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Oriental Pastry Delights

Pâtisserie Villeray has been serving fine oriental pastries for over thirty years. Although the shop's specialty is baclava, I was interested in the cashew flowers, pictured on the left. The owner told me that they were made with filo dough, cashews, clarified butter, syrup and orange blossom water and that the preparation time was about an hour.

A dozen costs $11.00, and they are a great idea if you're bringing dessert for a small dinner party. And don't fret about not having enough.The cashew flower has a sweet, delicate taste, but is surprisingly rich, and even someone with a voracious appetite will not be able to eat more than two.

When I asked the owner about the number of calories in just one. He smiled and said, "Never mind the calories. They give you energy!" So, if you need some energy and would like to try a variety of fine oriental pastries, I suggest you drop by the shop at 373 Villeray at Drolet in Montreal.

Other Villeray-related posts:
Neon Icon: Miss Villeray
New Digs and Swedish Thrillers
The Haitian Barber
Good Morning Villeray



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Cent motifs, un paysage by Annie Hamel

Of all the murals I have seen in Montreal, this is one of my favourite. Located at the west entrance to Jarry Park on  Saint-Roch, Cent motifs,un paysage by Annie Hamel was completed in 2010 as part of Park Extension's Centennial celebrations. The different cloths represent the various ethnic groups who have made Park Extension their home upon arrival from Greece, Hungary, England, Guatemala, Pakistan, Sri Lanka, Haiti and India. At first glance the woman appears to be from South Asia, but if you look more closely you'll see her African features. In addition to the rich colours, the cloths have a stunning three-dimensional quality, and each could be a stand-alone piece. It's nice to come across such a tasteful mural.

Congratulations to Annie and to MU, the organization behind some of Montreal's finest murals. To see more of Annie Hamel's work click here. To see more of MU's murals in Montreal click here.

Other related posts
Discovering Park X 
The Rodeo...?
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Neon Icon: Miss Villeray

East-bound View
In my first walk around the new hood, I happened upon this big, vintage, sexist yet beautiful, Miss Villeray neon sign.The leggy Scarlette, aka Miss Villeray, can be seen from blocks away at night.Initially, I imagined that it was a strip bar and that if I stepped inside I'd see a bunch of old guys swilling quarts of O'keefe and playing video poker.This couldn't be farther from the truth. It is in fact frequented by the hip 30 somethings of Villeray.

The Miss Villeray officially opened on July 28, 1960, and one of its first patrons was the Minister of Public Works and Hydraulic Resources, René Lévesque, along with his friends, the mighty but charming professional wrestler Johnny Rougeau, and radio personality, singer and actress Lucille Dumont. What I would have done to be alive and 20 years old then! The bar opened just one month before the inauguration of the Jarry Park Stadium, then home to the Montreal Alouettes. The number of sports fans Scarlette attracted grew to legions once the Montreal Expos began to play at Jarry Park in 1969.

North-West View
In September 2008, an enthusiastic young entrepreneur and brewery rep discovered that Scarlette's owner wanted to sell. He capitalized on the opportunity and renovated, recycling many of the furnishings so that the Miss Villeray would not lose her original look and feel, and what a fabulous job he and his partners did. Cheers!

But who was the woman who inspired the Miss Villeray sign? According to 83-year-old resident C. Riverin, Miss Villeray was the name given to a very popular neighbourhood woman in the years following WWII. This sweet woman had the reputation for inspiring love. Both women and men were said to fall in love with her one after another.

Related posts
New Digs and Swedish Thrillers
The Haitian Barber
Good Morning Villeray



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More Girl Spies Please

Oh how moving can destroy well entrenched habits, such as blogging regularly. Although I haven't been present on the Unexpected Twists and Turns, I've still been thinking a lot about what I want to write. Today, I'd like to address the importance of finding validation in popular culture, a very broad topic that has been done before, but I'd like to lend my own experience to it.The reasons for this will become apparent further on.

When I was 9, my daughter's age, I played my first year of baseball, and I decided that I wanted to be a professional baseball player. I practised for hours and played on a team. Over the course of the season, I became one of the better players in spite of my being the youngest. I watched baseball on TV and loved Mickey Mantle (I know, WHY him?). I was across the street tossing the ball up in the air and catching it when my brother came over.

"You practise way too much," he said.
"I wanna be the best," I said.
"What for?" he asked.
"Because this is what I want to do," I said shielding my eyes from the sun as the ball came down with a smack in my leather glove.
"Ha!" he said. "How many girls do you see on TV playing baseball?"

I stopped throwing the ball up in the air and looked at him. I'd been having too much fun and enjoying the enthusiasm to even entertain the thought.I tucked my glove and ball under my arm and felt the bad news settle heavily in my stomach.

I'd never considered what my brother had said. I went for a walk and thought about where I'd seen other girls playing baseball. Couldn't think of any. In magazines, there weren't any. In books, none came to mind. On TV, I'd have to watch more closely. I got home and turned on the baseball game for a few minutes: the commentators were men, the players were men, the people playing baseball in the commercials were men. Okay, my brother was right. But instead of thinking I could fight for a chance, I played halfheartedly until the end of the season, and didn't sign up the next year.

I gave up. And was later embarrassed by my childish, lofty ambition. But would it have seemed so unattainable if I'd had a female baseball star, real or fictional, as a role model?

***

I was asked to review a book that I thought would be of great interest to my daughter: Spy, Spy Again: True Tales of Failed Espionage by Tina Holdcroft from the fabulous publisher Annick Press. This book is based on true stories of failed spy missions throughout history and around the world. It has a great multicultural component with tales from Africa, Iran, the Middle East, India, China, Europe and the US. With colourful, funny illustrations, it offers a wide variety of stories to remind kids that despite the best laid plans, everyone screws up from time to time, including well-trained spies.

This is a wonderful book for learning about the basics of spying and looking out for double agents. The reader and his parents will glean little known facts about the world of espionage. However, this is a disappointing book for girls, as it contains only one female spy--Mata Hari--who reportedly used her seductive wiles to get secrets from high-ranking government officials. The Dutch-born exotic dancer is portrayed as an empty-headed and gossipy courtesan in this book, in spite of speaking five languages. The lack of women spies in this book left my daughter cold.

I might be able to criticize the portrayal of Mata Hari, but can I criticize a book for having only one failed spyess? Unfortunately no.There are few accounts of famous women spies in mass culture, let alone those who botched missions. But does that mean that women spies never existed. No! They just haven't been given much ink.Think of WWII's courageous gals Nancy Wake, Odette Hallowes, Violette Szabo and Pearl Witherington. But how's a young girl to know this unless she can see it, hear it or read about it in the world around her.

The same is true of women in science and math. We believe there are so few role models. Yet in WWII, women were hired as computers (in the day, this was a job title).These brainy mathematicians did ballistics research, calculating weapons trajectories to be passed out to men fighting in the fields and bombers in the air. Filmmaker LeeAnn Erickson stumbled upon this little known group while working on a documentary on another topic altogether. Erickson has since made a film about the wartime mathematicians in "Top Secret Rosies: the Computers of WWII."

As a service to our ambitious daughters, we need more research to find these trailblazers in history to validate the endless possibilities for our girls. There are more than a few talented writers and filmmakers who would love to tackle these subjects. We just need to have some of the culture makers and their money onside. But then...isn't that the age-old problem?

Other related posts
Books for kids aged 4 to 7
50 Poisonous Questions by Tanya Lloyd Kyi
The Trouble with Marlene by Billie Livingston
The Orphan Rescue by Anne Dublin
Dead Time by Christy Ann Conlin

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MBAM: Jean-Paul Gaultier

This has been a very hectic summer, but I still had time to see The Fashion World of Jean Paul Gaultier: From the Sidewalk to the Catwalk at the Montreal Museum of Fine Arts (MBAM). If you have had your eye on his work, either in films or worn by celebrities, then you will be thrilled to see so many of his creations in one place. What's more, his 140 ensembles are worn by sensor-activated animated mannequins. That's right. When you step in front, a face is projected onto the mannequin, and it blinks, winks, speaks, and in one instance, sings.My favourite was the male mannequin staring into a mirror and asking the video-cast reflection to disclose "the fairest of us all."

There was plenty of humour in this exhibition, which ends with the various films, the Fifth Element and a few from Almodovar, that have featured Jean-Paul Gaultier's work. Even if you aren't a fan of la marinière, you will still be abundantly impressed not only by his creativity but also by the sheer range of his work. Another positive note: cameras are permitted, but video is a no-no. Check out my slideshow below.




Related post:
The True Gender
Imported Afro-Cuban Magic


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Good Morning Villeray

Beyond the gate lurks some bones of contention...
I left the house early this morning to fight the urge. Instead of violating the unwritten code among neighbours with gardens, I headed down to Jarry to pick up some milk. I made a conscious effort not to think about those darling little faces.

In front of the Bonisoir, I met a middle-aged woman with large rectangular sunglasses, wearing shorts and a tank top. She stopped in front of me and held up a nail. "I find these everywhere," she said with an irritated shudder. "These things are what nailed our son Jesus to the cross." Speechless, I nodded and let her walk past.There was a large band aid on her shoulder and yellowish-brown bruises from what appeared to be the remnants of someone's fingertips, possibly hers. Fearing her annoyance might turn into an extended rant about the lord, I waited until I saw her disappear into the back of the store. As I picked up my milk, I thought about the dilemma that awaited me at home. My daughter would be standing at the door asking if she could feed them. But a good neighbour would not do this.

I've never lived anywhere with an alley before, but I have heard from friends that a few stray cats can quickly turn into a small feline farm. Two days ago, we discovered that a stray had had a litter of kittens just outside our gate. As my kids and I crowded around the tiny critters, a neighbour came over and told us that last spring there were 13 cats in the alley because a local renter had been feeding them.The neighbours had all bitterly complained about cat feces in their gardens, and the renter was threatened with eviction if she continued her "inconsiderate" behaviour.

 
Count the five darling faces
This morning I saw the mother cat outside the window of her former meal ticket. She meowed and scratched at the window, jumping back and forth from patio table to chair. I thought about the seven kittens that had not yet been weened and the mother with no food...

As I paid for my milk at the Bonisoir, I told the dark-haired cashier in a blue Italia T-shirt about the nail incident. "Oh her," she said, ringing in my order. "She's harmless. Believe me, there's a lot worse around here," gesturing with her head to a middle-aged man outside whose pants were pulled up to his ribcage. He was listening to an old radio held close to his ear and rocking to the music. "As long as they're not hurting anyone, I have no problem with them," she said handing me my receipt. "Yep, tolerance is key," I offered and waved good-bye.

I walked down the street enjoying the early morning sun trying to figure out how I could get some food to the mother cat on the sly. I could pitch a handful of dry cat food by the kittens, but what if someone saw me...If my daughter did it, the neighbours might be more understanding. It's hard for a child to understand that gardens are more important than kittens going hungry.

Fortunately, by the time I got home, my problem had been solved. My daughter ran to tell me that the mother cat had killed a squirrel. I laughed. Not only did the neighbours have cat shit to contend with, now there was a squirrel carcass.



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