We had a few options for getting around Toronto. But we were all really poor (camp jobs don’t have millionaire-esque salaries). We decided on the public bikes. Very contemporary, cool, sustainable, and different. We paid $5 dollars for 24 hours to use the bikes. They weighed a million pounds—or maybe 75—and had to be checked into a dock every 30 minutes. The city had just instituted this bike program some months ago and the Torontoans were very skeptic. We the American tourists were stopped quite often by the city dwellers and asked about the details. I was like, “Don’t they have newspapers where they told you about this? You could just Google it like we did.” I was entertained.
The bike docks were separated by about 2 blocks and were all over downtown. So we rode around until we saw something we wanted to see or eat, docked the bike, and walked. Then, the credit card of our navigator was swiped (not to pay extra, but to verify that we had already paid), we unlocked the bike using a machine’s randomly generated number code, and we were off to our next destination. Apparently this type of program is being used in several other cities. It was great to not have to get on an old smelly trolley and to whiz through traffic like we owned Toronto. I would definitely try to find another city that had the same set-up and take to the streets. $5 very well spent.
For lunch, we had to go find a Canadian favorite. Poutine. Now, I must tell you. I am a dipper, not a pourer when it comes to sauces on my food. I like to have control in at least all areas of my life and with food there is no exception. I feel like when sauce is poured that I can’t choose to not have sauce—ever. This fact stresses me out. And this fact is why poutine (poo-TEA-knee) was not what I ordered for lunch. This dish is French fries, cheese curds, and brown gravy poured over it to resemble cheese fries. You can also have whatever topics between the French fries and gravy. A few options were all sautéed veggies, pulled pork, beef tips, lamb, chicken chunks, etc. I tried two French fries from my coworker and they were tasty, but I went elsewhere to satiate my belly.
My palate for lunch enjoyed a crepe to go. Oh my golly great! I found out about crepes actually in Mexico. There was a bistro there that made them fresh. I was in love. Crepes are super thin pancakes and are actually French. From what I’ve heard, French crepes are about 8-10 inches in diameter and rolled. The ones I’ve had are 10-12 inches in diameter, folded in half, choice condiments spread on the half-circle, then folded in thirds to make a triangle. I had mine with spinach and feta cheese—the only cheese that doesn’t make my belly hurt because it’s made from goat milk. I felt totally cool because I ate my crepe while riding my bike in traffic in Toronto with no helmet. My dad always told me to wear a helmet.
Yes. I’m awesome.
Bucket list check: Ride my bike in a busy area with no helmet.
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