Sunday, Sundae

Oh Toronto, sometimes you impress me. Despite what Wallpaper* (lose the asterisk, it’s unbecoming) City Guide thinks, you do have a lot to offer. Take yesterday. We started at the NFB and watched – for free, a lovely selling point – the Oscar-winning The Danish Poet. A simple love story, simply animated; in these days of flashy pixar doodads and 3-D whatnots, thoroughly refreshing.

“It’s like a sundae,” I said to Allison as we crossed University Avenue on our way to the Toronto Opera House. “Sweet, nostalgic; makes you feel good inside.”

“What?” she replied. She thought I’d said “Sunday.”

And maybe it is like a Sunday too. It’s the sort of story a mother might tell her children on a Sunday afternoon. Sun would be streaming through the windows of their tiny cottage on the Norwegian coast, sundaes melting into soup as the little devils listen enraptured.

Then again, maybe there wouldn’t be sun. As the narrator jokes, “It’s always raining in Norway.” So it would be a rainy Sunday afternoon. And the kids would probably be eating sweet buns, not sundaes, if my Norwegian friend is to be believed. Possibly with that wonderfully strange Norwegian brown cheese, tasting and looking like caramel.

Allison had it right; the film’s more like a Sunday.

Unlike the farm animal – I think it was a cow – that crushes Kaspar’s love’s husband in The Danish Poet, the second destination on our itinerary was not to be. The Opera House wasn’t open for Doors Open yesterday, so we peeked into Osgoode Hall instead. (More photos here) I love the whole concept of Doors Open. Buildings that are normally closed to the public are open this weekend, allowing Torontonians to indulge their inner voyeur. (I, as you know, do love a little voyeuring). Not that Osgoode Hall has much to hide. Our favourites? The Great Hall and the courtrooms where Osgoode staff let you try on black judges gowns.

“Where’s my gavel?” I joked to the nice lady who helped me into the garment.

“Canadian judges don’t use gavels,” she informed me. “It’s an American thing.”

“Oh,” I said.

“And did you know that you’re not allowed to turn your back on the judge? You have to back away facing him or her, always showing respect.”

“We are a respectful people,” I concurred.

Since nothing works up an appetite like pretending to be a judge – in lieu of a gavel, I held up a date stamp – we checked out Kensington’s Jumbo Empanadas for, well, jumbo beef and chicken empanadas. Despite favourable reviews, we were disappointed. The crust tasted too much like pizza dough and neither filling packed any flavour punch.

We strolled off our disappointment by checking out Kensington’s colourful boutiques. If we had judges’ salaries, we’d consider the handmade earrings and one-of-a-kind purses at Norma W.

It wasn’t a Sunday, we didn’t consume any sundaes, but Toronto entertained us nonetheless. As Oscar Wilde said, “Either that wallpaper goes, or I do.” Adios, Wallpaper*.

-Andrea