is really astounding. Sure there are the run of the mill Eiffel Tower postcards but there are also really cool, interesting, unique Eiffel Tower ones for sale (see below). And many more interesting more stationery (non-Paris related) postcards too. In fact, those abound everywhere. Walking down the street in most busy areas of Paris you'll pass multiple cool postcard filled kiosks. There is one particular store, near Place St Michel that has rack after rack after rack of lovely postcards. I went a little crazy the last time I was there two summers ago and ended up spending almost $40 on postcards. But it was worth it!

As amazing as Paris' postcards are, I think Tokyo/Japan wins for best stationary in the world! I went to the biggest stationery store in the world (at least according to me) in Tokyo - five floors! And every department store has an awesome stationery section too. One day I want to go back to Tokyo and spend an entire day just looking at and buying stationery. I bought a ton and I thought I was buying too much when I was there last year, but now that it's already running out (A. is the lucky recipient of many Tokyo bought cards) I'm regretting not buying more! Things I like about Japanese stationery: 1. They love putting words/phrases in English or French (and sometimes they don't make that much sense). 2. They have their own versions of "our" (maybe it was really theirs first?) fairy tales. For example, I bought some stationery with a cool Japanese version of Little Red Riding Hood on it, and some Japanese version of Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs stickers. 3. They love strawberry stationery (see below). 4. There is so much of it!!

I hope this post has convinced you (if you needed convincing and hopefully you didn't) that letter writing is very much alive! I'm already looking forward to part two on letters to follow later this month!

Cafe Culture

The best part about the six months I studied abroad in Santiago was this little cafe about a 5 minute walk from where I lived. I went there nearly every day. About 3-4 times per week I actually sat and stayed for a while, and the other days I'd just pick up some bread, cheese and cookies for lunch and then be on my way. I had two favourite times to go: Sunday afternoons and weekdays between 5-6. I always ordered a variation of the following things: mendocinos or mendocinos chicos (those dulce de leche/manjar filled cookies I mentioned in the post on dulce de leche), cafe helado (an amazing ice coffee in a tall milkshake like glass with 2 big scoops of vanilla ice cream and sometimes whip cream on top, see picture below), some other manjar filled pastry, or occasionally bread and cheese. On Sundays, the cafe was open for a few hours in the morning, then it closed from 12-2 and then reopened from 2-6. I would usually go around 2:15 or 2:30, order a cafe helado and write letters.

The cafe was on the corner (which is always ideal, I love corner rooms/corner cafes/ anything that has windows on two sides is great with me!) and had big windows on both sides. My favourite table was right next to the big side windows where I could watch people walk down the street. I almost always went alone to the cafe on Sundays, but during the week I'd either go alone or with C. or L. Unsurprisingly, the women who worked at the cafe knew me. One late weekday afternoon as I got up to leave, my favourite woman who worked there asked me if I was writing a novel as whenever I went to the cafe alone I would spend my time there writing. To this day that memory makes me happy. I never wrote so much in my diary as I did in Santiago. I was unhappy for the a lot of my time there and working through why that was and what I could do about it in my diary was what got me through. That, and C. and L. and cafe helados and manjar, of course. Sometimes there were French people in the cafe too as the French Embassy was about a 10 minute walk away, and I loved when French people were there because I could pretend I was in Paris. Almost all of the good memories I have of Santiago are of sitting in that cafe. Renovations had begun on the cafe just before I left, and when they finished a few months later, L. who stayed in Santiago until December (I left in early August), told me they only served to make the place feel generic. So in that respect I'm glad I never saw the renovations. I wonder if that cafe is even still there, and what it's like now. Do they still sell cafe helados? Do the same women still work there? It's a bit odd to think that it probably only exists in my memory now.

Surprisingly, (to me, anyway) I didn't really have one regular or favourite cafe in Paris. I had favourite cafes all over the city, which I liked because it meant I was usually never far from a place I wanted to go. Having a kir or a glass of wine or a beer after work was one of the most enjoyable and relaxing things I did there. The best part about cafes in Paris (and really anywhere, but I felt it especially there) was that it really made no difference if you went with another person or if you went alone. I could have a fabulous time and then head home (or wherever I was going) feeling content and satisfied whether I'd just spent a few hours talking, or writing/people watching. When L. visited me in July 2007, she wanted to go to Le Dome which was the favourite cafe of Anais Nin and Henry Miller. We spent a wonderful few hours there getting slightly drunk and taking lots of photos (see the wine glasses below). We were also fascinated with this old white hair very distinguished looking man who came in alone all dressed up in a suit with a bow tie, and immediately made himself at home with his crossword puzzle. A year later I was back in Paris and having an hour to kill before meeting a friend, I went in to Le Dome alone for a quick kir. Much to my surprise and joy, that same man was there, again working on a crossword puzzle. A lot had changed for me since I'd been at Le Dome with L. to when I was there alone, and it made me glad that some things - like that old man and his crosswords - were still the same.

When I visited J. in Buenos Aires, we spent probably half (if not more) of my visit in cafes. On 5 of the 7 days I was there, we went to this one particular cafe called Retro right by the Argentine Congress (if you're ever in Buenos Aires, go there!), for hours on end. Buenos Aires, like Paris, has a wonderful cafe culture and sitting there with J. talking, trying to do work, talking, eating these amazing croissants called medialunas which have this delicious sweet glaze and are everywhere in Buenos Aires, and talking some more was so much fun and so relaxing. It also provided a nice peek at Buenos Aires culture. I could have kept going back there every day for at least another week, if not two.

What my trip to Buenos Aires helped make clear is that I'm best at going to cafes when I am on vacation, or when my life is in a carefree, lots of free time, no pressure, no deadlines, nothing pressing phase. Though I took classes in Santiago, I didn't take that many and they weren't a lot of work, so I really did have plenty of time to wile away afternoons in the cafe. Similarly in Paris, nothing was ever so important that it couldn't wait until after I'd gone for a kir (or two...) But since I've been in Montreal, I haven't once gone to a cafe just to sit and hang out. Most of the reason for why not is that I'm very busy with school and I don't get my best work done in cafes - I find all the people/noise/atmosphere too intriguing, and thus too distracting. But, spending hours every day in cafes in Buenos Aires with J. reminded me how much I do love going to cafes, and how I should really try to make time for it in my life. I've already identified a favourite Montreal cafe called Figaro. It is on a corner, has bright big windows, and tiny little tables, and openly acknowledges that it models itself after Parisian cafes (see picture below). I try to go once or twice a month for a meal (I've been for breakfast, lunch and dinner) and I'm determined to go much more regularly, and maybe even actually try to work there in May. Once a person identifies something she likes to do, she should keep doing it. And since I know I love going to cafes, and since I've already even found my favourite cafe in Montreal, I need to start going there more.

Cups of Sugar and other Neighbour Related Things

During her second year in Berkeley, K. moved in to a house on Oregon St., just down the block from Berkeley Bowl. Little did she know when she moved in that a guy named D. lived across the street. They met, they started hanging out, they became (and remain to this day) close friends, and they are my most favourite neighbours becoming friends story. That same year, on the other side of the continent, in a city on a different ocean, L. and 6 other girls moved into the first floor and basement of a house in Halifax. In another happy neighbour story, a group of guys lived on the upper floors of the house, and of course the girls and guys all met, started hanging out, and became friends. Some years after K. and L.'s neighbours turned friends adventures, N. made friends with a downstairs neighbour because they shared a porch and started hanging out on it together. That originally struck me as a cool story... But then I had my own porch in Austin, and didn't start really using it until my next door neighbour moved out (8 months into my living there) and I finally knew I could sit out there without having to run into him! I guess some of us are better sitting on porches either alone, or when already established friends come over.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, not all neighbourly stories are as pleasant as K., D. and L's. This past fall (spring, there), J. lived in a tiny room in an apt in Buenos Aires above an angry and obnoxious neighbour. J. has lived in Austin, Texas for the last 5 years, and though she's originally from the Empire State (with an I Heart NY t-shirt to prove it) she's become something of a Texas girl, with cowboy boots to prove it. In winter, spring, summer and fall, J. loves to wear those cowboy boots. Her downstairs neighbour, an old lady, didn't like them. So persistently, every night, she banged on her ceiling / J.'s floor, yelling obscenities in Spanish to J. and her boots.

Now fortunately, I've never had as mean a neighbour as J. But nor have I ever become friends with a neighbour either! When I moved in to the Hilgard apt in Berkeley, I was already friends with some guys who lived across the street. One time that spring, T. even had to come over and use my shower because he had a date and his shower was not working! I did feel pretty neighbourly letting him shower, which was nice. It was also wonderful when I lived on Ridge Road and N. lived down the street and L. lived right around the corner. But again, those were all pre-established friends. Excluding those situations, with one notable exception which will be detailed below and which only kind of counts as a cool neighbour story, most of my neighbours have been average or below, and either non-memorable or only memorable in a bad way (like for being weird and slightly creepy for example). My current neighbours - a girlfriend and boyfriend - with whom I share a small stairway, and a landing, and one fairly long wall, and a back fire escape which neither they nor I seem to use, are just kind of annoying. It's not that they do anything really bad, except constantly leave the stairwell light on after they've either gone out or are back inside their apt, but overall they just seem pretty uninteresting, and definitely not friend material.

So my only cool neighbour story comes from the six months I lived in Paris in 2007. I didn't know any of my neighbours who lived in my actual building, although I would always say hi whenever I saw anyone on the stairs. But, because my street - rue des Batignolles - was quite narrow, I could easily see into numerous apts across from the road from mine. And, because that lovely apt was a corner apt, I could see into other apts in two separate buildings in two separate directions. (Slightly related story: there was a window behind the kitchen sink in my Hilgard apt so I had a really great and direct view into this guy's (I was convinced he was a grad student writing his dissertation because he was always at his computer) apt. That is, I had a really great and direct view for the month of September, until, somewhere around the beginning of October, he must have become aware of (and uncomfortable with) my presence and began pulling down the blind whenever I came into my kitchen. One time I actually saw him do it - he just reached behind him and pulled the curtain cord without even taking his eyes off his computer screen. It bummed me out a little, but mostly I was just disappointed I only had his covered window (although sometimes I could make out a silhouette) to stare at while I did the dishes.) Unlike that guy in Berkeley, most of my Parisian neighbours rarely shut either their curtains or their shutters. I never once shut my shutters the entire time I lived there, although my roommate did at night to make her room darker. During the winter, she closed the living room curtains at night to keep the cold out, but once it got warmer we usually left the curtains open all the time. As for my bedroom, I only closed the curtains at night, and often on weekend mornings I would wake up, climb out of bed to pull back the curtains, and then get back into bed and read or go online and enjoy the natural light coming in.

Of all the neighbours who I regularly saw in their windows (and there were quite a few) my favourite was this old man (maybe in his late 70s/early 80s? so quite old) who was a fairly permanent fixture at his window. He lived directly across from my apt and one floor up (he was the third floor and I was the second). I saw him looking out all the time, and liked to think he was the self-appointed neighbourhood watchman. Sometimes we'd both be looking out at the same time and though I felt too shy to wave, I always hoped he'd wave to me. But alas, he only acknowledged my presence once. So April of that year was my favourite April ever (which is saying a lot, because until I was 18, April was my favourite month... it was then surpassed by June, but now I don't really have one, which isn't good because I like having favourite things, but I digress...). The weather that month had to be the most perfect weather ever. I'm pretty sure I remember reading in the newspaper and hearing from other people there that the weather was setting record highs for April. It was in the mid-20s and sunny and perfect for almost 3 weeks in a row. Everyone was in a good mood, the outdoor cafes were packed, on the weekends I went to the park and tanned, along with hundreds of other people, it was lovely. One weekday evening, right at the beginning of the heat wave, I was home alone in my apt with all the windows flung open to help with the heat, when a bunch of flies bugs flew in. I stood in the middle of the room, clapping (trying to frighten them out) and shouting "Get out" to them in English, when I noticed the old man from across the way, looking right at me and laughing. I'd like to say I smiled or waved at him, but instead I felt really embarrassed and quickly ran into the kitchen to escape. Sometimes I wonder about him, is he still alive? is he still keep rue des Batignolles up to its high standards? I hope so.

To conclude, I hope I do make friends with a neighbour one day. My ideal would be to find/have a K. and D. situation, but interestingly, K. hasn't made friends with any neighbours since then... So maybe it's a one time thing for everyone? Here's to hoping I eventually get mine!

The Delights of Dulce de Leche

Without a single doubt, the best thing about Chile (but only one of the best things about Argentina, since for that country there are many wonderful things!) is the manjar, called dulce de leche in Argentina, (and I think the rest of the world). It has the same colour as caramel or butterscotch, but it is infinitely infinitely better - better taste, better texture, better richness, and I could go on. I'm lucky that grocery stores (Loblaws in Toronto, Provigo in Montreal) carry it, because it allows me to still have it even when I'm not in South America. The first time I found it at Loblaws, I brought it home and before I had even put it in the cupboard I found myself eating it by the spoonful directly from the jar. After about 4 very big spoonfuls, I managed to put it away. But it was hard!

In Chile and Argentina, desserts (pastries, ice cream) are everywhere, which must be why I came back about fifteen pounds heavier after I studied abroad in Santiago. My sweet toothness goes back a long way. Dulce de leche/manjar features prominently in most pastries sold at bakeries. Within the first few weeks of my six month stay in Santiago I discovered manjar, and then proceeded to spend the following five and a half months eating entirely too much of it. My absolute favourite were mendocinos (called alfajores in Argentina – see picture below, sometimes they put powdered sugar on the outside) which is a two layed cookie with a lot of dulce de leche in the middle. This little café I went to all the time had both big ones and tiny little bite sized ones (called Mendocino chicos, in Argentina called alfajorcitos - also a picture below), of which I used to eat on average four a day telling myself that since they were so small, they really weren’t that bad. At the end of many a long day (or sometimes in the middle of the day) I’d stop on my way home for a little mendocino treat. I may have felt like I didn’t belong in Santiago, and I may have spent far more unhappy days than happy ones there, but when it came to a love of desserts and manjar, I fit right in.

Buenos Aires has the best ice cream of any other city I've ever been to (it also must have one of the highest percentages of ice cream shops per capita of any city in the world), and the main reason I believe that is because of the dulce de leche ice cream. Haagen Dazs also makes a dulce de leche ice cream which consists of a light coloured dulce de leche base with swirls of real dulce de leche mixed in. It's very good, but it doesn't come close to the dulce de leche ice cream in Buenos Aires. For starters, there's the colour. The Buenos Aires dulce de leche is a darker colour (a mix of tan and brown) than the Haagen Dazs, and the colour alone is enough to tell that the ice cream’s flavour is just pouring out. The ice cream is also very rich, but not an overwhelming or too rich rich, instead, it has a richness that is just right. It’s perfectly balanced, and perfectly delicious, and makes a person want to have ice cream every day.

Though I do miss the authentic dulce de leche filled pastries and ice cream of Argentina, fortunately, I have been able to find ways to eat dulce de leche back in North America which do not involve a spoon and a jar. Last year, I began mixing dulce de leche into my buttercream cupcake icing to great success. And for my most recent birthday, I had a dessert party at my apt where by far the most popular dessert I served was a homemade dulce de leche cheesecake. Happily, everyone really enjoyed it and it was the only dessert I didn't have any left overs of (much to my chagrin...) I'm glad it was such a success, and I'm also pleased to have found another way to eat dulce de leche.

Just before I left Berkeley for good, I had a dinner party on the summer solstice at my Hilgard apt where I served (what else??) spaghetti and wine. L. brought dessert and surprised me by baking these wonderful afajores. They were delicious, and such a treat! That was before I really got into baking myself (or rather expanded my baking beyond cake mixes) and writing this has reminded me that I should really either ask L. for the recipe, or search for one online myself. I may not be able to indulge in Argentine alfajores whenever I want, but I can at least try my best to make my own version, and to bring a little bit more dulce de leche into my life.

To Eat In or To Eat Out...

My love of take out food goes way back. During high school on the nights my parents both worked late, they'd leave me money to order pizza, or get Thai food from the little place near our house, or whatever other take out I felt like getting. Looking back now, I realize it never occurred to any of us that I should actually cook something for myself, with some left over for them too when they got home :)

Once I moved to Berkeley, and, after my first year was out of the dorms and in an apt, my cooking forays were very basic: spaghetti and other kinds of pasta, and very occasionally pesto pizza (but on store-bought flat bread). Although, I had had high hopes for my first year living in an apt. Over that summer, L. and I went to this book store near her house in the Beaches and both bought a "How to Cook Everything" cookbook, which I unfortunately lost sometime that year, needless to say before I could cook anything out of it. So other than making spaghetti in Berkeley, I ate out. But luckily, Berkeley had really great places to eat. I wasn't eating gross, unhealthy fast food, I was eating giant salads (yeah Veggie Delight, A. and I's favourite!) at Intermezzo, good Mexican food with the best strawberry juice in the world at Cancun, really great Thai food at Cha Am, gourmet pizza at Cheeseboard, not so gourmet (but still appealing) pizza at Fat Slice, daal or chicken tikka masala and lots of naan (sometimes plain, sometimes aloo) at Naan 'n' Curry, the best aloo gobi at Tandor Kitchen, middle eastern food at La Mediterranee, California rolls at Party Sushi, and the list could go on and on. I often went to these places with friends, or I'd call ahead to order, then go pick it up and bring it back to my apt, or I occasionally ate at the place alone (an art I later perfected in Paris in the winter/spring of 2007). All in all, my eating adventures were really fun! And most importantly, I went to different neighbourhoods, and got to know Berkeley better.

I also very much enjoyed the culinary offerings of Paris when I lived there. Though I probably made my faithful spaghetti a few times a week, I would often just bring home a baguette (or a half baguette depending on how hungry I was) from one of the 3 bakeries on my street, and some comte cheese from the little cheese shop across the street and eat that. Or often I'd get an individual size quiche. They also have a lot of great little Lebanese places in Paris, so I would get falafel sandwiches a lot. I also regularly frequented crepe stands to either get my favourite nutella crepes or, ham and cheese if I wanted a more savoury meal. And of course I ate lemon tarts and chocolate croissants on a multiple times per week basis. And then, as I wrote above, I really perfected going to cafes alone, ordering a salad (most cafes in Paris have decent/good salads) and a kir, and writing letters, or in my diary, or just staring off into space (or discreetly at other people). I went all over Paris eating, and could probably a name a cafe or crepe stand to visit in almost all of the city's 20 arrondissements. In many ways, those days eating (and of course doing other things) in Paris were perfect...

Then suddenly in the fall of 2008, I decided I wanted to cook. Prior to really starting to cook, as I've made clear above, pasta (mostly penne, sometimes rigatoni) and always spaghetti, were the only things I ever made. I've always enjoyed having people over for dinner, but until I was 24, I could only ever serve them one thing: spaghetti. And I got tired of, and embarrassed with, the way I would always almost brag to other people that that was the only thing I could cook. I started fairly slow, but have gradually built up my repertoire of dishes. This past fall especially I got more daring and made many new recipes for the first time, usually to a fair amount of success. All in all, I'm really happy to be regularly cooking and trying out new recipes. It's a lot of fun and gives me a good sense of satisfaction. And I now feel quite confident as a cook, and have hosted many dinner parties with a variety of dishes that are not spaghetti! (Although spaghetti is, and always be, my ultimate favourite food, along with raspberries).

My developing cooking skills and repertoire aside, I firmly believe that a person can really get to know a place through eating out, and consequently I feel like I know Montreal way less than I would if I ate out more. And that's a bit disappointing. Since I came back here after the winter break I have made a point of trying to eat out a bit more, but so far I haven't really succeeded. Although I have been to several new bakeries and have tried their delicious breads, almond, and chocolate croissants. But, I'm still lacking on the restaurant front. When walking to the post office or the grocery store or anywhere really, I always see lots of cute restaurants and cafes which I want to try. My Berkeley/Paris self was the Queen of making sure I tried every restaurant or cafe that caught my eye. I need to get that aspect of myself back clearly! Most people make resolutions to eat out less, but mine is to actually eat out more. I think the key will really be to finding a good balance, and hopefully I can do that in the months ahead, especially once it gets warmer and leaving my apt is more appealing.

Delicious still, but Nutritious no longer!

I have liked Vitamin Water since I was first introduced to it in September 2006. My GRE tutor (I was taking the GRE that October) loved them and thought I needed to try them too! For my first ever taste, she decided I should try the Power-C (called Mega-C in Canada) bright pink one. The actual flavour is Dragonfruit (see picture below) which I don't think I'd even heard of until then. Now I hope I'll one day be able to taste it (apparently they're available throughout Central America) to determine if I like the fruit more, less, or the same as the drink. I sometimes wonder what would have happened had the tutor chosen a different one to give me, as I have become a die-hard Power/Mega-C fan and worry that had she first given me one of the boring yellow or orange ones I would never have tried Vitamin Water again. I've dabbled in a few other flavours, Focus - the light pink one (strawberry & kiwi flavour) which is too sweet for me, Defense (apple & raspberry flavour - both fruits I like but the taste is not good) and S.'s favourite XXX (acai, blueberry & pomegranate), which is pretty good and which I will drink if need be; but ultimately nothing rivals Mega-C for my affection.

I have to admit I've always been pretty smug about the fact that I don't like Coke, or pop in general (although I did enjoy taking the Coke Pepsi Challenge when I was a little kid, mostly because it was fun to a. see which one I preferred (I always picked Pepsi) and b. to get the prizes (usually gum!) they gave out). It's embarrassing, but it definitely made me feel pretty good about myself that I didn't regularly ingest sugary, wasteful calorie filled drinks. My little smug bubble, however, came crashing down recently when I read an article about how Vitamin Water actually has a lot of sugar, and is not that much better than Coke or other similar drinks. Sure, it has some vitamins (in my case, C and B) but it's also not just, as the label boasts "Vitamins + Water". It's not that I ever really equated it with water, but reading that it's the equivalent of Gatorade (a beverage I find pretty gross) disappointed me. Just recently, the Advertising watchdog Agency in the UK told Vitamin Water it is no longer allowed to use the slogan "Delicious and Nutritious" (which was only used in the UK) because the nutritious part is simply not true. There has been a similar case going on in the US as well.

My burst bubble aside, these developments actually just made me realize that I wasn't ever drinking Vitamin Water for any purported nutritional value. Maybe I wasn't aware it had a lot of sugar, but I was not under the impression that it was super healthy for me either. I just like the taste and it's a good way to keep hydrated every day. Recently I had a conversation with J. about how North Americans are obsessed with drinking lots of water and always staying hydrated. I have to agree. My first few years at Berkeley I was astounded at how many people I knew/saw who brought their Nalgene bottles with them everywhere - to class, to the library, for walks, to the movies. Fast forward a few years, and I had (and have) one too, and drink from it every day (although I really only bring it to school). I have definitely embraced this hydration culture, and I think Vitamin Water is just a part of it. People have decided they need to be drinking fluids all the time, and Vitamin Water is just another option. I do fill up my Nalgene with regular water every day, but it's nice to also have another non-water beverage every day.

In closing, I will say that Vitamin Waters are the absolute best drinks for long car rides, bar none. When S. and I drove from Austin to LA, and then from Austin to Nashville the next year, I always liked stopping in little towns in the middle of nowhere along the highway and buying a Vitamin water. It may not have been nutritious, but it was delicious, and it definitely brightened up the long hours on the road.