A weekend of Contrasts.
Ghetto Whine: Saturday night S lured me out to club in the north end of the city, called Trilogy. S and her friend Angie had been there twice and cautioned that it was a bit on the ghetto side, but the music was great.
A bit on the ghetto side was an understatement.
Trilogy is the definition of Ghetto in Toronto. I first got an inkling of the ghettoness when we arrived in the parking lot. It took me back ten years, when I admittedly hung out with the boys wearing jeans so roomy, he could fit furniture in there. There were a ton of cars parked in the parking lot, with people getting their pre-juice on. By way of contrast, older folks tend to get a little more civilized with their pre-drinking; you go to someone’s house. But back in the day when everyone lived at home, the car became the bar. I literally remember certain people’s trunks as mini liquor stores. You always wanted to be in that car. We walk inside the club, and I notice the clothes. You gotta love the ghetto wear. The rules are simple: Tight, White and It should be able to provoke a Fight. Also on display, Booty Shorts (It is still winter in Canada,) fake nails, illuminated by the wonderful white lights, thongs suggestively hanging out of jeans and pot bellies, proudly on display adorned with belly chains. The men were attired in their roomiest gear. I even spotted some hood rat sporting a huge pull over with a skeleton on the front. The club was popping. The music was hot. I actually saw three different versions of the dutty wine. All looked very painful. There were four fights, mainly a bunch of pushing and shoving, yet, overall, a safe ghetto night. I have always taken the sight of myself at four am, drenched with sweat, hair frazzled, and calves hurting to be an indication of how much I enjoyed the night. The problem with Toronto is that clubs are very segregated. You got the upscale Yuppie clubs on King Street, who play the token top 40 fare, add a corny saxophonist and drummer to get what their version of an underground club, which never pans out, to the ghetto clubs that are fun, yet too fraught with the possibility of being accidentally hit with a bullet to be worth the risk. Toronto needs to come up with a middle version.
By way of contrast Sunday I went to the “Red Violin” on Logan and Danforth. It is a Brazilian Steakhouse Rodizirio, which I accidentally stumbled on with a friend. They have live music, and the concept of eating is really interesting. Basically it is a big buffet but the food is brought to you, but very good looking waiters. I mean the fellas were coming around with their sticks filled with succulent meat, asking me if I wanted a piece, and I had to stop myself from replying, “You have no idea.” You are given a card that is two sided, one side says your still eating, and the other says, you’re either taking a break or you’ve had enough. The food is excellent, with little servings of meats, cooked in a zillion different ways, sides of mushrooms, fries, rice and beans. It’s a great idea if you got a couple of hours and really want to enjoy a beautiful slow meal. It is a bit on the pricy side, but worth the experience. They also had the most delicious drink, coconut rum, pineapple juice, amaretto and a touch of cranberry…..anything with pineapple juice and coconut rum is good in my books. So that’s my date or impress the wife recommendation for the month.