Waffle World
Even the light fixtures are waffles at Waffle works
Lazy lovely weekend, but for a crazy fun dinner party we threw Saturday night. Film producer Marty Katz joined us on his own as his wife Laura Trachuk was judging a moot court at U of T over the weekend. He was off this week to meet Giancarlo Giannini in Rome to discuss a film project, as if anything could ever be as fabulous. We were also joined by McClelland & Stewart CEO Doug Pepper, and his wife Susan Burns of Random House who I’ve only recently met but is a riot, Bay marketing man Patrick Dickenson and his wife, the lovely Leigh Gravenor, who I’ve known since she was a girl, the always delightful Moira Wright, event directrice of Holt Renfrew, and her husband, entrepreneur and debonair man-about town Joseph Wilson. Girl about town, writer Ann O’Hagan, and the incredibly handsome Florian, a visiting lawyer from Berlin who had all the women swooning in Thomas’ office, made it a party.
Sadly, given the fact that I had invited a number of foodies, my dinner, which was easy enough to start with (rack of lamb, scalloped potatoes, green beans) was a bit of a flop as I had strangely undercooked the potatoes. I don’t know how I could possibly screw up the easiest dinner in the world, but I did. Of course I was up at 4 am fretting about it. But nobody else seemed to care as the wine and vodka and conversation kept flowing. There was vigorous debate over the George Clooney movie Up in the Air, which I loved but Marty complained was about nothing. Late in the evening, with Stevie Wonder on the turntable, there was even some post-dinner dancing. Somebody–I don’t know who–left a pretty Chanel lip gloss.
Sunday, our 16 year-old son Philip wanted a driving lesson, so he took us for a leisurely drive along the lake to Mimico, where we popped in for brunch at my new favourite place, which is this incredibly odd diner at the back of a 60s plaza overlooking the water called The Waffle works. The entire interior of this old diner, right down to the waffle insets on the ceiling, and the orange-y tint on the windows, is golden griddle-themed, so much so that you feel you are inside a giant waffle. Better yet, the house specialty is fried chicken with waffles. Toss on a little hot sauce and drizzle the whole plate with maple syrup and you might as well be at the famed Roscoe’s in L.A.–except lakeside, here in Toronto, at an odd lonely diner overlooking a flotilla of waddling ducks and Canada geese.
After our extremely healthy lunch we waddled around the shore ourselves, bundled in layers of fried food and hats and scarves. It was so unimaginably cold it was hard to understand how the ducks and geese could just be floating there in the icy water. Why aren’t they down south with the rest of the snowbirds?
On that note, this morning I’m rushing off to pack as I am off to Tel Aviv (which won’t be hot but at least not freezing) for More magazine. I promise more scintillating news from the road, and none of it will be about waffles.