I’ve noticed recently, when it comes to restaurants, there’s much ado about a whole lot o’ nuthin’. I blame the Locavore revolution.
My man turned 40 last week. Trying to figure out where to go and what to do for this particular fellow was a bit of a nightmare. He’s one of the most social cats I know, so a party could be deadly – in every way. And trying to pick a handful of pals for […]
finally, this past weekend, I got just that. My Man took me away from all this and we headed West. To Los Angeles. Hollywood, California. Sun, Sand, Sea…Stars! Yes, kids, I went on my very own private Celebrity Safari!!!
Head on down to Eleven. And, though there are some, ahem, service issues, the food is DIVINE. Most of it.
My man and I love our babes to bits. But we also love each other, which is why we skipped town, hit the 401 and headed to Montreal.
Montreal, je t’aime. Stunning, accessible, and a helluva lot cheaper than Toronto, what’s not to love? Everyone’s got their fave places and spaces. And here are mine…
Ferillo. It was Saturday night and the joint was anything but jumping. It was Deadsville. But what the hell! We’d bring our own atmo. We braved the subtle bleachy/worn mop smell and took our seats in the window.
Doing dinner? There’s a new kid in town. Banu: an unpretentious, delicious and totally unique vodka-and-kebab experience. And it has Hookahs.