My brother and I wanted to visit a place related to Top Chef in some way and we decided to try Lee, because Susur is an intriguing chef and the menu looked very appetizing. We had an incredibly cordial waiter who clearly knows the menu inside and out. He showed us the Winterlicious menu but strongly urged us to still try some a la carte items.

We went with the Singapore Slaw, their #1 item on the menu. It was an excellent choice, it really is fantastic. The presentation is really something too. Piled high like art, and then your server attacks it with serving forks, smashing it down and tossing it thoroughly, all the while enumerating all of the 18 ingredients that compose it. It was refreshing and inviting, crisp and delicious.

With such a strong beginning I had high hopes for the rest. Unfortunately it went promptly downhill. For app I had the pot sticker served with salted chilis and rice tuile. The flavour was great and the rice tuile added texture, but the pork was dense and slipped out of the wrapper too quickly. For his app Vito had the butternut squash, served with diced cucumber and ginger accents. It was cloyingly thick and overly sweet and together we barely ate half of it. The cucumber should have cut through the syrupiness but the pieces were too small to compete with it. We let them clear it from our table without regret.

For the main Vito had the confit of Jerk Chicken, with its sticky rice and ginger mango compote. The chicken was soft and moist, cooked perfectly. But I was expecting heat from the Jerk and sadly found it only in the compote. It wasn’t bland, it just wasn’t Jerk. The sticky rice had a great flavour but felt a little out of place, served as a quenelle next to the chicken rather than as a bed for it to rest on.

I had gone to the restaurant in anticipation of ordering the black pepper steak pot pie listed on the web version of the Winterlicious menu, but on the night it had been scrapped. That was gutting, but the mahi-mahi seemed a reasonable alternative. I’ll never know what I missed out on with the pot pie, but I do know that I missed out on some good mahi-mahi. The fish was prepared well, but the crust was so bland and starchy that I felt like I was eating undercooked fish and chips. I barely wanted to finish, it was so unappetizing. It was served with a small meatball-sized aloo gobi croquette which was phenomenal. But instead of saving the dish it just made the failure of the fish even more glaring.

I’d hoped with dessert to have nothing left to grumble about. Vito had the marscapone in wild blueberry with lemon sorbet and it was perfectly delicious. The strange thing was that he’d ordered the coconut crème caramel, but we didn’t notice the mistake until it was too late.

What I had was described as being a pineapple raspberry ravioli of vanilla panna cotta, served with passion fruit puree and a coconut macaroon. They create the ravioli by shaving a pineapple into the thinnest of skins and draping it over the panna cotta. Unfortunately pineapple is impossible to cut with a spoon, no matter how thinly sliced, and so the flavour combinations of the dish were ruined by the surgery I had to perform to eat it. The final bite, the coconut macaroon, was dried out and mealy and I wanted to throw up my hands in frustration.

The food was disappointing, and the service was a bit scattered – they tried to serve us our appetizers twice, and served Vito the wrong dessert. Please do not get me wrong – I will be going back to Lee. I loved that slaw, and the croquette. They were amazing glimpses into something wonderful. I want to believe that it was just a lackluster prix fixe menu, that I could go again and have a mind-blowing experience. I feel like a heathen, having gone to a legend’s domain and walked away with so many complaints.

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The interior is elegant, with white walls and gently curved arches. On every table candles twinkle romantically and the art is tasteful. We were greeted by the friendliest and most enthusiastic server I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting. He showed us to our table and we were awarded the prized window seat. We selected a bottle of Chianti and it was actually decanted for us – a lovely touch I rarely see. The bread came quickly and was divine. It was warm with a soft crumb and crispy crust. Sprinkled with rosemary and drizzled with olive oil, we gobbled it up. The waiter was sweet enough to offer us more but we (wisely) declined to save room for the mains. Billy won at appetizer – he had mussels served in a flavourful tomato broth. My salad was mixed greens with goat cheese, walnuts and roasted red peppers. It’s a classic combination and the walnuts were crisply fresh, but there was just a little too much of the balsamic dressing and it overwhelmed the greens a bit.

But then came the main courses and I was the winner there. Billy ordered the braised veal shank served with some root veggies in a rich jus. The veal was richly delicious but just a little tougher than we both preferred. It was served with the bone and Billy extracted and ate up all the marrow before I thought to ask for a taste.

I had been planning for this meal for weeks and had every intention of having their butternut squash ravioli. I’m sure that it would have been amazing, but at the last second I had a change of heart and went with the sea bream. I regret nothing! The fish was cooked to perfectly, flaking delicately with the lightest touch of the fork. It was crusted in bread crumbs flavoured with sun-dried tomatoes and capers, which was incredibly subtle but wildly delicious. Every few bites I would get a hit of the capers and it was wonderful. It was served with a refreshing green lentil salad which is specifically listed in the menu as being warm but came to me slightly chilled.

For dessert I believe I won again, though Billy didn’t really comment either way. He had the mixed fruit crumble which included rhubarb, his favourite. It was very tart and the fruit still had some bite to it, but I prefer my crumbles to be a bit sweeter and denser. I had the bread pudding and it was exactly what I was looking for. Rich but not cloying, with the scent of caramel rising up from the dish.

Throughout it all our waiter was lively, attentive and friendly. When he saw that I was wearing black he replaced my white napkin with a black one to spare my outfit from lint. Billy ordered a coffee and then we got to chatting, and when our waiter noticed that it had sat untouched he whisked it away to be refreshed. And after the bill was served he offered us a digestivo of limoncello that we happily accepted.

It was a truly wonderful night, and the perfect place for a celebration (we had just signed our lease that day). The regular menu is dizzying and I must go back at a later time and have some of their pasta. If the rest of the food was anything to go by then I will be very satisfied indeed.

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To whet our appetites we were served cheddar thyme biscuits. The biscuits were nice and crumbly, but not warmed like we expected/hoped. But the flavours were pleasant, and the sweetened butter was a nice touch.

For the appetizer course I ordered the ricotta gnuddi and all three of my dining partners got the quail. My gnuddi was a little sticky but tender. It came with crispy bits of sage in a delicious creamy sauce that I scooped up completely. I had a taste of the quail (my first I believe) and it was juicy with a nicely crisped skin.

For the main three of us ordered the braised beef short-rib, and Chantelle had the salmon. And the fact that it’s been a few days and I am still thinking about that short rib should tell you how good it was. The meat was so soft and juicy that it had fallen off the bone before it even reached me. It was a reasonable portion size, but I could easily have eaten a huge plate of it. It came served with a few gnocchi, roasted mushrooms and “parsnip crisps”. I didn’t get the flavour of parsnip from the crisps, but they were still amazing. The mushrooms had a nice flavour to complement the beef, and it was all in a rich jus that I would pour over anything.

I had a few bites of Chantelle’s salmon and we both agreed that the skin was very nicely crisped, and the flavour was there, but the fish itself was just a few degrees closer to over-cooked than one would like. She described it was being well-done. It was, however, served on the best puree we’ve ever had. It looked and tasted like the finest mashed potatoes, but was actually celery root. I don’t like celery and even I loved it.

Finally came dessert. Billy had an apple galette that was pleasant enough. I had a bite and the pastry was flaky but not captivating enough to go back for another bite. I regret though that I didn’t try the filling or the lemon clotted cream that they topped it with.

Chantelle and Eddie both had the trio of creme brulee – vanilla, coffee and chocolate. We all agreed that the coffee flavour was the best; strong but not overpowering.

But in my opinion I definitely won. I had the chocolate bread pudding with a sweet whiskey sauce and it was mind-blowing. I wanted something that would stick to my ribs, and it did indeed.

Over all I was thrilled with my meal. If I went back tomorrow I would happily order the exact same set of dishes. The service was top-notch. The server we had was exuberant about all of our choices (and even went out of her way to validate my choice of the bread pudding). And even nicer was the fact that she recognized me after having served me only once, and that was almost eight months ago!

Mildred’s has a special place in my heart. It did after the first time I dined there, and now that is only confirmed by the wonderful time I had at Winterlicious.

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But with the release of the Oscar nominations for 2012 I cannot hold back any longer. I have too strong an opinion about the film, and the Oscar nominations that has resulted from it. Gary Oldman is up for Best Actor, and the film itself is up for Music (Original Score) and Writing (Adapted Screenplay). I have zero beef with the music nom other than that I can’t say I remember a single tune from the movie. I’m sure the score was great, but it certainly wasn’t memorable. And as for the adaptation from the source material, I have no background from which to comment, as I have not read the book on which it is based. And when I turn my gaze to Oldman’s acting nomination… Please understand that I love the man. I have been a fan of his for ever, going all the way back to Dracula. I could write an essay on just my love and respect for the man and his craft. Does he deserve an Oscar? Absolutely! For this movie?
Ehhhhh…. I really feel like I need to keep throwing up disclaimers as I write this, because there is no question that Tinker Tailor has an all-star, well-proven cast of acting giants. A brief, not exhaustive list: Colin Firth, Benedict Cumberbatch, Ciarán Hinds and John Hurt. It really feels like sacrilege to say that, despite my best efforts, despite the film makers’ best effort, I just didn’t care for it.

Allow me to elaborate, and hopefully I can do so without constantly apologizing throughout. I went to see Tinker Tailor because my friends were going and because I read the cast list. I knew nothing about the story, that there was a book, etc. Nothing beyond the fact that my favourite British men would star in it (including my most recent love Benedict Cumberbatch). I love a good spy story, any thrillers, and I love me some Colin Firth. So, completely the opposite of Tintin, I went into this movie with a heart wide open and fully anticipating my love of it.

Instead I walked out pensive and confused. I felt like I had an itch in the back of my mind that I couldn’t scratch. And it seemed that my companions felt the same way, because they (a relatively loud-mouthed bunch) were all curiously subdued. Finally one person was brave enough to speak up and ask the dreaded question: “So…what did you think?” And after some hemming and hawing we were all finally able to man up and admit that we’d all found it boring. Boring! A spy drama, boring! It feels like a stab in the heart, even now, to admit it. But every one of us agreed that, when it’s all said and done (and we can be brutally honest), Tinker Tailor is plodding, dense, needlessly confusing, passionless and…boring.

The quickest response to a confusing adaptation is of course “Well, it makes sense if you read the book”, but I hate that excuse, it is such a cop-out. The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo is adapted from an absolute door-stopper of a book, is fast-paced (unapologetically so), and yet it is not impenetrable to those who haven’t read the books. And I’ve heard that Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy is also quite the ponderous tome, and that many story details simply could not be accommodated. But why, then, does it feel devoid of explanation? Stranger still, the chief complaint amongst my friends was that there was too much dialogue. They mean, of course, compared to the amount of action, but I felt quite the opposite. I understand the theme of subterfuge and secrecy inherent to spy stories, but was it necessary for the filmmakers to be so literal about it? I barely understood what I supposed to be concerned about, who I was supposed to empathize with and who should not be trusted. There are countless ominous looks between actors, but no real reason why we should be interested. The feeling I have is that the movie is only held together by the strength of its cast, that without their natural strengths and chemistry, there really would be nothing there.

It is slow-paced in all senses. Even the dramatic climax happens with such slow build-up that I honestly wasn’t expecting the reveal of the spy to happen so abruptly. Worse still, I was completely unsurprised by the reveal. I felt nothing, not surprise, not dismay, just disappointment that the answer to the mystery was so obvious. And that made all of the half-explained details all the more frustrating.

Tinker, Tailor, Solider, Spy, seems on its face similar to a movie like Memento; you can’t really appreciate it on the first viewing, because certainly you are missing something vital. But I went and re-read the plot afterward and found that, no, I had gotten it all on the first view; it just didn’t make any sense. Did the cast do the best with what they had? Absolutely. But I can’t help but feel robbed. This was a power-house cast, once in a life time. And I feel like it was squandered.

I shall finish now by coming back to Gary Oldman’s Oscar nomination. The man is a genius character actor. He should have a bushel full of Oscars by now, and I will fight anyone who disagrees. And I know that the Academy has a habit of giving Oscar nominations years late, for projects that are “safe”. If Oldman wins I will be thrilled for him. But ultimately I’ll also be a little disappointed. He did a great job, but it was not his best performance because he wasn’t working with the best material. He should win the statuette for something that we can all talk about proudly, and for years to come.

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The Adventures of Tintin is so awesome, you guys!

Hm, no wait, let me sound more professional. *Ahem*

The Adventures of Tintin is a glorious piece of story-telling and visual effects eye-candy that will no doubt be known as a benchmark for future movie-makers in the years to come. I cannot imagine the hours/days/weeks etc of painstaking and constant attention to detail that was required to achieve some of the best effects I’ve seen in an animated film yet. Every item, every bit of scenery, was exquisitely crafted. And amazingly enough they managed to find their way out of the uncanny valley and actually present us with such humanistic features that you could actually empathize with the characters and not be horrified by them (*cough*Polar Express*cough*). It wasn’t even enough for them to create the world in such vivid form, they had to go and be clever about it too and throw in shots that would be daring and inventive in any old live-action film. There is a moment where Snowy is holding a magnifying glass in his mouth and we see Tintin’s features through it, shrunk down and distorted in a comical fashion. It’s a cute scene, but think about that for a moment, think about how much extra work that must have created for the animators. And yet it is pulled off seamlessly without the appearance of any creative boasting.

Oh, and speaking of the guns, I must add a side-note. My father is ex-military and takes the props in films very. seriously. A movie will be ruined for him if they use a plane built in the ’40s in a film set in the ’20s (happens more than you’d think). So it’s no surprise that the first thing he commented on when we left the theatre was the weapons and aircraft in the film – however it was all praise! He was practically gushing over how the Walther PPK was exactly like the one he has held himself. It is just one more aspect of this beautifully composed film to which I can tip my hat.

It really should not have been a surprise that it’s such a solid film, when just reading the production credits was making me freak out with girlish glee. An unbelievable dream-team was assembled to bring to life one of the world’s most beloved characters, and this is a team that I trust. Let’s go down the list, shall we? Written by Steven Moffat (Dr. Who, Sherlock), and Edgar Wright (Shaun of the Dead, Hot Fuzz, Scott Pilgrim)! Directed by Spielberg Himself, with requisite score by John f-ing Williams! Starring no less than Daniel Craig, Simon Pegg, Nick Frost, Andy Serkis and Jamie Bell. My beloved Cary Elwes even showed up for a brief time. Oh, and the pièce de résistance: Peter “Lord of the Rings” Jackson was a producer.

Honestly, I couldn’t have disliked it if I’d tried. And while sometimes I quite enjoy my cinematic cynicism, there are times when we have to throw some habits out the window and just enjoy what’s in front of us. And I enjoyed the “great snakes!” out of Tintin.

*My main complaint about Steven Moffat has been that he sometimes has a sort of kitchen-sink attitude toward storytelling. This hasn’t been so much of an issue with Sherlock, but it was ruined some potentially wonderful Dr. Who for me. He gets so caught up in all of the possibilities of a story that he can’t help himself but throw them all in. It is overwhelming and can take you out of a story completely. However I saw none of that in this film, even during its most frenetic scenes. I must imagine that both Edgar Wright and Spielberg had hands in that, and am glad that Moffat can be tempered. Tintin could easily have flown over the heads of the audience (particularly its youngest members) but instead it was high-energy and accessible. Job well done chaps.

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A brief summary: Justine (Kirsten Dunst) is finding it hard to cope with the enforced joyfulness of her wedding to her husband Michael (Alexander Skarsgård). The more her family tries to engage her, the more she detaches from their embraces and their needs. This is compounded by the behaviour of her spectacularly neglectful parents (John Hurt and Charlotte Rampling), and her overbearing sister Claire (Charlotte Gainsbourg). Even her brother in law John (Keifer Sutherland) gets in on the blame game, calling her selfish for not being happy at the ridiculously extravagant wedding that he has bankrolled and hosted at his luxurious estate. The only person who seems passively invested in her happiness is Michael, but even he cannot withstand the powerful force of Justine’s chronic depression. As relationships are strained by Justine’s actions, a new cause for concern presents itself: a planet, Melancholia, has been discovered on a course past Earth. The planet is bigger than our own, and appears in our sky larger than the moon. Whether or not it will collide with the Earth is cause for dissent, and it sets the stage for the dramatic climax of the film.

Melancholia feels like two different short films, linked by their characters. Indeed, it is separated into two parts, each named for one of the sisters. And what is fascinating to me is the contrast found between the subject matter and the focal character of each. In the first part, we are introduced to Justine, the advertising copy-writer, turned art director. Justine seems to be the flightier of the two, detached from reality and struggling to find her place in it. She describes herself as being dragged down by grey wool, and her sister Claire tries to snap her out of it, demanding that she let go of those dreary fantasies. Claire seems utterly exhausted in dealing with Justine, and yet drawn to her, obsessed with her well-being while being herself completely unable to cope with Justine’s depression. Justine wants to run away, to check out, and makes some bold moves to that effect. She quits her job on the night of her promotion, with a spectacular burning of the bridge between her and her boss Jack (Stellan Skarsgård). And through a determined lack of action, she allows her brand new husband to walk out of her life. It seems like a laser-guided approach to hitting rock-bottom. And so her story would have ended there, except for Claire dragging her back to the estate to nurse her back to health. Claire is the grounding force, the rock to Justine’s river. And thus it is disconcerting when it is during Claire’s half of the film that the planet Melancholia and all of its ominous beauty is introduced.

The planet is blue, and seems to be devoid of life. Its path is calculated to pass close by Earth, interfering with our electronics and even drawing away a bit of our atmosphere. Claire’s husband John is an astronomy aficionado, and he is constantly reassuring Claire that “the scientists” are certain that it will pass Earth by safely. But the estate in which they live is very remote, disconnected from the outside world, and so Claire has only John’s opinion to sooth her concerns. As Melancholia approaches she finally takes to the Internet to find an alternative view point. This leads her to an alternative hypothesis of Melancholia’s projected path, and the prediction that it will loop around after the the fly by, and then collide with Earth. And during all of these events Claire has given herself the project of re-engaging Justine in the world again, with little success.

During part two it is revealed that Justine may have a preminatory ability of sorts. It seems that Claire is aware of this but has been doggedly ignoring it. Justine calmly reiterates that she “knows things”, and one of the things that she knows is that Life exists only on Earth, it will end soon, and that this is a good thing. Claire is torn between wanting to shut out her sister’s dire predictions, and her own increasing anxiety over Melancholia’s approach. She turns to her husband John for reassurance, but even he is unable to truly comfort her. When later his own confidence is shaken, Claire is left with no rock of her own.

The theme of loneliness is palpable in Melancholia, in Claire and Justine’s attempt to reach out to and connect with their loved ones. Justine tries fruitlessly to express her fears and deep sadness to her parents, but they have moved on with their lives and left no place for her. This parental neglect highlights the other theme of responsibility to others. Justine is responsible to Claire and John for her presence at her wedding; she is responsible to her husband Michael to be present in their relationship; Claire is responsible to John, to be a devoted wife; and John is responsible to both Claire and his son Leo (Cameron Spurr), to protect and provide for them. Ultimately everyone fails in their duties. Justine fails Claire, John, Michael, even her boss. John spectacularly fails Claire and Leo. At the end even Claire fails in her duties as a mother, as during Melancholia’s final approach it is Justine who helps young Leo prepare.

The message of Melancholia is in no way optimistic. It seems to be a quite dire warning that literal melancholia will only separate and destroy people, with no hope of averting the disaster. As the planet approaches, Justine seems to find her centre of calm and serenity that was beyond her grasp when she was faced with the demands of life and love. Justine gives in to the planet’s arrival completely, and is able to reach a protective Zen state, while Claire is left desperately trying to cling to the world that she understands.

A wonderful detail in the film is actually a lack of something: it’s the complete absence of other people. The estate exists like an island, remote from the rest of the world. The plot begins when the married couple arrives on the property, and we as the audience never leave. It adds beautifully to the sense of isolation that each character feels in their own skin, but also serves a very practical need. How could you tell the story of a world-ending stellar collision while focusing solely on the feelings and reactions of two sisters if the movie took place in a city or town? By stranding them all at the house we are able to really sit back and zoom in on every nuanced moment of some heartbreakingly honest performances.

Every actor in Melancholia shines as bright as the planet itself. Kirsten Dunst tackles the withdrawn, emotionally tortured Justine with a subtlety that is painful to watch. You can feel the fatigue that emanates from every pore in her body, and it is exhausting to behold. Charlotte Gainsbourg plays a very controlled but increasingly distraught Claire with a nervous energy that brings to mind the horses that the two sisters ride. Every movement, every glance betrays her frustration with Justine, or her shaken confidence in John. The only thing lacking is a real sense of relationship between Claire and her son Leo. It is difficult to tell, though, whether or not that is a directorial choice. The parental figures in this world of childish adults are all absent in spirit, if not in physical presence. With the exception of Keifer Sutherland’s John, the rest of the cast have appearances so short they almost seem to be cameos. But they are brilliant cameos, from John Hurt’s infantile lothario, to Charlotte Rampling’s bitter and vitriolic Gabby. Even Stellan and Alexander Skarsgård take the limited time they have on screen and really work with it. There is a cute nod toward their real-life relationship, as Stellan’s character Jack is the best man to Alexander’s Michael. But a real surprise performance comes from Kiefer Sutherland. As a man he is arrogant, demanding and selfish; as a husband he is soft, gentle, and completely giving. That is, until the reality of Melancholia’s approach becomes too much for him, and then his own needs win out over those of his family.

Lars von Trier has presented us with an apocalyptic vision that is about so much more than the end of life. Melancholia is less about making you think, and more about making you feel. The thematic music chords that reoccur throughout are almost an instruction: feel sad, feel lonely, feel frightened. And yet, when the end came and the credit rolled, I found myself instead feeling hopeful, inspired and glad. Glad that the worst hasn’t happened, that the world is not about to end. Is this an accidental product of von Trier’s work? Or are we meant to shake ourselves from the dread he has so carefully crafted, and instead join John in his toast: to Life. Life is still here, and we should celebrate it.

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The dinner was to celebrate a special occasion, which I mentioned when taking the opportunity to check in on Foursquare. The restaurant’s social media staffer offered congratulations via Twitter, and sent a direct message asking what name the reservation was under. After having answered and then received no further response I thought no more of it and set to examining the menu.

Nota Bene is currently celebrating both TIFF, and Perrier Jouet’s 200th anniversary by holding a champagne lounge. Despite the celebration we elected to have cocktails, having been drawn in by the menu. I was compelled to try the “Nota Bene”, and it was perfectly tart (but sweet enough not to pucker my mouth too much), and unexpectedly fizzy. A very pleasant kick-start to what proved to be an exceptional meal.

We were shown to our table, in the quieter of the two dining rooms, and in a sweet little corner spot. There were large dinner parties being held in the other room, and we were glad of the privacy afforded by our corner. We were served a soft whole grain bread with a mild olive oil for dipping. I have a real love affair with bread but I knew that so much was to come that I restrained myself from eating the entire basket. We ordered the steak tartar to share and did not have to wait long before being presented with such a sizable portion that it could have been a meal all in itself.

As an entree I ordered the scallops, served in a cream sauce with chunks of sweet and crispy bacon, some small potatoes, and covered with shavings of black truffle.

We were then surprised by being served two dishes with the chef’s complements. A small serving of tender garlic-dusted steak with candied onion and a sauce that we could only agree tasted both minty and basil-y. An unbelievable triumph, and one I would order again if it was made a main feature.

We cleaned our plates and sat back, lounging in a near food-coma. The dishes had been rich but not over-powering. But nonetheless we sadly refused dessert, knowing that even though the panna cotta they serve sounds amazing I couldn’t possibly give it its due attention.

However the staff surprised us then with the answer to the earlier Twitter mystery: a congratulatory dessert!

We chose Nota Bene as much for the star power behind it (Chef David Lee being well accomplished and a guest judge on Top Chef Canada) as for the menu we were able to view online. Not only was it a warm and welcoming evening, it was also the perfect place for an anniversary.

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Cherry blossoms, or sakura (桜 or 櫻) are the symbol of spring in Japan and to the world a symbol of Japan itself. The Japanese are big on seasonal symbols and so sakura time is a very important part of the yearly cycle here. Depending on the length and severity of the winter it can begin at the end of March or the start of April. This year we experienced a cold snap after the blossoms had already begun to appear which caused them all to halt their progress. While it made me impatient at first it proved to be a stroke of luck as the sakura were in full bloom on the day of my school’s Entrance Ceremony For New Students. The petals drifted gently past the Japanese flags at the gates as students wearing brand-new uniforms filed into the school.

Cherry blossoms in Japan are not just a symbol of spring, but also a representation of the beautiful transience of life.  The tiny pink flowers bloom and fall away in a matter of days, so if you want to enjoy them there is no time for dawdling.  Time and sakura wait for no man.  Most schools have sakura trees planted around their grounds, and so I have spent four springs waiting for the first flush of colour outside the office windows.  As soon as sakura appear I rush outside to stand under the branches and let the warm sun and sweet smell drift over me.  After a cold winter spent huddled in layers of sweaters indoors, my trip outside to greet the sakura is often my first incentive to spend any amount of time outside in the fresh air.

And I’m certainly not the only person to feel this way.  Sakura viewing is such a widely enjoyed activity that it has its own name: hanami (花見).  This literally means “flower viewing” and it is popular on the order of Canada Day/Fourth of July.  Families and coworkers gather in parks and on mountain tops to sit on blankets under the trees and eat delicious boxed meals (bento) together.  It is a chance for them to lay down their ever-present work and take some time to just enjoy nature and each other.  Oh, and to get incredibly drunk.
Every year my friends and I have gathered 

Takamatsu City’s ancient and famous Ritsurin Park for hanami.  We’d spread out on our plastic tarps, eat our bento, and drink some chuhai.  During the winter it’s hard to work up to motivation to travel, so some of the friends I meet for hanami are people I haven’t seen in four months or more.  It’s a fantastic opportunity to catch up, let loose, and be one with nature.

There is no immunity from sakura fever here.  Once the trees in the south start blooming the newspapers will run features tracking the projected path of the blossoms.  Even now the trees outside have almost dropped all of their petals and the pink is giving way to the bright green leaves.  And no, once the flowers are gone I can’t console myself with fresh cherries – the sakura trees of Japan are non-fruit producing.  But that doesn’t stop me from enjoying them.  Four years and four great hanami have left me feeling much more positively toward spring.

Now, you may be thinking “That’s all well and good, Angelina, but aside from your pictures I can’t really dohanami myself, so what’s so great about it?”  Well, let me answer that by asking: did you know that you can experience hanami in many countries besides Japan?  Probably not, if you asked that first question, but anyway.   I first learned of non-Japanese hanami festivals in an article from The Japan Times: “Scottish Town Takes To ‘Hanami’”.  Oh, and from another article about the cherry blossom trees in Washington DC.  My esteemed co-author Chantelle did a little digging for me and located this:

Sakura Matsuri events in the US and Canada:
National Cherry Blossom Festival, Washington, DC
International Cherry Blossom Festival, Macon, Georgia
Subaru Cherry Blossom Festival of Greater Philadelphia, Philadelphia, PA
Branch Brook Park Cherry Blossom Festival, Newark, NJ
Sakura Matsuri, Brooklyn, NY
Seattle Cherry Blossom & Japanese Cultural Festival, Seattle, WA
2009 Cherry Blossom Festival of Southern California, Los Angeles, CA
Vancouver Cherry Blossom Festival, Vancouver, Canada

Via http://blog.ningin.com/2009/04/05/time-for-cherry-blossoms-time-for-sakura-matsuri-time-for-hanami/

So!  Aside from the fact that spring is almost over you have no excuses.   Next year I challenge all of you to gather your friends, some blankets, some Lunchables, and head to your nearest sakura-having park to experience spring in a brand new way.   Get out, get some fresh air, and enjoy the fleeting beauty of this tiny pink flower.

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WWOOF can stand for a few things: Willing Workers on Organic Farms, or World Wide Opportunities on Organic Farms, or The Best Way To Spend A Week Of Your Life.  Ok, I made that last one up, but it’s genuinely how I feel after my WWOOfing experience.

I first learned of WWOOF from this article on Vagabondish.  Incidentally that’s also how I found out about Couch Surfing, which will be the subject of another article, soon enough.  The name drew my attention and as I read more about it I realized that I very much wanted to go.  I wanted to get out of the office and try being a farmhand, if just for a little while.  So this past summer I picked a week,  booked some vacation time, and headed off to the farm!

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