Recipes for Trouble

It’s been a week of beautiful activism and courageous resistance. As a counterforce to media images of supposed violent protest, here are some pictures of folks of all ages and sexual orientations demonstrating against the G20 and then, after the largest single mass arrest in Canadian history, protesting police brutality.

An image of innocence, before the police violence that swept the city. Could a garage sale be advertised like this now?

There were young activists everywhere at the peaceful G20 protests, like these two, with their earnest expressions and homemade signs.

A marching band from Montreal had us dancing in the streets – while the cops amassed further up the block.

I wonder if these two got arrested….

Flash-forward three days: 900 people (like the ones you see pictured above) are in jail without charges, have endured taunting, inadequare food and water, and have been denied access to legal support. Mayor David Miller, after condoning this flagrant abuse of civil liberties at an early morning press conference, appears at a Pride flagraising talking about the city’s diversity and tolerance. Pinkwash! Notice the protest signs in the background.

The Lesbian Billionaires appear at the queer flagraising to cheer on police brutality and corporate domination.

More pinkwashing: The next day, a cop guards Toronto’s queer community centre from queer protesters while the Chief of Police is feted by wealthy gays and lesbians inside.

Queers, shut out of the cops’ cocktail party, get into the centre through a side door, shouting “Shame” and “This is What Hypocrisy Looks Like.”

The next day, this protest was on the front page of the Toronto Star.

The Chief of Police cancelled his plans to appear at the Pride Parade.

This is what democracy looks like, these days.

These June evenings are soft-focus, green and slightly breezy, with an azure sky that can make your heart ache.

Amid the branches framing my back porch are cherries, dark and juicy and mysterious.

Last weekend a gaggle of grownups and children came over bearing cherry dishes. The Librarian’s lamb with cherry-rosemary sauce. Strategy Guy’s cherry-stuffed chicken. My own cherry-olive-avocado bruschetta.

And no desserts (or so it seemed). Everyone had tried extra-hard to avoid any cherry cliches.

Two little girls climbed the cherry tree. At first, the moms hovered anxiously, but then fell into a darkly gothic yet satisfying conversation about their kids’ early years (I called it, “Tales From the Crib”).

As night descended, the little girls climbed higher and higher, plucking cherry after cherry and eating every second one.

One of the moms, The PhD Candidate, brought an orzo cherry salad that garnered rave reviews. The Gay Retiree appeared with his boyfriend and an exquisite cherry pie, purchased at a country store.

We ate that pie up, with huge mounds of ice cream.

The little girls went home with cherry stains on their faces, proud of their heroic but necessary feat.

What are you doing/cooking/eating with your cherries this season?

Orzo Cherry Salad

Ingredients:
2 cups Orzo
1 1/2 cups dried cranberries
About 10 fresh cherries

Dressing:
1 cup oil
1/2 cup sugar
2 tbsp. honey
1 tbsp. curry powder
3/4 tsp. salt
2 tbsp. Dijon mustard

Cook Orzo until al dente, according to directions on package.
While Orzo is cooking, combine all dressing ingredients and shake or stir well.
Drain Orzo completely and transfer to bowl.
While Orzo is still hot, add the dressing. Be generous and make sure Orzo is completely coated. Add dried cranberries and stir. Serve hot or cold. Just before serving, cut in cherry halves and stir in or leave on top as garnish.

There’s been quite a bit of potlucking around here. Summer, my birthday, and a fresh lively wave of queer activism seem to bring out the culinary best in everyone.

First, there was a tapas potluck at The Diasporic Filmmaker’s place, in a charming courtyard with a random lattice work of tree branches above, on one of the hottest days of spring. The Librarian outdid herself with smoked trout canapes, tomato-olive-anchovy bruschetta, and little radicchio leaves filled with beet, goat cheese and chopped walnuts. I made a sweet and sour roasted vegetable dish (recipe below). There was an exquisite tuna tapenade and an insouciant red bowl of fresh figs.

On the way there I had stopped off at Bill’s Lobsters, buying an extravagant two pounds of tiger prawns (it was actually quite reasonable). I fried those prawns in garlic and olive oil, squeezed lemon on top and threw on some basil. As the light fell and candles got lit, faces softened and tongues loosened. Emboldened by Prosecco, our jokes got sexier. I passed around the prawns as a kind of coda to the meal. People protested they could eat no more. But as the night deepened the shadows and made candles flicker, we did.

Issues, affects, opinions and heartfelt passions are simmering in the gaybourhood. You’ve probably heard, but Pride Toronto, the bloated, corporate-driven organization that now organizes Toronto’s Pride Day, has chosen to ban Queers Against Israeli Apartheid from the Pride Parade. An entire community has risen up in protest.

What does this have to do with potlucks or food? Well, the newly organized Lesbian Revengers are mixing it up with grassroots politics, potluck picnics on grassy terrain, and a retro, tongue-in-cheek, pomo, intergenerational approach to organizing. Their motto: “Fight the Right While Also Hooking Up.”

A picnic last Sunday proved the point. Over caprese salad, marinated asparagus spears, samosas, spelt bread, Camembert, and more Prosecco, a group of twenty-two lesbians and queers discussed the current issues. Some had marched in the first Pride Parade in Toronto. Others had been involved in anti-racist, Latin American solidarity, and pro-Palestinian organizing, making the links all these years.

” I remember fighting for space in the first Dyke March in the 1970’s in Vancouver…” said one fifty-something woman, as petals from a blossoming tree fell on her head. Someone else had living memory of the bathhouse raids. A young woman spoke poignantly of how we need to seize this moment in a thoughtful, considered way, otherwise, “Next year it’ll be TD/Canada Trust Pride.”

The sun, hidden from us for days, emerged, caressing bare legs and arms. White petals rained down in a sudden gust of wind.

Sweet and Sour Carrots and Zuchinni With Mint

2 medium zuchinni
2 medium carrots
6 tablespoons olive oil, divided
2 tblspns wine vinegar
A few sprigs of mint plus extra to serve
Sea salt & freshly ground pepper

Slice carrots and zucchini lengthwise into finger-sized pieces. Toss in a bowl with half the olive oil. Place on a cookie sheet and roast at 200 degrees for about 15 – 20 minutes, until slightly browned and caramelized (on a day when it’s too hot to turn on the oven, just throw them onto the grill until cooked but not charred).

After removing the veg from the oven, tip the olive oil into a saucepan. Add vinegar, mint, salt and pepper and the remaining olive oil. Place over high heat and let bubble for a minute or two until slightly reduced. Pour over vegetables. Serve warm or room temperature, extra mint sprinkled over top.

We arrived on a dark, stormy afternoon, to spectacular waves slamming against dark rocks.

Small trips are what we can do right now. My mother steels herself against the small discomforts of travelling and takes pleasure in everything else.

The beauty of the Pacific Rim is wild and pervasive. Expressive waves, the air itself like water, fluid, constantly changing.

Tofino has become something of a foodie destination, allowing my mother and I to engage in our shared gustatory interests. We had fish tacos and homemade rhubarb ice cream at Soba, lamb ragout on homemade noodles at Spotted Bear.

We tried the chowder and the salmon at Wickanninish Inn: they underwhelmed, but the view, from a semi-circular restaurant on a point of land was unbelievable.

At night, I fell asleep to the sound of crashing waves.