A Toast to 007

Guess this should have gone up before the likker stores closed, but here's to a sparkling New Year.

Fave Canadian bubblies:
Trius Non Vintage. Usually $24.95, excellent and consistent Canadian sparkling wine from the Hillebrand/Peller conglomerate. If you're ever in Niagara-On-The-Lake, make sure you get a tour of their Brut cellar.

Henry of Phlegm Catherine Rosé Brut. The prettiest goddamn wine in Canada. $30. Excellent breakfast selection, too.

Cipes from Summerhill in British Columbia. Particularly for the new agey among us who like their bubbly aged in a pyramid... Tried one of their premium sparklies with icewine dosage a few years ago. Normally Sheena prefers brut, but a nice treat.

The Real Stuff:
Piper Heidsieck Red Label is my pick if splurging is in the cards. Remember the good old days when it flowed freely in the Air Canada Maple Leaf Lounge. That was before bankruptcy and the Canadian takeover....

Veuve Clicquot. A favourite among litigators, but surely not Quebec retailers... Always the first thing tasted whenever Sheena visits the Ottawa Food and Wine Show. And a thoughtful thank you gift after a tough week at the office.

The Yanks:
Anything from Domaine Chandon in Napa. Brings back lovely memories of a kick-ass patio lunch at the winery a couple of years ago with good friends. Oysters with champagne sorbet... washed down by a Reserve Brut. Can't go wrong.

Schramsberg. Hard to find in Canada. One of the oldest bubbly producers in Napa region. Wines aged in creepy 19th century caves blasted into the side of the mountain. Must tour if in the area.

Gruet especially the Rosé. Even though the tasting room guy was an asshole, really liked the good value bubblies at this New Mexico (who woulda thunk it) winery.

And what will Sheena be sipping when the clock strikes 12? Likely the Segura Viudas, one of the top end Spanish Cavas. A lovely looking bottle, and a damn nice Christmas gift.

CNN Reporting....

That Saddam Hussein's execution is imminent. That's rough, man.

Smelly Fingers

Sitting at the Dakota Tavern tonight and Sheena finds herself subconciously sniffing her fingers all night. It all started earlier in the day, getting chilled to the bone sitting too close to the door at The Cadillac Lounge watching Canada kick US butt during the second round robin day of the World Junior Hockey Championships. Needing to get warm. So decided to make some homemade French Onion Soup.

Here's Sheena's recipe. Can't remember what book I originally found it in. Have been kind of winging it for the last few years.

1. Get 4 large, or 6 medium sized onions. I like to mix purple, white and yellow or Spanish ones up a bit. Whatever is under the sink or on sale, I guess. Peel Them. If you find a soft mushy one, THROW IT OUT before attempting to cut it. Gag.

2. Slice the onions as thin as you can. Paper thin slices that are transparent. Take a break as needed to rinse your hands, knife and cutting board with cold water. Think about Gunter Grass and ponder the soul-destroying nature of emotional repression during the holiday season.

3. Warm up some olive oil in a big heavy pot. Throw in the sliced onions. Throw in a couple (like, 4 or 5) garlic cloves. Minced.

4. Cook over medium heat. Probably 20 minutes or so. Cook the onions down until they are mushy and somewhat carmelized. Stir to make sure they don't get all stuck to the bottom of the pot.

5. In the mean time, prepare approximately 8 cups of beef stock. At this point, Sheena leaves you to your own devices. Homemade, OXO Cubes, No Name boullion in a can. Each to their own taste. I used OXO. Just leave it on the side of the counter for now. Don't forget to stir the onions while you decide which pot to use for the broth.

6. When the onions are cooked into mush and are lightly browned, add about 2 tablespoons of flour. This will provide a bit of thickness to the soup, and a bit more browny colouring.

7. Once the flour is mixed in and starting to lightly brown, pour in the beef stock. Mix it up. Throw in a couple of bay leaves.

8. Let it simmer for 30-40 minutes. I added some fresh ground pepper. Salt to taste, depending on how salty the broth is if you used cheap artificial stuff.

9. Near the end, I like to throw in a shot of cheap brandy that someone with no taste gave you for a stocking stuffer. None in the house this year, so used a couple shots of Thirty Bench Sherry. Don't know if they still make it though, since acquired by Peller, so maybe find another one.

10. Over on the side, toast some baguette to use as croutons. I slice up three slices per bowl and put them in the toaster. In retrospect, probably better to toast them under the oven broiler. Don't worry, we unplugged the toaster first to dig out the one that fell through the cracks. Or maybe next time I'll just slice them thicker.

11. Spoon the soup into thick heat resistant bowls. Float the toasted croutons. Top with cheese. Normally I like a mix of cheeses, but this time used just Swiss because I left the block of it too close to the stove during cooking and it was getting soft and sweaty and figured I needed to use it up.

12. Broil until cheese is bubbly and starting to brown at the edges.

13. Figure out how to get rid of the onion smell on your fingers for the rest of the night.

How to Have a Bachelor's Christmas

1. Purchase a turkey in a box. The President's Choice EZ-Carve is a good example of this. It includes a plastic pouch of gravy concentrate (just add hot water and stir!) as well as pre-stuffed stuffing. Ignore rude comments from guests when they ask why the turkey has no bones. Pretend to not hear the tangential discussion about industrial breeding practices and whether in fact if agricultural science has successfully cross-bred slugs and turkeys to create a slurkey that is tender enough to be carved with just a steely intentful glare.

2. Remember that $15 dollar cheeses DO NOT GO INTO THE FRIDGE just because they're at room temperature and we aren't starting the munchies for another 30 minutes.

3. Dishes used for just transferring clear liquids from one location to another do not actually need to be washed. Just shake 'em a bit and put them back into the cupboard.

4. While you may get 'oohs' and 'ahhs' with the professional presentation of dark chocolate/fruit fondue for dessert, the real post-meal entertainment will be smelling the blue gel fondue fuel. Discussions will follow the napalmesque path to its unfortunate conclusion. (Remove pets from the room). Compare the relative size of the dead spot you feel behind your forehead. Explore the possible range of ignition sources should a SuperSoaker be available.

5. Be careful when seating winos at the table. Particularly when two wine drinkers with fiercely nationalistic leanings are in the room. Remind the other guests that Robert Parker doesn't use tasting expressions like ass-crack, dingo-piss, goalie cup or eau de kangaroo pouch.

6. It is encouraged to respect other cultural traditions, so after the 8th bottle of wine, bring out the candles and build your own interpretation of a menorah.

7. It is often recommended to invite at least 1 female guest to ensure that conversations that veer too far down the path of family amputation stories, military arcania, mass multiplayer video games and/or Sci-Fi Cons can be brought back into the realm of non-nerdity in preparation for any possible chance of gettin' some on New Years Eve.

Merry Christmas to All Sheena's Favourite Bachelors. And thanks for a great night.

Next Year: Turducken, done redneck garage-sized deep fryer style somewhere in south Georgia...

Sheena's Parkdale Christmas Tree

Spending her first Christmas in Toronto, away from the hubbub of the big family celebrations back home in Winnipeg, Sheena found it difficult to get into the spirit of the season. Pissing down rain, no snow, too green, suckass commute cutting into any shopping time. Needed to snap out of a mood and get happy, dammit.

Figured the best place to start was with a tree. Sheena has not put up a Christmas tree in about a decade. But this year, it was needed. Wanted.

Horrid cold rainy evening last night, so didn't feel like wandering too far. We had passed a store earlier in the week with what seemed to be a decent selection, so went back there. They even sold stands. Rock on.

The big puffy trees started around $40, and quite frankly, I've never really liked the show-off kind of tree. Trying to find something a little more low key. Not too big, just nicely proportioned. Sheena stood around under the umbrella, pointing to suitable candidates while El Chaperone and the corner store proprietor scurried around, soaked to the bone. Shivering, hands numbing.

When the right candidate presented itself, grabbed it. WITH stand included, about 35 bucks. Good work gents. Hauled the tree upstairs. It was still a bit wet. Thought it unwise to attempt to put the lights on it at that particular moment, so stuck it in the tub to dry off.

Later in the evening, went back into the bathroom. I knew we'd brought trouble home. Try to do a good deed for our poor old skinny unloved Parkdale tree, and we find its old discarded needles all over place. Realized it needed more drying out than we anticipated.

Saturday morning rolls around, and it's up to Sheena to decorate. Thank God Mom had sent a care package with a few decorations. Including some from when we were little. Ran a bit low on garland and lights. And the big box of brand new gold balls had no hangers. Dammit. Scrounging around for thread or something. Nothing. Then opened up one of the bottom drawers in the bathroom and EUREKA!!! A whole drawer full of Mardi Gras Beads. And dental floss.

Christmas was saved.

Oh, the memories. I think I remember how I earned each and every one of those strands.

Bleu Christmas

Two more finds at the The Cheese Boutique tonight as Sheena tried to beat the weekend Christmas foodie rush. Never leaving the building anymore without claiming sovereignty-association over a big old hunk the now-staple Bouq Emissaire. "Can you give me an extra runny piece"? Sheena pleaded.


Two Quebec bleus of note ce soir: The "Ciel de Charlevoix" - creamy raw cow milk blue cheese. Very faint aftertaste of hockey bag sock, but nothing overwhelming. Would get it again. Nice texture, and was in a mood to show solidarity with poor Michael Schmidt.

Then a thick slice of new favourite the Bleu Benedictin. Cheese Boutique ages it a bit before they sell it. Extra creamy and tasty, without being too stinky or sharp. Also available at Max's Market in Bloor West Village. Though last time Sheena was at Max's they didn't have the rabbit liver pate she really really likes. Sucks.

Nibbled on a small quality assurance slice of each this evening while grilling the lamb saddle steaks. Vino du nuit was a 2002 Sandstone (13th Street) Gamay Noir. Rescued from a secret office storage closet last weekend in Ottawa. How Sheena could have forgotten about 5 cases of primo VQA is beyond me. Old age, I guess.

The Dakota Tavern: New Spiritual Home? - update

Word of mouth travels quickly along the the Ossington corridor and the new kid (2 weeks and counting...) is developing quite a buzz. After hearing recommendations from staff and regulars at The Communist's Daughter and Sweaty Betty's, moseyed up to the corner of Ossington & Dundas W to check out The Dakota Tavern.

Oh how glad we did... "A labour of love" was the term used a couple of times by the co-owner and very hospitable bartenderess. A fine eye to detail is evident, and we had great fun listening to their trials and tribulations battling the legacy of orange and baby blue colour schemes left behind by the previous Trinidadian-Portugese club owners.

This new interior reminded Sheena of some of the classic hotel tavern bars out on the Prairies, the kind of dark-wooded-dim-lighted obscure gem you'd find on the wrong side of the tracks in the town where your mother grew up. It looks perfectly authentic and I never would have guessed it hadn't been down here for fifty years.

Initial music lineup (check out the "Listings" tab on their site) looks like a hoot. The perenially precious Petunia will likely draw Sheena out on Monday night. If only I knew what time the tunes started....

Looked like an excellent beer selection, both bottled and on tap. Didn't query the wine list. That'll be for next time. Kitchen is scheduled to get into full swing in January, but they're offering a hot meal special every night for now.

And then it was time to go for a pee. As Sheena walked through the doors, past the sink, something caught her eye. Did a double take and realized that this place could be a keeper.

Yep. There were free Tampax on the sink counter. Sheena wept.

Update! Went to the Petunia gig on Monday night and The Imp took some absolutely lovely pictures...

An Afternoon with Lucky Ron

For anyone who dare says that Ottawa is the Capital of Dullsville and seat of power for Lame-O-Crats, Sheena can only point and Laff at their ignorance. Probably the closest thing Ottawa has to institutionalized drunken rowdiness since the Panda Game got cancelled in '97, Lucky Ron (aka Ron Burke) has been hosting inter-generational singing and drinkin' parties at bars around town, most recently at regular Saturday afternoon gigs at the Chateau Lafayette in the Byward Market. Not many venues that still sell quarts (see picture....cigarette pack strategically placed to denote scale).


Sheena first saw Lucky Ron in 1990-91 at the now defunct Downstairs Club, and only returned to a Lucky Ron show for Canada Day 2005. Try to get back every few months since then, ideally with at least one newbie in tow. Thank God we were fuelled and ready by the Cheese Burger Platter ($6.95) at Mello's. We knew it was going to be a long day.

Lucky Ron has not changed his set list in all of these 2 decades. CDs for sale - the Christmas Special, or the ever popular "Saturday Show". This faithfully recorded and hand-burned CD is the whole show. In order. As it always has been, and Sheena assumes, always will be. Bit o' Johnny Cash, sprinkled with a few trucker tunes, out-stomping Stompin' Tom, with a little Jesus stuff tacked on the end.

My blogmother was the newbie this time. I sure hope she liked the show. This is the CD she bought. That Sheena took a picture of for SheenaVision. With her digital camera. Because I know how to put pictures online.

Where Manly Hairy Men Eat - updated with the "After" pic

Ended up at The Musket for dinner this week. Don't ask why. The linked Toronto Life article describes the location and decor pretty aptly:

Tucked away in a nondescript Etobicoke industrial pocket, this bright and cheerful space is one of the few in town that serve sorely under-represented German fare. The interior feels as plain Jane as its setting: hardwood floors, acoustic tile ceilings, vinyl booths and Teutonic bric-a-brac.

But don't be fooled by appearances. The food is - well - something different.

Shimmied up to the bar and unpacked two newspapers to keep myself occupied, expecting to have to entertain myself for an hour or two. Realized we were there early, so El Chaperone suggested we grab something to eat before he had to go do his thang. Sounded good. Test drove a few German beers previously hereto undiscovered to Sheena. Particularly liked the "Weiss" from Hacker-Pschorr, especially with a little lemon twist.

Sheena ordered the veal Cordon Bleu. He ordered the Barbequed Ham Hox. (Yes, that is how it was spelled on the menu).

Meals arrived. Our eyes bugged out of our head when the Ham Hocks was delivered. It was a meal fit for a medieval warrior king. Awe-inspiring. Felt like it deserved to be worshipped, not merely consumed. El Chaperone was a little unsure where to begin, so kicked off this porktacular experience by doing his best Arthur conquers Excalibur imitation and began to cut.

(Those are super yummy panfried potatoes on the side. And allegedly world-famous sauerkraut, but neither of us are really into kapusta, so skipped it).

After removing as much of the top crispy fatty layer as possible, began pulling the fork tender falling-off-the-bone meat, making a giant mess of a full square metre of bar space. Not for the faint of heart. Or the vegan. Or the kosher.

Really worth a try if you're out in that no-where part of town. Especially if you are a single woman. Pretty diverse mix of 30-70 year old males of a wide range of European extraction. And a few gear heads. The gender ratio highly favourable, and the waitress seemed to appreciate a little estrogen company for change of pace.

Stupid Bar Tricks #4 - The Secret Fortune Teller

2 or 3 years ago, Sheena stumbled into what has since become one of her "Happy Places" here in Toronto. The Library Bar at the Royal York. Signature drink is the Birdbath Martini (aka the Bathtub Martini in SheenaSpeak). Served on ice in a big snifter so you can pour your own.

Walked out of the Go Train station this evening and decided to grab a paper and sit in a quiet candlelit corner before hopping the TTC home. Went for the Trius Riesling with a very reasonably priced plate of 3 kinds of olives for a paltry $3. And an appetizer sized Quebec foie gras/chicken pate.

Remembered the game Sheena invented with a couple of her redneck compadres/bodyguards during that first visit years ago: Sit against the western wall, in the cozy armchairs beside the bookshelves. Close your eyes and think of a number. Make sure the number has some special significance. When we invented this game, we ran the gamut of birthdays, anniversaries, number of people boinked, street addresses, and so on. Randomly pull a book, sight unseen of course, from the wall of books. Open the book to the page number of the number you have in your head. Read the first full complete sentence on that page. Ponder the significance the line has in relation to the number's meaning.

Tonight my number was 8. The book was "The Mystery of a Public Man: A Historical Detective Story" by Frank Maloy Anderson. The sentence on page 8 was "I could not help observing the disorderly appearance of the place, and the slovenly way in which service was done". Sheena shuddered as a cold dead ghostly hand passed before her face. There's a spooky magic in that room. Sheena implores her readers to not jump to the conclusion that the secret sentence was in reference to her sommelier experience. Nothing farther from the truth. Rather it felt my anguish over the number 8, and delivered an unsurprising message.

Sheena's Fashion Tips #2 - Stick 'Em Up

In the spirit of unleashing her inner Raymi, Sheena today wishes to share a story about her breasts. Scoring perilously low on the pencil test, but still passing the golf club test with flying colours, Sheena realized that her new little black dress needed, well, something lest her lungs end up in the soup course. As Sheena remarked to the girlfriends that year when when we all dressed up in our mermaid costumes, "Well... some of us have Sea-shells, some of us have B-shells..."

The answer to the fashion dilemma was found at Shopper's Drug Mart. For $9.99 plus the inevitable gender targeted GST, one gets 3 pairs of what I affectionately call "Stick 'em Boobs". That French name is pretty gross-sounding, if you ask me.

Thank God Sheena remembered to pack a pair of scissors in the overnight bag. The trick to these little guys is try to trim them BEFORE taking the adhesive protection strip off. Hmm. In that picture they almost look like cookie dough. Or uninked Rorschach tests. Trim and fit. Keeping cognizant of how the fabric will move throughout the evening. Ideally have to try to get the right cup shape to stick on the first try. Unsticking and resticking runs the risk of having the adhesive get wimpy later in the evening.

At the event Sheena sat, chatting with a male acquaintance while El Chaperone went for a beer run. Male Acquaintance leans over and asks, "Do you have duct tape on your dress". "No," Sheena replied, they're my Stick 'Em Boobs. So I explained the whole process, but it turns out he'd seen them in use before. I felt a little self concious, so I looked down, and I couldn't see anything sticking out, and felt compelled to tell him that. "Lean over". So I did. "No, lean over more.. more.. .more..." OK. then I could see it sticking out a little bit. "Hey, you pervert, why are you looking down there anyways, and how the hell can you see that in the dark?".

"I'm a man. It's what I do."

And then I went up to the DJ and requested Madonna.

The Perils of Pub Desserts

While in Ottawa this week, Sheena met her blogmother for dinner at the always favoured Manx Pub, a cozy little downstairs place on Elgin & Frank. Just one block from perennial apres-bar close favourites the Elgin Street Diner (home of the world's most comfortable pillow sized plate of fries and gravy). Just a couple doors down from late-night skank hangout Marroush the Shawarma Nutsi, purveyor of fine lesbian and other mediterranean cuisine.

The place was pretty full when we got there just after 7pm, and the only sit down place with a table was in the corneriest corner of the place. Food is very good, some call it Ottawa's best gastropub. Sheena hates the word "gastropub". It sounds like something a gall bladder surgeon would read on the bus.

My two squinting companions had the Cornish Hen, which looked quite delish. Sheena had the burger with eggplant and cheddar. It was very very yummy, though the fries were too thickly cut, thus not very crispy and too potatoey. If fries aren't crisp, what the fuck good are they. If they could sell Manx Pub burgers with Elgin Street Diner fries Sheena would be all thumbs up.

The blogmother indulged in dessert. Some kind of Bananas Flambe with ice cream. Being somewhat lactose intolerant, Sheena did not expect to indulge in much sharing but we had extra spoons just in case.

When the dish arrived, it was difficult not to exclaim, "Holy shit, that looks like Fish and Chips on top of icecream". The dining companions reluctantly agreed. Instead of being flambed, it was deep fried. I wondered aloud if perhaps the bananas were fried in the same vat of oil that they used for fries and chicken fingers. That made it hard to take a test nibble on the bananas because I kept expecting it to taste like cod.

She ate it though. Figures.

All My 2000 Parts

Lately Sheena has been paying an inordinate amount of attention to body parts being used for purposes unintended by the good all knowing not-Allah God or whatever the New Government of Canada (TM) is saying these days.

I've had a long running joke with long-time reader and DNA associate Pat McKittie over her broken finger dilemma. "Now I'm fucked", she says. "Why", asks Sheena. "Because when I tried to spike the ball down that bitch's throat, I think I sprained my driving finger". Ah ha. Broken finger=inability to express one's innate emasculation over lack of lane-changing ability. Got it.

Then lunch with a mafioso princess pal. She's trying to describe the secrets to real Italian home made sauce. She admits to not fully understanding her mother's weights & measures. She talks about recipes measured by gut and feel. "Ahh...", Sheena says... "So she cooks by experience". "Yes," says the MPP. "So, she preps with her cooking eye", Sheena retorts. Freezing look of "you know too much" immediately directed my way.

Tonight was El Chaperone's office not-"Christmas per-se" office Get Together evening. If Sheena could change one thing in her man, it would be the fact that he is unable to distinguish his talkin' arm from his drinkin' hand. I am sure you can all see where this ends up. But as Karl Lagerfeld would say "Fuck off with pockets, keep your hands in plain view because it ruins the the silhouette and don't point with your pint glass".

Signing off,
Your friend Sheena, wet and hoppy.
Looking for dry cleaning chits and only finding gesticulating shits.

Wow. Like, I Totally Feel, So Eurasian Right Now...

i also swept the fucking floor for best personal blog holy shit 6 years everyone is a mongoloid triple stamped and double stamped it for even thinking they had a chance to take that title from me, no offense you are all boring and yes this is the drink talking this is why i don't blog past 8pm.

Sheena presents to her Gentle Readers, The Best Blog, Best Personal Blog In All of Canada, Raymi The Minx

All pay homage to this clever lovely lady. For one day she'll learn the downside of the Tits for Hits Strategy. It's called gravity, my dear. It's the law.

But congrats to Scout at who dominated in the Best Post Series category. Funny clever lady with an eye for satire. Check her out if you haven't already.

Sheena's Travel Tips - #6

Don't be suckered into British Airways new speciality service to Eastern Europe newly rebranded as Platonium-210 Class. The fact that they are code-sharing with Finnair should not distract you from more economical options.

Never be afraid to question whether cost-saving measures are perhaps at play. If you hear the words, ""In the event of an electrical failure, the passengers will automatically emit an eerie green glow, lighting a path to the emergency exit...", ask to be re-routed.

Kanada's Kramer

Last night during the Liberal Leadership speeches, Sheena was doing a little live commenting over at ChuckerCanuck's crib when her jaw hit the table in the second half of Bob Rae's unscripted unteleprompted speak from the heart speech.

Sometimes there's a time and a place for a joke. And sometime there's not. Rae's sense of humour resonated somewhat clunkingly with Sheena and El Chaperone. It went something like...

"Stephen Harper took his cabinet out for dinner. The waiter asked him what he would have. Harper said 'steak'. The waiter said 'what about the vegetables'. Harper said 'they'll have steak too".

Now, I don't know about Sheena's loyal readers, but if *I* was Steven Fletcher, I'd be getting my personal care attendant to pull the emergency brake and would be hightailing it to Montreal to kick Rae's pasty-white-CBC-exposed ass.

Everything Is Illuminated

"In some most animalistic highs sometimes I dive with my ribs open out from the stage onto the table full of glasses and bottles...I'm pretty sure that if I would do it in silence, I would perhaps go straight to the hospital...:"

Eugene Hutz on the Gogol Bordello Website. Co-Star of the 2005 film Everything Is Illuminated.

Watched it on DVD this week. Will pick up the book on the weekend if I can find it. Sheena has been subjected to the crazed and exhilarating cacophony that is Gogol Bordello since El Chaperone deemed Sheena in need of level-three musical re-education after perusing her Harlequin/Streetheart/Madonna-heavy CD collection during the early days of our acquaintance. Surprise surprise that Th'Legendary ShackShakers are Bordello fans.

Been a very long time since Sheena cried during movie. But this one did it. A story about family, and secrets, and mysterious artifacts. Of strange places and even stranger people that you meet unexpectedly. About things that were lost and then found again. And about the importance of living a life worthy of being remembered.

Maybe it was just the timing that caught Sheena in a tender moment. Hot off the heels of a Winnipeg weekend that was very much a parallel: family and secrets and mysterious documents. Strangers who have your DNA in their blood, and who lived in places that don't exist any more. Who speak languages you don't understand, with accents that sound like a stand-up routine, and there but for the grace of God go I. Fates of history determined who stayed and who was stolen. Who survived and who died and who simply disappeared.

And who had their names written on those precious bits of paper which entitled the bearer to pass GO and collect their $200. Who got on the boat, who got off the pier, and who found a bit of land to till. Even though those names are different today than they were then. And the imagination begins to wander. And you wonder how many people had to lie to live.

Looks like I've got some paperwork to get cracking on.