The walk of shame? No way! It’s the best way to work up an appetite for a BBQ

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Note: The Canada blogs have been rewritten and reposted due to requests for anonymity. [Melee - December 2008]

Walk of Shame
We drive back through Toronto’s downtown in the bright light of an early Saturday morning. The CN Tower, having been unlit the night before save for a few blinking red lights, is fully visible now. My friend Andrea, who lives here, climbed 150 flights of stairs to the top of this tower for a wildlife charity this year. Staring at the “world's tallest freestanding structure on land,” which stands 553.33 meters (1815 ft 5 in) high, all I have to say is you go, girl, feel the burn. The apartment is quiet as we unlock the door, but I’m sure our hostess knows we’ve come home at an hour fit for her wild days in Rome. We get up five hours later and sit down at the table for bacon and eggs over easy. They are spoiling us rotten!

Family BBQ
Today we are going to visit our host’s new office. He is the founder and CEO of a successful company, having built his firm from the ground up. After visiting his new digs, we head to a suburb outside Toronto for an extended family BBQ. The drive is scenic, with lots of beautiful and lush forests. Oh, and lots of road kill too. One raccoon looked particularly miserable. Our BBQ hosts arrive just a few minutes afer us, as they were on their way back from an MLS match between Toronto FC and Colorado Rapids. There is a lovely house with a pond where Canadian geese sometimes take a break on their migration, and a pretty bridge over said pond. We walk about the vegetable garden, and see a cute little brown bunny doing away with the tomato plants. This is a great place for kids to run around.

The grill is fired up and our host is ready, apron and all. Leroy and our host’s son play soccer and (American) football in the expansive grass. I drink Italian red wine and sit with my relatives, unaware that I am being eaten alive by mosquitoes. We set the table inside the house and feast on perfectly done steaks, spicy Italian sausage, potato salad, crispy flatbread that was lightly grilled, and salad. The boy says he wants two steaks - oh how I envy his metabolism. He regales us with Borat impressions even though he has never watched the movie. After dinner, we sit with him and watch the end of The Epic Movie (who makes these movies?!?), complete with his rendition of Miss New Bootie. Is he really only eight years old?

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