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Kensington Market

I think it may have been more of a similar-phone-number than a locational factor behind the name...

This willingness to be swept along by chance has been part of This Ain't from the start, down to the store's distinctive name. "I was living in Chicago and Charlie said, 'I had a dream and in the dream I had a bookstore called This Ain't the Rosedale Library, and I think I'm gonna do it.' A year later it was done."

http://www.xtra.ca/public/viewstory.aspx?AFF_TYPE=3&STORY_ID=4599&PUB_TEMPLATE_ID=2
 
*Is* there a Rosedale Library? Methinks the closest equivalents are Yorkville and Deer Park...
 
*Is* there a Rosedale Library?

No, but that isn't the point anyway...right?

This bookstore was started at a time when anti-establishment and counter-culture statements were the rage, to the point of being derogatory, but with some justification.

I find the name out of step with the times now...perhaps even insulting (depending on how you interpret the name).
 
Here's the explanation

A transplanted American, Mr. Huisken started the bookstore in 1979 on Queen Street East, next door to indie music store the Record Peddler, after cutting his teeth as a clerk at the Book Cellar at Yonge and St. Clair. Mr. Huisken got the idea for the name of his own shop after witnessing executives from nearby Imperial Oil coming into the Book Cellar, chomping on cigars and reading the magazines - without ever buying.

The staff used to joke that they ought to put up a sign telling the fat cats that it wasn't the neighbourhood library. The sign never went up. But Mr. Huisken took the line and made it his own, often criticized for doing so. "People don't object to the word 'Rosedale,' it's the 'ain't' that bothers them," he says.
 
Petition-Car to Queen's Park: Cars Suck

With over 4,000 signatures on their petition-car, Toronto activist group Streets Are for People! is ready to deliver their anti-car petition, in automobile and paper form, to MPP Rosario Marchese. Supporters will gather on Earth Day, April 22nd, to push the motorless car in a parade from Kensington Market to Queen's Park.

Streets Are for People!, who aim to raise awareness of alternative uses of our city streets, organized this petition to call upon the Ontario government to redirect funds spent supporting the automobile industry toward pedestrian and bicycle infrastructure, public transit and an inter-city train system. In other words: "cars suck."

Plus, as it says on the windshield of the car, "We want to dance in the street."

The windshield text also calls for more bike lanes, public space and cleaner air. "Cars are a blight on our planet," says Streets are for People! co-founder Shamez Amlani, "They contribute to resource depletion, corporate hegemony, perpetual war, and urban decay."

As it turns out, Queen's Park does not officially recognize petitions on cars, or at least not without proper language. So in addition to the symbolic petition-car, a secondary but official paper petition will also be delivered. The full text and rationale for that petition is available online, where you can also add your signature.

The Earth Day celebrations begin early, on Sunday, April 20th, in Yonge-Dundas Square for a rally featuring the petition-car, followed by a parade and street festival on John St, between Queen and Richmond. The Earth Day parade begins at 1pm at Bellvue Park, Tuesday, April 22nd.

http://blogto.com/environment/2008/04/petitioncar_to_queens_park_cars_suck/
 
"Cars are a blight on our planet," says Streets are for People! co-founder Shamez Amlani, "They contribute to resource depletion, corporate hegemony, perpetual war, and urban decay."

To keep the record straight, Mr. Amlani owns La Palette, a French restaurant on Augusta Ave. in Kensington Market. He makes his living selling food, wine and beer.

As a reminder, all food imported from afar has a calculable carbon footprint based on production and transportation. All locally grown foods have a carbon footprint too, some even greater than those which are imported. Local foods may be grown with the input of petroleum based fertilizers, etc., plus transportation. Even organic foods must be transported using petroleum products.

La Palette has an extensive list of imported beers http://www.lapalette.ca/beer menu.html and wines http://www.lapalette.ca/wine menu.html all of which have huge carbon footprints because of the weight of their fluids and glass bottles, not to mention that they're all produced through industrial processes with discernable carbon footprints. There is not much evidence of local product on the beer and wine menu.

Of course, being a restaurant, La Palette generates refuse which must be picked up, moved several times and processed, as do the recycled imported beer and wine bottles, all with a discernable carbon footprint.

My point is not that Mr. Amlani is a bad person, as he very evidently is not. He is extremely community minded, and I admire him for that. I do feel that he is a little conflicted when he publicly supports the banning of automobiles whilst privately running a restaurant with a carbon footprint much greater than the average citizen's.

I would suggest to Mr. Amlani that all cars, trucks, airplanes, ships, and factories "are a blight on our planet", and yes they all, not just cars "contribute to resource depletion, corporate hegemony, perpetual war, and urban decay".

The solution to pollution is dissolution, but there's no going back for the human species. We're not going to willingly disassemble our social and economic structure. Humankind will ride this puppy until the gas runs out. Meantime, sentient folks should do what they can to change or delay the inevitable. However, banning the automobile? Let's be serious.

"Eat and drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we die."

I know a good restaurant.
 
The birth of a new hot spot

I include this article because Kensington Market's north boundary is College Street, Bathurst on the west side.

http://www.thestar.com/living/article/417518

The College and Bathurst area has gotten little love – until now
Apr 24, 2008 04:30 AM
MATHEW KATZ
SPECIAL TO THE STAR

In the three years I've lived in the area around Bathurst and College Sts., it's been a neighbourhood in flux. The strip of shops, restaurants and bars on College west of Bathurst are a null space – not quite Kensington Market, not quite Little Italy, overshadowed by both.

Lacking any concrete neighbourhood identity, storefronts have changed time and again. With the exception of Sneaky Dee's and a few other mainstays, stores on the strip have appeared destined to turn over within six months. Recently, there's been a marked change in the beleaguered stretch.

Once-failing pubs, greasy spoons and too-cheap-to-survive Chinese buffets have transformed into successful businesses, drawing vibrancy to Bathurst and College at last.

Leading the change is Manic Coffee, which has gained a loyal core of aficionados in less than a year. It opened in September and now past the six-month threshold, it's still going strong.

Owner Matthew Lee thinks it's due to its unique offerings, unlike some of the location's predecessors. "We use equipment that's new to the city and coffee that's never been brought to the city as well," says Lee, who turned the former Cobalt martini bar into a hip café.

Lee's not new at the coffee business. He fell in love with a good cup of joe while working in Vancouver's famous Elysian Room.

Working with a Clover coffee brewer, which brews every individual cup on the spot, Lee is serving up something that discerning java-lovers are proud to drink. For now, Manic is the only place in Toronto to boast a Clover. Despite the exclusive brews, Manic doesn't just draw beaniacs. It's also a popular hangout for students, bike couriers and hipsters fleeing the corporatization of Queen St. W.

Manic is not alone in providing unique neighbourhood fare. Just down the street is Kahawa Coffee House, which offers its own twist on the traditional café, offering smooth African coffee that doesn't often get the spotlight in other coffee shops.

Across the street, Karen Viva-Haynes, owner of gourmet-to-go food store Viva Tastings, offers local, quality and mostly organic cuisine for College and Bathurst's foodies. Her sumptuous, intensely flavoured prepared meals have turned the area into a gourmet haunt, calmer than the bustling outdoor bazaars of Kensington.

"It's almost like tapas here. It's really food art. We don't make the normal things. We make things with local integrity, that make you say `Wow,'" says Viva-Haynes, who has lived in the neighbourhood for years.

Like Lee, Viva-Haynes isn't a novice.

She had a successful booth in the farmers market at St. Lawrence, moving into the space, a floundering Quiznos for months until she opened Viva Tastings in November, 2006.

Experience seems to be the key. Unlike some of the failed locations of the strip's past, most of these new ventures have been started by experienced business people who can survive – and even grow – in the previously beleaguered neighbourhood.

A Toby's Famous Eatery popped up a few weeks ago, in a space that has alternated between being a pool hall and seemingly abandoned storefront.

The folks behind Red Room on Spadina Ave. have opened Nirvana, an upscale take on the darkly lit restaurant/lounge in the space where KOS and Piccadilly used to be. It adds balance to the gruff Sneaky's across the street.

"It's all been very recent," says George Diamantouros, Sneaky's manager for six years and a neighbourhood regular for even longer. "Usually these places just open up and shut down – the strip was very vacant."

The strip is also more a destination, as opposed to a way station for those visiting the Market and Little Italy, something Diamantouros is optimistic about.

"It's becoming less local," he says. "There are new faces every day and we all benefit when new people come. We don't really view the new places as competition."

There are a few dissenting voices in the sea of optimism over the neighbourhood's future. Nantah Rasiah, a manager of Mars Food Ltd., a café that's been at the corner of Bathurst and Bloor since 1951, remains skeptical.

"It's all basically the same. Restaurants are just coming and going as always," he says.

He may have a point. Viva Tastings and Manic Coffee have survived longer than their predecessors, but that's not saying much.

The true test is time and whether the strip can become a true neighbourhood, drawing a sustained group of loyalists and visitors, finally becoming more than just a blank space between Kensington and Little Italy.
 
The world food tour, on foot, on the cheap

The world food tour, on foot, on the cheap

From Mexico to Israel to Jamaica to Vietnam, Toronto's Kensington Market serves up a culinary feast that even the most budget-minded will love

Rebecca Stevenson, Citizen Special
Published: Saturday, April 26, 2008

Fair enough, you can't stomach the expense of a 'round-the-world trip. But that's no excuse to deny your taste buds their rightful vacation allowance. Treat them to a global odyssey in Toronto's Kensington Market, where an international stew of authentic -- and dirt cheap -- ethnic food is on the menu.

Mexican:
It's a burrito bonanza in Kensington, but a savvy gringo makes a run for Perola Supermarket (247 Augusta). At first glace, it looks like a basic food store but from Friday to Sunday it seems as through half of Mexico City's population is crammed into the back for a feeding fiesta. Why? Because that's when a couple of sweet señoritas run their rustic cantina. As you hunch over a freezer (makeshift table, no reservations required) and tuck into Perola's chicken tamale ($2), pork cochinita ($2.50) or deep-fried cheese-stuffed chile relleno ($3), you will wonder what you ever saw in fast-food Mexican. Yes sir, the Taco Bell has tolled.

Chilean:
Don't let the sparse "just moved in today, but heck let's open for business anyway" décor turn you off of El Gordo Fine Foods (214 Augusta). The Segovia family has passed down their empenada recipe for generations.
And like a family tree, the descendants have mated and multiplied: El Gordo now offers 42 fillings, including chicken kimchi, chorizo argentino and beef curry ($2.75 each).
In addition to slightly more expensive empenadas ($3.99), Jumbo Empenadas (245 Augusta) serves up other Chilean delights, most notably humitas ($3.99) -- mashed corn, onion and basil steamed in corn leaves, and sopaipilla ($0.75) -- on deep-fried squash bread.

Israeli:
Alright, bagel. We know you're plain and comfortable, like curling up on a couch in a pair of grey sweatpants. But sometimes you just want to do the splits in gold lame leggings, ya know? Don't you? Er, anyway ... go to Moonbean Café (30 St. Andrew St.) for a boreka ($1.95). Filled with spinach and feta, potato and mushroom or feta and olive, they're essentially flamboyant bagels that have run away and joined the circus.

Jamaican:
There is no doubt about it: the double ($1.25) looks like a McDonald's hamburger that has endured a cross-Canada road trip in someone's back pocket. But give them a double-take: these fried chickpea curry sandwiches have got personality, man! Seductively fragrant and as cheap as it gets in Kensington, Patty King (187 Baldwin) is also a one-stop shop for patties galore ($1.25; beef, goat, callaloo, etc.), homemade ginger beer ($1.35), and yummy bakery fare such as mango butter cake ($1.60). Note no peppermint patty.

Vietnamese:
Kidney beans in a dessert? To North Americans, that might seem as appetizing as steak chunks floating in a bowl of Cheerios, but expect the unexpected at Banh Mi & Che Cali Sandwiches & Sweet Dessert (318 Spadina). Dive tongue-first into a dazzling buffet of Vietnamese treats, usually some combination of rice, taro and/or bean in a sweet creamy sauce (three for $3.50).

Chinese:
Insiders know that Mao chow is both affordable and succulent at The Dumpling House (328 Spadina). Just look for the little window where employees are efficiently crafting the Chinese version of the pierogi. Ingredients include pork, chicken, beef, lamp, shrimp, fennel, chive and sour cabbage ($5.59/dozen, choice of three flavours). Not a shabby joint to take your sweetie for a date. And it might just be the only place you could get away with calling him/her "my little dumpling."

Rebecca Stevenson is a freelance writer living in Toronto.

http://www.canada.com/ottawacitizen/news/story.html?id=2b915411-52ac-42b7-8d4a-13d0854acdca
 
Tall tales and butter tarts

INNER CITY: T.O. IN THE FIRST PERSON
Tall tales and butter tarts
HEIDI SOPINKA
Special to The Globe and Mail
May 3, 2008

'Is there a difference between pastry flour and all-purpose?" a greying goateed man asks no one in particular at the Asian-owned food shop in Kensington Market on Baldwin Street. The Peruvian shopkeep and I look up. "Depends on what you're making," I say.

The goateed raconteur tells us that he is helping an out-of-work confectioner from a heavily consonanted Eastern European town get on his feet. The confectioner, in the spirit of embracing his new country, wants to bake something Canadian: They decide on butter tarts. Culinary historians generally agree that the Canadian tarts can be dated to early-1900s Ontario (evolving out of brown-sugar pies brought to barn raisings and the introduction of corn syrup).

The confectioner's tale led to talk about work, and how important it is to find a calling. Which is why, the goateed raconteur claims, he has decided to devote his time to people whose compasses are broken. (His was once - he cites breakdowns, booze, a broken marriage.)

The pumpkin seeds I'm spooning into a bag scatter on to the floor like a hard rain while my son squirms in my arms. In 2005, in a hot, standing-room-only auditorium, I'd heard Jane Jacobs, tiny, 88, with a hearing trumpet wedged in one ear, ask if suburban sprawl was a sign of decay. She spoke of cities being treated as conquered places and her creepy feeling that "things weren't getting remembered." She launched into our need not to dismiss anecdotal evidence. She gave her example: The butter tart. Medieval cookbooks, she believed, held proof of an earlier incarnation. Somewhere, Ms. Jacobs felt, knowledge had been lost.

I have a weird, the-story-in-it feeling while I relay this to the goateed raconteur. Discussing theories about the morality of work with a street-level stranger perfectly follows the Jacobsian principles of community.

The following week, I see the goateed raconteur on the corner of Augusta Avenue flogging a basket of butter tarts for a toonie a tart and I feel obliged to buy one. I ask about the hard-consonanted confectioner and he looks at me blankly. He continues his monologue, and then I get it. He has probably spent his whole life digging tunnels underneath his potential charms. He was a convincing philanthropist until I saw him sidling up to the young woman with his tall tales and basket of tarts.

More market Lothario than good Samaritan, he has forgotten the basic tenet of allurement: Remember your lies.

The fallen raconteur, it appears, also has an anti-talent for baking. His butter tart is rough and dusty and ends up largely uneaten, a million crumbs at the bottom of my bag. Still, he ignited my own quest: To find out what it was about the butter tart that had Jane Jacobs convinced it was a symbol of something we once knew and have now forgotten.

Since then, I've become an obsessive baker of butter tarts and exchanged a furtive correspondence with the Culinary Historians of Ontario. All of them dismissed my linking butter tarts to medieval treacle-tart recipes brought in the pockets of Scottish pioneers, or to pecan-pie recipes guarded by ex-slaves who crossed the border after the U.S. Civil War. They can only assuredly trace the butter tart back a hundred years, and only to Canada.

Still, I am convinced that, somewhere, a link was severed. And when Jane Jacobs dies, I adopt a kind of magical thinking. If I continue to bake butter tarts adapted from a recipe found in a medieval cookbook and a 1940s flour pamphlet, with flour bought from a Peruvian-Chinese shop in Kensington market, I will be keeping something alive.

http://www.theglobeandmail.com/serv...NERSOPINKA03/TPStory/TPEntertainment/Ontario/
 
http://www.cjnews.com/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=14594&Itemid=86

CJN staffer really was a renaissance man
Obituary
By LEILA SPEISMAN, Staff Reporter
Thursday, 08 May 2008

TORONTO — It’s almost trite to call anyone who is even remotely interesting a renaissance man (or woman).
But I and my colleagues at The Canadian Jewish News had the good luck to actually know such a person.

In the confines of the newspaper office, Eric Layman, LEFT, who died suddenly last week, was a sales representative, writer and proofreader at The CJN, where he had worked since 1974.

Outside, in what he probably considered the “real world,†he was a poet, a creator of science fiction worlds, a thinker, a teacher and a songwriter.

He would arrive at the office – to which he often bicycled in all kinds of weather – dressed in either a beret, set at a jaunty angle, or a squashed hat and a long scarf.
Eric was one of those people who always had something to talk about. Current events. The language he invented for his Star Trek-inspired stories – complete with pronunciation, grammar and sociological justification. The poetry workshops and readings that he both attended and gave. His relationships.

He wanted to know all he could about the history of things and people and places and religions.

But it would be wrong to suggest that Eric was only interested in his own pursuits. He wanted to know all about other peoples’ experiences – the good things and the bad. And he remembered things you told him long after you said them.

When a friend once asked him to come to visit her classes of special needs children, he quickly agreed. They adored him and kept asking when he was coming back.

In many ways, Eric was a throwback to hippie times in the 1960s, when he used to sell his poetry on the streets of Yorkville. Not for him the suit and tie, or the downtown condo. Oh, he lived downtown all right – in an apartment in the heart of Kensington Market.

Every so often, he and I would be scolded for getting so engrossed in a conversation that we would disturb the people around us.

It will be quieter in the CJN offices now. He will be missed.


ALL I NEED OF HEAVEN

I’ll know life’s joys to overflow;
far sooner flames than rust.
Before I go, I’ll share what I know,
though the womb reclaim my dust.

I’ll leave a little joy behind me;
this is my final wish.
This is all I need of heaven,
and no post-mortem bliss.

Let the words I write, inspire,
blades in freedom’s hand,
birds of bright desire,
and rain to a greening land.

I’ll leave the world a little freer;
this is my final wish.
This is all I need of heaven,
and no post-mortem bliss.
In flesh and wind and weather,
in sinew, blood and stone,
I’m meshed with the world together,
yet one to myself alone.

I shall return where I came from;
my destiny is this.
This is all I need of heaven,
and no post-mortem bliss.

In the wombs of stars compounded,
the elements burn and birth.
As our galaxy’s wheel swings round,
we shall return from earth.

From stardust back to stardust,
our destiny is this.
This is all we need of heaven,
and no post-mortem bliss.


Eric Layman, 2007
 
http://www.thestar.com/GTA/Columnist/article/421432

Tom's Place a perfect fit in Kensington

May 05, 2008 04:30 AM
JOE FIORITO
Happy 50th, Tom.

Actually, Tom Mihalik hit 50 a while ago but his clothing store, the iconic Tom's Place, in Kensington Market, has now made the turn.

Two disclosures:

With some few exceptions, newspapermen are not natty. I dress like a bum.

And whereas most of us think the character of this city has been set by Mirvish, Lastman and Lombardi, I would add Tom to the list. He is who we are.

He was in a reflective mood the other day, in his tiny office at the back of the store. He talked of his father, William, the man who started the business in the market.

"He was a peddler in Budapest. He sold used clothing and furniture on the lower side of the river, in Pest; the poor people lived in Pest.

"It was hard for him to sell or trade. He couldn't buy new. He was restricted to selling used. The government looked on him as an enemy of the state ... he was caught selling English woollens, a few metres. He was considered a traitor." Hungary, 1956?

Next stop, Canada.

Tom did not make the trip. "I couldn't travel. I wasn't well as a boy. It took us 12 years to join him."

William kept in touch with the family by letter. Word travels slowly; a boy's imagination flies. "Everyone said, 'Your father owns a huge department store in America.' I'd ask him to send things. We thought he was a millionaire."

And then one day William sent for his family. Tom said, "We ate chocolate on the plane. I'd never been on a plane. The airport was beautiful. My father didn't drive. A friend of his picked us up in a beautiful car. We came to the market. I saw his store."

Kensington had no discernible millionaires in those days; it had a surfeit of junk dealers, live chickens in cages, overripe fruit in bins, and rye bread stacked like cordwood. Tom's reaction?

"I thought, my father is a wealthy man, this can't be our store." If young Tom was disappointed by William's second-hand store, he hid his feelings.

And then we were interrupted.

Tom was called to the front of the store to knock down some prices for a customer. He left me alone. I took notes. On his desk: a jar of jam, a box of melba toast, two pears and a banana, a flashlight, a bottle of club soda, many pieces of mail, some old newspapers; over there a toy sword, two computer monitors with a printer and an adding machine; shirts on hangers, coats on hooks, invoices in boxes.

Tom returned, refreshed.

He said, "My father took me around the market the next day. Everyone knew him, and everyone said hello to me; it was a little like Budapest ... I went to work right away. I was happy to help my father."

Happy? Selling was in his blood. "Even in Budapest, I sold flowers and fruit with my mum. As a boy, I felt comfortable having money in my pocket."

Business prospered in the market. And then one day there was a fire. Tom said, "There was a candle maker upstairs. We had no insurance." He shrugged.

And then he remembered a detail. "My father was going through the ashes after the fire. He picked up a piece of wet clothing. He was going through the pockets when he found something. He said, 'Look, I told everyone I never lost this ring. Here it is.' "

An Indian-head ring. "My father played the ponies. I never asked him where he got that ring."

It's Tom's ring now.

Still to come: the famous haggle.
 
Kensington Market: “There’s now a whole generation of Americans who’ve never seen a neighbourhood like this.â€

Richard Florida

http://www.eyeweekly.com/city/features/article/23665

Chicago appaently had a neighborhood quite similar to Kensington Market, called the Maxwell Street Market I think (which was destroyed in the name of urban renewal in the 1960s I think).
 

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