2025-10-23 23:08:27
Life has been a bit hectic as of late. I don’t like the platform I have running my blog, which means I have a mental hill to get over before I can blog. Right now, I’m inside a coffee shop killing time waiting for a truck to show up and haul away a pile of junk I have in the garage. I decided to crack open the less than stellar editor to write this. Might as well make some use of my time—even if the writing experience isn’t ideal.
It’s 10:30 in the morning and I was surprised at how packed it is in here. Three different clusters of seniors. A couple people with headphones tethered to their laptops. And then a couple people like me, sipping their coffee, flicking away at their phones.
The house went up for a sale a couple weeks ago and a dozen showings gave me some hope an offer would arrive and sure enough, one did. Things are moving quickly but the house inspection still to happen might reveal something unbeknownst to me. Assuming no surprises, things will finalize by the end of the month.
My writing course has been going well, although it isn’t quite what I was expecting. At the end of the day, it’s helping me think about my writing process even though they aren’t really teaching us about writing process. As I consider embarking on a food writing journey, I want to make sure I’m not setting myself up for failure or giving myself too much work. I want this to be enjoyable, after all.
2025-10-02 09:10:30
My kid got moved into college. I originally typed “settled” but I think it’s going to take awhile before he feels settled. It’s a big change. A new school. A new city. It might be awhile before I feel settled, too.
On the way down, I stopped in Toronto to try Michelin-starred Kaiseki Yu-zen Hashimoto Restaurant that sits in the Japanese Canadian Cultural Center. It was a lovely experience, placed at a table in a room separated from the other diners. I suspect all of the tables are like this, which makes for a subdued experience—especially dining alone. The food was subtle and really focused on the ingredients. I received an email the next day with photos of each of the dishes (and a photo of me that they took before I left). The service was immaculate and friendly, even inviting me to contact them if I ever find myself on a future trip to Kyoto.
The experience felt very Japanese which had me thinking about “authenticity”. Was this experience authentic to Japan? What part and what time in Japan is this being authentic to? A “lack” of authenticity used to bother me. I’ve given up on caring about it because I couldn’t define it if you asked me to. I was reminded of that recently in a video talking about trompe-l’œil and how artwork was created to trick the eye. Would that be considered authentic? Are people walking around Italy talking about how this 1500s artwork isn’t authentic?
In any case, I enjoyed the experience at Kaiseki Yu-zen Hashimoto, regardless of any interpretation of authenticity.
After my return, I became focused on getting the house cleaned. Guests would be staying at the house for a couple weeks and I needed to get the place in decent shape before then.
Then, mid-September and another road trip—this time to Indiana to visit friends. Once again, I stop in Toronto for another restaurant. This time it was Michelin-starred Osteria Giulia. A couple friends joined me for this outing as we enjoyed a handful of plates.
In Indiana, I went to my first football tailgate experience and let me tell you, what an experience it was. It was very surreal to take it all in. So many people, all in great spirits and full of great spirits, with the beer and whisky flowing freely. It was such a vibe and I would totally do it again.
Now that I’m back, the friends have vacated the house, and it’s time to get it ready for sale. I’ve been cleaning windows, getting the place painted top to bottom, getting the patio fixed, and been pulling weeds. I met with a real estate agent and should have the place on the market by next week.
Autumn is the season of change but it has felt like an extended summer as the warm weather pushes its way into October. The leaves have started their fall display, though, and I’ll go through my own change, closing the door (literally) on a place that has been home for me and my kids for over a decade.
2025-09-09 22:17:35
As I am on the cusp of considering another culinary quest, I’ve been wondering how I want to present the experience. I could do something similar to the Fifty site, which felt more documentary. Here’s where I was and this is what I ate.
I had an Instagram account where I’d post photos of the food but their post format felt a bit constraining, being limited to 10 photos and a description. It amounted to little more than to say I was here.
Am I trying to tell a story? Am I trying to begin a dialogue? Am I trying to inspire interest in others to begin or continue their own fine dining journeys? Or do I just like eating and want to remember where and what I ate?
Matthew Smith has started blogging his trip to Japan. What’s interesting to me is following him on Instagram and seeing this layered approach to the experience. It’s like watching a TV show and then getting to watch behind-the-scenes footage. It’s been fun to see the coffee shops and restaurants he visits.
Last night, the girlfriend and I watched Tampopo, a Japanese film that was released in 1985 and dubbed a “ramen western,” a play on the term spaghetti western. It was, to say the least, a movie with something to say about the love of food—at times, literally.
One scene featured a homeless person breaking into a restaurant kitchen to make omurice. Due to the popularity of it on social media, I imagined it a more recent invention of the last decade or two, but upon reading up on it, the dish has been around for over 100 years. However, the popular version of the dish—with the omelette sliced open on top of the rice—was created for the movie. That’s still 40 years ago. That was neat to learn.
I signed up for a food writing course. My goal going into it is to develop some new techniques and ideas for how I write about food. Perhaps I’ll develop a stronger sense of direction in my writing, food or otherwise.
2025-08-29 20:00:00
His mom came to pick him up while he frantically tried to get tasks done that should’ve been done the night before, a night spent being out until the wee hours of the morning, soaking in every last minute possible with friends.
As he was about to leave, I noticed tears start to form in his eyes and then they start for me, in turn. A deep long hug and then he’s off. This’ll be the last time he’ll be in this house.
I descend into his room—a room that looked like a tornado might have rolled through—with piles of clothes, toys, empty cans, and half-empty bags of chips. The tears for me come more quickly and more abundantly. His leaving was predicted and known and yet it feels sudden and emotional.
I have a long road ahead of me: a drive to his school, six hours away, to meet up with him and his mom and get him settled into college. I also have a short road ahead of me: cleaning out his room. It’s the last step to closing this chapter of parenthood and starting a new one. The house, at one time filled with people, is now empty and ready for others to fill it with joy, heartache, and personality.
2025-08-28 21:09:12
Tomorrow, my kid heads off to college. It’ll take a few days to really sink in—likely in the process of cleaning up what’s left of his room after he’s left.
I am taking moments to be present. We had dinner last night on the back porch. It’ll be the last time we have dinner together in this house. The weather was pleasant. I could see a plane contrail left in the mostly clear but now darkening sky. Autumn feels like it’s creeping its way in.
But first, today.
2025-08-22 02:33:42
As a kid, I’d lie in a sea of green grass, looking up at the ocean of blue sky, watching the clouds pass overhead, a chinook wind blowing over me.
Today, as I sit on my balcony, as I do many days during the warm (or blistering hot) summer days, the ever-changing clouds continue their swift pass while the shadows of buildings seem firmly planted against the ground. The concrete and brick towers act like sundials against the asphalt. Any given moment feels motionless but stay still long enough and it is like I can feel the rotation of the earth. I can pinpoint my immaterial place in the solar system. It is in this stillness that I feel the passage of time—more than I ever did lying in that quiet grass. The shadows aren’t still—they’re just taking their time.
The sun grabs hold of the horizon and pulls its way out of view, seemingly more quickly than it has dancing through the day, more eager to shine its light elsewhere for a time. The Earth pulls a blanket of shadows over me as I head to sleep.
