A toast

This week has been lovely.

There was one very sweet cake.



French toast that was crispy at the edges, spiced with nutmeg and cinnamon.



And, although my moving around and traveling has transformed me into quite the light packer, I managed to bring back to my apartment twice as much as I brought. As one might suspect, this additional baggage took the form of some very tasty, luxurious treats: two chocolate bars; a trio of vinegars from Italy; a pound of Guatemala coffee; spices from the bulk store; canned chipotle peppers in adobo; and a loaf of multigrain bread. Transporting all of these goods along with my suitcase and belongings was certainly an adventure, but no one puts vinegar in the corner.

I finished this week of absolute indulgence by having roasted chicken for dinner with a bowl of a barely edible, overly salty boxed vegetable soup and a slice of bread slathered with butter, thinly sliced and peppery radish, and sea salt. In the name of transparency, the chicken was store-bought. I may or may not have had too much wine at last night's annual, international wine festival. I may have even had a couple glasses of exceptionally delicious sangria. I didn't intend for it to be this way, but I sometimes wonder why this blog isn't called Chronicles of the Year Sarah Drank a Lot of Wine and Wrote About It.

There wasn't just wine, though. I ate sweet potato fries served with a mayonnaise and BBQ sauce concoction, and they made excellent bedfellows. Immediately, that hit of BBQ sauce reminded me of being in the South, pulling at pork ribs with my teeth. A woman I attended grade school with has a restaurant and a catering company, and I got the opportunity to try very delicious beef kofta with a mint and coconut drizzle. I'm salivating just thinking about it.

I also managed to get together with my high school girlfriends over ice cream at The Waterfront. I missed them.

I'm back in the Big Smoke, watching Julia Roberts in Something to Talk About. It turns out that I, too, have something to talk about (other than food): I've unofficially found full-time employment. The contract's being drawn up as we speak. After searching for work for over a year, this news feels terribly anti-climactic. Instead of cheersing with a bottle of Cava, I am drinking hot green tea and thumbing through my new set of library books. I'm currently reading Alone in the Kitchen with an Eggplant by Jenni Ferrari-Adler and Vanishing and Other Stories by Deborah Willis, a book of short fiction penned by a Calgary writer. However, I think I might prefer this low-key celebrating.

The Toronto Public Library has fortunately decided to continue feeding my love of food memoirs (!), as I also have in hand Eating Animals by Jonathan Safran Foer, a book I've waited ten weeks for, and Animal, Vegetable, Miracle by Barbara Kingsolver. And, to end a perfectly lovely day of train rides and books and food, I received a belated birthday gift from Anne. It might only be September 10th, but it may as well be autumn. I had to rummage through my closet for a sweater, for crying out loud. I'm not-so-secretly pining for a couple more weeks of warm weather -- just enough time to get my full share of summer squash and to squeeze in a breezy summer romance or two.