World Cup of Dining in Toronto 25, 26: Portugal and Korea Republic

Portugal: “You’re not gonna wear that, are you?” My buddy just stepped out of the cab onto Dundas Street in Portugal Village wearing a Germany football jersey. Portugal plays Germany in the World Cup next week. Shaking my head we climb the stairs to the Lisbon by Night restaurant.IMG_20140607_184131

Jose our waiter pretends not to notice the jersey as he recommends the seafood rodizio – an all-you-can-eat succession of fish dishes. The sea is boundless, but our stomachs not so much, as we worked our way through cod, salmon, shrimp and other varieties. It’s good but ultimately too much. Meanwhile, the banquet hall fills with guests from two confirmation celebrations – one kid in a suit and bow tie posing for pictures with his cross-shaped cake. The surprise delicious kicker at the end is roast pineapple, flavoured with cinnamon – tudo de bom!

 

 

 

Korea: Nothing says “authentic Korean” like shrieking 80’s hair metal rock. So we ordered our bibim bap and bulgogi to the agonizing strains of “Unskinny bop” by Poison. I lived near Korea town in university and that’s where I had my first taste of spicy kimchi (a fermented cabbage). Fittingly, my dinner IMG_20140608_165546companion was a friend from that era. Over our stone bowls of rice, grilled beef, egg, and vegetables, spicy side dishes and Korean beer, we compare notes on being double our age, pet care, family vacations, hangover remedies, and pole dancing (her venture not mine).


World Cup of Dining in Toronto 24: NigeriAAHH!

“Dis gonna be too ‘ot for ‘im”.

The servers confer about the dish I am getting – spicy beef with rice and plantain. The lady in the food service head cover raises a dubious eyebrow, and hands over the plastic container with a look that says “you asked for it.”

I’m at Lola’s Catering, on Jane south of Finch. It’s only big enough for a counter and a couple of seats. Friendly and boisterous Nigerians enter to pick up their orders – speaking in loud, lilting accents I barely recognize. I dig into my meal – good stuff….!

Through a river of tears and mucus, and breathing fire, I read the handmade postings tacked to the wall.  “Yoruba Community Beauty Pageant” says one. “They are prety (sic), gorgeous, beautiful, elegant & adorable.” Would be funny, but the top news coming out of Nigeria these days isn’t exactly female friendly. The antique-bottled Schweppes tastes of tonic water spiked with grapefruit juice – but it only provides temporary relief for my dragon-like mouth.

I pack up the leftovers for a later flame throwing session, and on my way out tell the ladies at the counter that Nigeria is number one in spicy.