Neighbourhood Shut-In and/or Yuppie Shit

Neighbourhood Shut-In and/or Yuppie Shit

Spicy Lobster Tempura Salad at 426 Sushi in Villeray

As my high school friend, Avril, passed me her huge black "weekend" bag to go back to Toronto, I gasped. "Oh my God! We haven't left the neighbourhood in days," I said. She looked at me and smiled, "That's okay. It's been very relaxing." I walked away slightly embarrassed, trying to recall if we'd done anything even remotely fun for an adult.

This was the first time I'd realized it. I rarely leave my neighbourhood. I'd taken Avril to 426 Sushi, my favourite restaurant on Villeray for the spicy lobster tempura salad. We'd then strolled down to Slak to do some clothes shopping, one of her favourite places in Montreal. Then I'd taken her to Chez Vincenzo on the way back for some homemade gelato. She liked my suggestion, pistachio, but preferred the caramel with sea salt.

Pistachio and Caramel w/ sea salt gelato Chez Vincenzo

Ever since I started working from home, I rarely leave my neighbourhood. I gave up driving about 12 years ago when I moved to Montreal, and everything we need can be found within a few blocks of our house, including the grocery story, which delivers for a modest $4.00. We also have a small shop around the corner that sells inexpensive fruit and vegetables for those in-between times. However, they DON'T sell organic produce, as I indelibly learned. "So don't even ask!" replied the annoyed shopkeeper with his tight black pin curls swaying ever so slightly. The other shop patrons watched as he followed me around the store barking the merits of conventionally grown vegetables over their yuppie bullshit organic cousins. This rant included a reference to a study conducted in Texas and the fact that he had consumed conventionally grown vegetables his entire life, and "there was nothing wrong" with him. There were similar tremors in his pin curls on another occasion when I questioned my change from a crisp 50-dollar bill.

Shopping at Slak

My neighbourhood is livable, diverse and interesting. I just have to keep my goddamned yuppie questions to myself.

Yes, Villeray, my neighbourhood, is going through gentrification, and many long-time residents are not happy. Rents have gone sky-high, and condos are going in wherever property owners can find an administrative loop-hole. There are regular street demonstrations about this, where passersby will invariably see the "Villeray Désobéit" banner.

Although I don't think of myself as a yuppie, I have unfortunately been cast into this role, judging from more than a few reactions from local shopkeepers.

In my first week in the neighbourhood, I went to a very retro-looking bakery. I quickly discovered that it was retro because they had never changed anything, not for any trendy fashion reason.

I tried to take a picture of the store price list, which was much like the one you would see in the bakeries in France, but the shop owners, two plump middle-aged women, presumably sisters, protested bitterly. I immediately apologized to the pair in white baker's suits. I usually ask before I take pictures of things, but for some reason this time I'd forgotten. But their protests continued, even through the business transaction of buying a few croissants. "We don't go to your house and take pictures," said one. "Yeah, how would that make you feel?" asked the other. After my admonishment in tandem, I grimaced as I tried to swallow my croissant. It lurched down my gullet like a ball of concrete. But maybe I was a little upset. I've only gone in there once since, to get out of the rain, but the sisters hadn't forgotten me. They were polite, but still crossed their arms and scowled in my general direction.

On the other hand, my father visiting from Vancouver loved the bakery and the ladies. They even gave him a special deal on croissants. He went there every day and brought back a half-dozen, which hadn't become any lighter, or was it just the memory? The Villeray croissant had become the polar opposite of Proust's madeleine.

The kicker--the pastry ladies even let my dad take a picture of the place.

Other posts on Villeray
Neon Icon: Miss Villeray
Oriental Pastry Delights
Felines: Friend or Foe?
The Haitian Barber
Pots and Pans Protest in Villeray


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Multitasker Foils Gentrification

Multitasker Foils Gentrification

Last month, I wrote about the Mile End's longest plant and flower stand. Along with Georges Riddell's fishing and tackle shop, these two businesses have successfully foiled the Bernard Street gentrification process. As I've previously stated, the longest and most beautiful plant and flower stand is no more, and our florist has in fact closed the block-long store and is now running a mere three stores simultaneously: one on the north side of Bernard and two on the south side, which, by the way, are not even side by side.

My most reliable Mile End source tells me that like fellow hold-out Georges Riddell, this woman is not your run-of-the mill florist. In our conversation, I learned some juicy tidbits so incredible that I couldn't possibly commit them to paper until I substantiated them for myself.

I spoke to the owner recently and learned that rising rent costs had forced her to cut back to three stores. Although her children help out in some areas, this is still basically a one-woman operation. This multitasker extraordinaire can be seen running across Bernard Street several times a day.

A few years ago, her daily routine involved setting up and taking down the entire block of flower displays and running back and forth to serve customers. Now she only has to set up three stores and run in a triangle across Bernard Street. On top of this, she is a divorced mother of 14 children. Yes, 14! Take that Octomom. Her oldest is 38 years old, and her youngest is a pre-teen.

In my previous post, you may recall that I referred to her as a thin young woman. I thought that she was in her early 40s, or about the same age as her oldest son. Hell no! This former Miss Hong Kong is 62 years old. I dropped by today to buy some flowers for an Easter brunch and she let me take her picture. What about you reader? Has this made you call into question your own multitasking skills?
 
Foiling-the-gentrification-process-related posts:
Mile End's Longest Flower Stand
The Lure of Fishing on Bernard
Hard Times and Used Books

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Mile End's Longest Flower Stand

Mile End's Longest Flower Stand

On the spring-like day that I visited the Georges Riddell Fishing and Tackle shop, I also visited another "boutique" foiling the Bernard Street gentrification process, a very long flower and plant shop. Five or six years ago, it was a sight to behold. Interspersed with bamboo furnishings, this beautiful colourful flower and plant display lined the sidewalk for an entire block. Convinced there was something even more beautiful to see on the inside of the shop, I tried more than a few times to venture inside, but strangely the door was locked. One day, I managed to enter only to find the owner and two of her children. They immediately stopped what they were doing and looked up. The inside was dusty and dirty. There were articles stacked floor to ceiling, and packaging was strewn across the floor.

"Est-ce je peux vous aider?" asked the thin young woman with a frown and crossed arms. This was the owner who is believed to be from Hong Kong.


Her children resumed their noisy, aggressive play. The oldest one was relentlessly hitting the younger one on the head in front of the woman I presumed to be their mother. But her eyes were fixed on me, making me feel oddly uncomfortable. That was my cue to leave. As I'd discovered, these stores were merely where the plants were stored during closing hours. The real show was outside on the sidewalk.

I've bought a few plants at this shop over the years. One might get the idea that it would be hard for just one woman to monitor an entire block of plants and flowers and more than a few children, but no so. I had no sooner picked up a plant when I saw the owner quickly walking towards me. Initially, this appeared to be a place that would quickly run out of change, as many of the items cost under $20. Again I was wrong. The owner had an impressive money belt. In fact, she jingled as she moved towards me. Figuring I had some haggling room given the sheer volume of her merchandise and the fact there was no sign indicating a price, I mistakenly suggested an amount I was willing to pay.

"Je vous donne $4.00 pour celle-ci," I said.
"Non, c'est $6.00," she said shaking her head with her arms crossed.
"$5.00 alors," I countered.
"Je fais pas de prix. The price is $6.00," she said firmly in English without any trace of an accent.

As I mentioned in a previous post, the shop had closed its block of stores and moved across the street. Although smaller, the flower display on the sidewalk was no less impressive. I was attracted to the strange but beautiful blue and green flowers. As I got closer to the door to take pictures, I could hear the owner's boisterous children and their usual fighting, but I had no intention of going in.

Dear Reader: I must confess that when I chat with people in my neighbourhood the majority of the time the conversation is in French. In this post, I've tried to sneak in a little bit of French conversation just to give you a better feel of what my neighbourhood is really like.

Related posts:
The Lure of Fishing on Bernard

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