It was time to stop talking about it and do it. I compost, I buy local produce, but yet, I drive everywhere. Yes, I live in a suburb. I drive to get groceries, drive to meet friends, drive to the university to teach. But no more. I have become a bike commuter, once again.

I used to bike to work, but that was about 10 years ago when I worked in an office. I even biked through a particularly snowy and slushy winter. This is all because I didn’t have a car. Oh sure, my work colleagues offered to drive me, but somehow biking made me feel like I was different from the rest of the office. ‘I work in a cubicle, but I’m different. I bike.’

Years later, I got a small Toyota Echo. It’s not a gas guzzler, but it’s still a machine. I also developed a nasty shopping habit. So, the question arose: how to combine my new penchant for fashion AND biking? When I began teaching writing at the university, I was thrilled to dress up for work everyday. Working at home as a freelance writer, it’s easy to keep your jammies on till noon. But dressing up meant that I didn’t want to hop on a bike and get sweaty. I eventually ditching biking for fashion. Sad.

But something happened recently that made me get back on the bike. In Toronto, two hours drive from my town of London, a prominent politician killed a bike courier. I won’t get into details but it made me think about cyclists and drivers: when a cyclist rides in country that is made for cars, it is meaningful. Bikes have no place. Sure, there’s a bike lane here and there, it’s dedicated for US, but really, compared with a car, bikers are vulnerable.

This story struck me. It made me think about how cyclists are treated in Europe, where the roads were made before cars and cyclists are adored. On my first trip in Europe, I rode my bike from Amsterdam to Spain. My friends thought I was insane, but for me it was the only way to travel. While biking through Spain, I hit the Pyrenees–it’s a well-known STEEP mountain range between France and Spain. Riding with my head down, in granny gear, slowly making my way up and up, a car full of young people passed me. They were cheering and waving their hands, beeping the horn. FOR ME. Another car went by half an hour later. They did the same. My cadence picked up. Inspired by their ‘Tour de France’ style encouragement, I felt elated and motivated.

As I rode through each country, picking up different currencies and seeing new faces, I got the same reception. I was a bike ambassador–they got it. I was unknowingly promoting cycling across Europe.

This recent incident with the politician and bike courier made me think of my role as a cyclist in Canada. As corny as it sounds, I feet like I have a duty. I started riding. Sure, I might not get cheers of jubilation from drivers, more often it’s a middle finger, and it’s only a half hour ride, but I have a responsibility. And no, I might not ride every day, but I’m trying.

But, there’s still the question of combining my newfound love of and style and cycling. How could I get from the house to the university without looking like a sweaty fitness instructor after a five hour class? On a recent Toronto visit, I found this bike shop: www.curbside.on.ca. There, I came across red panniers decorated with Japanese style flowers. A-ha. Arrive in style.

What do you think?

And here is the rider and bike:

Melanie

I have to catch myself from making snap judgements about small Ontario towns: they’re full of big box shopping malls and soul-less suburbs with no character. I’m biased. I was born in the Maritimes, and you can’t compete with the ocean. Ever. But it’s hard to compete with a country market: plump red beefsteak tomatoes, perfectly tiny red strawberries, boxes of yellow and green beans and curvaceous purple eggplant. And the apples. Oh the smell of fresh fall apples. The smell of new beginnings.

This weekend my assumption about a town called Bowmanville was challenged. Once we, my dear friend Rachel and I, drove outside of the main drag, its farms and rolling hills were quiet and beautiful. We went into the town of Orono. Rachel explained that it will never turn into a huge suburban town because they don’t have a municipal water system–everyone is on individual wells. So, the town remains small and cozy: chocolate shops, cafes and bakeries galour; brick houses with ginger bread gables and metal lightening rods on the roof.

Further out, about 12 kilometers north of the busiest highway in Canada, we came across a family run fruit farm: stepping into the barn, the smell of tangy apples hits your nose. It’s familiar; it’s comforting; it reminds me of Nova Scotia and I feel homesick.

Archibald’s Winery (www.archibaldswinery.com) specializes in fruit wine; the spiced apple made from macintosh apples tastes like biting into an apple only it has the perk of being alcoholic! I bought a bottle, as well as a bottle of black current and cherry.

While her two blond boys played on the swings, we walked through the aisles of vegetables, fruit, and bread like tourists walking through a museum: plump red beefsteak tomatoes, tiny pretty strawberries… We sat outside in the sun eating cinnamon buns drinking coffee; tea for Rachel (she’s part Scottish you know).

On the three-our drive home to London, I broke off a piece of Gouda cheese spiced with cumin and stuck it between a buttery tea biscuit. Listening to some 80s music, Corey Hart, Wheezer, I think of university days with Rachel and then today. I loved sharing this day with her.

Melanie

This weekend certainly wasn’t as extravagant as last weekend. My boyfriend was away so I went out for lunch with a good friend. But wait, it was vegetarian. Am I a closet vegetarian?

I don’t eat out a lot in London; being so close to the fabulous selection of Toronto restaurants, I tent to save it when I visit (two hours away from London).

But here are a few of my fav London haunts:

Only three months old, The Church Key Pub on Richmond Street is really consistent and also serves more than just pub fare. Try on the orzo shrimp salad or heirloom tomato salad with crumbles of goat cheese and greens on the side (arugula is fast becoming a fav lettuce). It’s a popular Italian lettuce–they call it ROCKET (have no idea why); they serve the bitter lettuce on pizza with buffalo mozzarella and salty fatty prosciutto. Crab linguine is also surprizing. Served in a tomato sauce, it’s sweet and a bit spicy all rolled into one.

Vietnam. Across from the Kellogg’s plant on Dundas, in a sketchy neighbourhood, we’re been going to this place since we arrived in London, too long ago to remember, and so do many others. Inside isn’t anything special: pepto bismol pink walls, black plastic chairs with velvet cushions splashed with some neon 80s faux paint, it’s a garish looking place. Oh, velvet paintings on the walls abound.

But the giant bowls of noodle soups, served with fresh bean sprouts and mint, make up for the decor. My mainstay is a bowl of white noodles, with fake meatballs cut in half and then some vegetable on top; you pour a sweet chili sauce over top and mix in. Underneath the noodles there’s lettuce. Divine.

Super filling but I always try to leave some room for the coffee served with condensed milk. It comes served on a mini individual sized french press. The metal press drips into a white coffee cup–painfully slow. You also get a small thermos of hot water. Pour it in when the drip is done and mix. The thick white milk sits at the bottom of the white cup. So sweet. A good strong cup of coffee.

But my ultimate meal was Sunday night. Mac and cheese, homemade. As a kid, I always asked for mac and cheese for my birthday, along with a carrot cake with inch think cream cheese icing.

I can never have one plate of this stuff.

It’s easy to make: in addition to the basics, macaroni, marble cheese, I, or my mom, taught me to pour in the noodles half way in a bread sized serving dish, then layer with cheese. Top up with more noodles, then cheese and then sprinkle crushed premium plus crackers on top. Next, pour a mixture of one egg and milk over the noodles. Finally, and this really gives it flavour, lay strips of bacon on top. Lots of bacon. Cook in the oven for about 40 minutes. The fat seeps down into the noodles. Serve with hot tomatoes (I have always had canned tomatoes), and then serve with a bit of salt and pepper. If you have leftovers, fry them up with some butter for lunch the next day. It’s even better then the first serving.

Mel

Don’t get me wrong, I love meat. Every so often I get the urge for a giant pink steak, but veggies just make me feel good. Good about myself, and good inside.

This weekend’s food extravaganza began at Fresh Restaurant in Toronto where veggies reign supreme. www.freshrestaurants.ca

This vegetarian spot built a reputation for uber healthy vitamin rich energy juice (think beet juice) and shakes. My fav: Rocket Fuel: espresso, banana and chocolate soy milk. Zoom, zoom.

The owners wrote a cookbook that spurred them on to more locations and a restaurant name change that reflects the addition of food to the menu: Juice For Life became Fresh. On Friday night I met up with my best friend and her family for a feast of vegetables. I ate a bowl of The Beach: soba noodles, avocado, sunflower sprouts, and tofu steaks (I ordered mine medium rare—still a bit pink inside!)

Saturday’s feast was also delectable, but here’s where the meat steps in. Good Earth Cooking School in Beamsville (www.goodearthcooking.com) is the creation of Nicolette Novak. A former fruit farm, a drive down the rickety road, weaves past orchards and now a fledgling vineyard (last year was the first harvest of chardonnay). The vineyard was a natural extension for Good Earth explains Nicolette: “We were tired of always being dragged off site to wineries with, for the most part, woefully inadequate or non-existence facilities to create ‘magic.’ ” Not to mention the food was always an afterthought she adds.

The MAGIC for Saturday’s event began near the stone kitchen outside, surrounded by pear and plum trees and gads of wild flowers. See below. It is here that I tasted my first oyster.

“You’ve never had an oyster?” Kelly asked, clearly shocked. It’s sad to say that this East Coaster is an oyster virgin.

Chef Patrick Engel, a regular at Good Earth, presided over a bucket shucking the little suckers.

I’m sorry, but it looks like gray snot. Don’t you think? But, after smothered with red horseradish sauce and a few squeezes of lemon juice, it slid down my throat quite nicely. It tasted a bit metallic and a bit salty and a bit like the ocean all rolled into one.

Next, I washed down a tiny piece of grilled think crust pizza with a taste of Angel’s Gate Estate Winery’s Sparkling Pinot Noir Rose, a nearby winery: www.angelsgatewinery.com.

Finally, the meal. About 20 guests made their way underneath the white tent; the table was elegant and fresh. As the sun slowly began to fade, the smell of fall became stronger. Putting on a wool sweater to stay cozy, it felt like something great was about to happen. 

I sat in good company: graphic designer Karen Black, Carole Tothe-Gurgol, co-owner of the Black Walnut Manor in Vineland, and dear sweet Kelly Nemeth of www.toute-sweet.ca in Jordan Village. The ladies, who meet often to eat, started discussing their top ten food movies. “The Big Night,” with Stanley Tucci was a favourite. I agree; it’s about a two brothers who start a restaurant. One is lazy; the other is not. They plan a elaborate meal in hopes of saving the restaurant. It fails. But the final scene tells you that life will go on. Tucci slowly makes an omelette in the kitchen while his brother watches in silence.  As they eat, you can feel the comfort of the food. Somehow tasting this food makes loosing the restaurant ok.

The first plate was an ode to tomatoes: Toast to the tomato included tomatoes of all colours–yellow, purple, oh, and red!  I adored the appetizer sized BLT made with a slab of double smoked bacon. And get this, a tomato shooter: tomato water lightly salted in a shot glass. Refreshing and not as heavy as tomato juice.

The next course, CORN was the star, I said CORN, not porn. Hot corn bisque, and my fav, a crepe filled with corn and lobster with creamy butter sauce.

The grand finale, which I watched being prepared in the alfresco kitchen was called FARM, FISH and FOWL: beef tenderloin, pan seared trout, and quail. I watched Patrick drop potato croquettes – potato and a dough mixture- into the deep fryer. The oil bubbled until the croquettes turned a golden brown. I watched as he brushed the beef tenderloins with olive oil over the grill.  Peppery.

Beef….pan seared trout….quail…

Next came cheese with a story. Monforte cheese, based in Stratford, is Ruth Klahsen’s dairy that came onto hard times. www.monfortedairy.com; when she couldn’t get a bank loan to keep the diary going, she created a unique Community Shared Agriculture (CSA) business model: anyone can invest $500 and over five years they received $750 worth of cheese. So far they have 526 cheesy investors. “People care enough about food and enough about local food,” said Ruth.

I loved spending an evening with the smart, sexy ladies of Niagara–not to mention I ate every last drop!