After eight days and nights of eating with my hands–think skewered meatballs and shrimp, tuna ceviche on flat bread and itty bitty tacos–I had my first meal on a plate topped with food that I consumed with a knife and fork on Thursday night.
I covered the TIFF party scene for Metro this year. It’s my fifth year reporting on the festival’s nightlife, and–like clockwork–I metamorphosed into something I call a TIFFhole. I define what this is here. If you have no interest in reading that, I’ll quote myself, which is a really TIFFhole thing to do: “The transition to TIFFhole is a well-known phenomenon in some circles. It’s two weeks of obsessing over party invites, name-dropping and filing stories as the sun rises,” I wrote. “The TIFFhole is a werewolf, ashamed of what it’s become but hungry for its prey and the second-rate rubbed off luminosity of being in close proximity to the stars that it’s hunting.”
A few days before the Beast’s May 12 birthday, I tried to make a reservation at Edulis for a special dinner. I’ve had two memorable meals there and wanted him to experience it. But the restaurant, which routinely receives near-perfect reviews and comes out on top of Canada’s “best restaurant” lists, was booked well into June. Eventually, I secured a dinner on a recent Wednesday evening. What should have been a beautiful dinner out, however, descended into disorder on account of poor behaviour on my part.
It started out wonderfully, despite the early dinner hour. We used to eat pretty late at night but these days it’s not uncommon that we’ve finished dinner by 6:30 or 7:00 p.m, which is why, I suppose, I made the reservation for 6:00 p.m.
We were the first to arrive. The doors were still locked at 6:03 p.m. But there were some lovely patio tables to sit around. The Beast looked so handsome in the evening light that I had to take his photo.