Home is where the food is (a 107 Ave serenade)

Source: Faces of 107 Avenue

Adobo creative suites

Masala motion pictures

Mad about saffron

And high on wild rosewater nocturnes and the sweet Rumi-nations of old Tehran

Footsteps springy like fresh injera

With a fire-roasted coffee and frankincence chasers at my heels

Striding sing-song down the Avenue of Nations

Calibrating my olfactory GPS; new-world coordinates in old-country code

The dhows of Gwadar, Suquṭra, Muqdisho

Safely moored on a verdant bend in the North Saskatchewan

Bringing sustenance and satiety to shivering winter citizenry

Cracked cardamom pods, frim-fram shawarma sauce

Weaponized wild rice and a backup bottle of chili sauce for that extra zing

Here on the Ave this is kind of our thing

Some say home is where the heart is

But the heart falters when the stomach lies empty

Others say home is where the money is

But money for nothing? Have these chickpeas for free!

Home is where the food is

Where continents and condiments collide in cast-iron kitchen pots

With fierce chillies, midnight meat sweats, and moose nose stew with bannock sliders

Treaty 6 treats with Tagalog tagalongs

And palak paneer amid the backdrop of a bigos and kubasonic boomtown

It’s everything that’s good to eat

Right out there on the street

Yeggs benedict for breakfast

E-town empanadas for lunch

Prairie chicken Kiev with a side of doro. Wot?

It’s all here. It’s all us.

Give me a home where the free-range buffalo roam (out at Elk Island)

Where the kheer and the cantaloupe come out to play for dessert

Where seldom is heard a discouraging Urban Spoon word

And the skies are as wide open as our doors, as big as our portion sizes

And as vivid and alive as our spicecraft and foodscape

Welcome home