Only Here for the Food

Araxi in Whistler: a dining experience we nearly aborted. Prepared to spend about $100 each for dinner, we had fairly high expectations. But even though disappointed loomed from the moment we walked in the door, none of our group of the pushover variety, we expressed our concerns at the apparent deterioration of such a notoriously impressive restaurant and they intelligently -- as on occasion I kiss and tell -- responded by rolling out the red carpet.

Upon the first sign of our distaste for our hobbit-like, mumbling to the point of inaudible, disgruntled server, the manager replaced him for a smooth, sweet, Australian treat who romanced every morsel served to us from the amuse-bouche to the double-chocolate ice cream brownie bar presented to us after we polished off the deserts we had actually ordered.

We were then brought a complimentary bottle of sparkling Okanagan wine and a full glass of the too-rich-for-my blood Cabernet Sauvignon I had asked just to taste to compare with my lower-end Malbec. Important discovery: expensive wine can be well-worth the frivolity. Drinking this particular Cab was like sliding into a mud bath (like the one JP and Ashley visited in Fiji) and being rubbed down from head to toe with warm, capable hands -- it brought a lasting smile to my face and perfectly prepared me for my first course: an albacore spicy tuna roll with which my deep appreciation of fabulous food was supremely satisfied.

Following the sushi extraordinaire was a lovely balance of creamy buffalo mozzarella and bitter/sweet beet-arugula, drizzled in a dijon-balsamic reduction -- stellar.

Bringing the tantalizing tastes to a whole other level was my main. Always one to order scallops if the preparation intrigues, I decided on the curried-salt variety, paired with aubergine and a chorizo-chickpea-tomato puree. I am a reliable predictor of choice menu items. This buttery, exotic, perfectly-balanced melding of flavours exceeded my expectations.

Funny how after swearing up and down we couldn't possibly eat another bite, when the server came over to offer us dessert, we all immediately selected something -- mine, of course, was chocolate. Barely able to eat half of the three preceding courses, I somehow managed to devour both the molten, Valrhona double-chocolate cake (which was especially prepared "double" for us as we had made it clear we were serious lovers of the good stuff) and the accompanying salted-caramel ice cream in seconds.

I share my appreciation for all things indulgent with words to the best of my ability, but sometimes words are -- well, they fail to adequately get across my intense love affair with really excellent food. But fortunately, as in my love affairs with really excellent people, I'm good at sharing.

The Hangover -- Part 3

The girlfriends who get slithered together, prance around naked (oh, wait, that was just me), share clothes, table dance (also just me), share dance partners, beds, hangovers, epic four-course dinners -- these are the ones who stay together. You know -- the ones around whom you can just be yourself and let it all hang out.

Man, am I fortunate to have friends with whom I can abandon all pretense -- like the kind I am forced to exercise in front of people who suck. As my mother and sister sit out on the patio of the condo at which I am currently staying (I can't refer to it as my mother's home, because it belongs to her fiance and in it I am treated as an inconvenient guest, rather than a family member). But this kind of cool reception is something I have become accustomed to in the bizarre world of my parents and their transient lives. Shockingly enough, I was not invited onto the patio to sit and have lunch with the girls -- so I continue going about my day looking out for me.

This morning I was fortunate to have a dose (however small) of warmth from both the students and the environment at the studio I waltzed into before the sun had risen. I taught a double, surprised to see so many hard-cores in my 6 am on a holiday, sudsed up under the ritzy rainfall shower heads in the spa-like change room and booked it to JJ Bean -- my little peace of heaven -- and solace.

A chocolate-whipped cream-laden mocha and visit to Whole Foods later, I was happily high on the simple pleasures I enjoy whenever possible and cruised home with an infectious sense of serenity I was more than ready to share until the patio party shut me out -- yet again.

But, of course, yet again, I will survive this slight. My sister knows not the exclusionary damage so unsuspectingly inflicted upon me, which is why I still want to take her for some quality bonding at Kits Beach.

So, while I head off to oil up, strip down and spend a little time at my favourite spot in Van with my sweetly oblivious sibling, indulge -- if you dare -- in evidence of some of the shenanigans that went down over a memorable bachelorette weekend in Whistler. Don't forget to blame it on the alcohol.

Hometown Glory

Waiting in the exhilarating Edmonton International Airport (it's so modern and stimulating, there's one Starbucks) to board my flight to Vancouver, I take way too big a mouthful of divine date square just as Mr. Handsome with a mischievous grin comes over to pass the time with idle morning conversation. Isn't that always the way? At least he seems entertained as I struggle to utter a response to his greeting with as much grace as I can muster in the moment. Fortunately, I'm not here to exercise my flirting skills.

I'm literally vibrating in anticipation of spending an entire month in my home sweet home -- as much of it at the beach as possible -- in the company of people and places I hold dear. I will, however, be without my mini-me, whom I have left in the capable hands of daycare and Daddy. This is the first time I have chosen to allow myself more than a few hours of adult time and, while it should prove to be a much-needed respite from domestic doldrums, I did experience several pangs of anxiety over being without my Maya for two weeks. I'll just have to party extra hard to compensate for stings of loneliness.

Shouldn’t be too difficult considering I’ve got the first of two epic bachelorette parties this weekend and at this point, I've planned tequila and cupcakes for Friday night’s menu. As it has been at least a good month since my highest stilettos have seen a dance floor, I’m overdue for a serious night (or two or three) of dropping it down. Watch out Buffalo Bill's – we ladies tend to bring with us shenanigans that are both raucous and unpredictable. Last time we graced the crowd at Bill's, I was pretty prego and threw my first drink ever on some idiot whose physically aggressive flirting methods merited him nothing more than a wet crotch and a police escort out of the bar. What can I say? I enjoy a little drama every now and then – and it was only club soda, so I knew it would wash out of his Sevens.

This weekend’s anniversary girls’ getaway (I seem to end up in Whistler for the weekend with my ladies about the same time every summer) is sure to include some theatrical moments, as any solid bachelorette weekend should, but as I won’t be an incubus of raging pregnancy hormones, and am more than prepared to deal with at least a few character-building run-ins with alcohol-fueled dudes, there should be no need for using cocktails as weapons (unless of course five girls sharing a bathroom becomes more than my limited patience can bear).

I will, however, spend a great deal of time wielding whatever kitchen gadgets I can find to keep from living on takeout or developing a vitamin deficiency staying at my Mom’s. No offense Mom, but we all know you treat muffins as an essential square meal. And as I have been honing my culinary prowess of late, prepare yourself to be highly impressed.

This past Saturday, in an effort to conquer the ever-intimidating poaching of eggs and making hollandaise from scratch, I made eggs benny. After going through only three or four eggs, attempting to delicately drop them into boiling, vinegar-infused water, I mastered the flick of the wrist required for such delicate artistry, poached perfect eggs, laid them atop whole-wheat English muffins with avocado and tomato, bathing my creation in a healthy dollop of lemon- dill-yogurt hollandaise. Check it out – I complemented my all-time favourite brunch feast with rosemary pan-fried potatoes.

Delicious. Two very enthusiastic thumbs up – actually six – as Maya and Nimrod heartily approved. Watch out world – my bistro attached to a yoga/dance studio on the beach somewhere fabulous is coming. For the moment, I’ll have to dazzle on a smaller scale.

I should say, “watch out Vancouver” – those who know and appreciate my particular brand of sharing (sometimes too much of) myself with almost everyone in my path would agree: I tend to leave a mark. Hopefully, I’ll give and get as much as I need from this visit. I’m teaching a few classes at Bikram Yoga Richmond, dropping in to a few classes at Harbour Dance Centre and eating/drinking my way through as many of my hot spots as possible. So ready for this. I think I’d better start with some really great chocolate.