Luso Life 013 by LusoLife

Nº 013

Summer ‘22

so, i guess this is work

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Aveiro, Portugal

saudade

[ soh-dah-duh ] noun. (in Portuguese folk culture) a deep emotional state of melancholic longing for a person or thing that is absent.

Satisfy your longing in Portugal

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The views expressed throughout Luso Life belong to the respective authors, and do not necessarily represent the views of the company and team. A D VERTISE info@lusolife.ca C RE ATI V E D IRE C TOR

C ON TA CT

David Ganhão

lusolife.ca info@lusolife.ca

a r t / d es i gn DIREC TOR Noah Ganhão A D V ERTISIN G D IRECTOR José M. Eustáquio P HOTOS Adrienne Oliveira David Ganhão Joseph Amaral Josie Cipriano Michael Neal Noah Ganhão i l l u s t rat i ons

D ISTRIB UTION If you would like to carry Luso Life, write to info@lusolife.ca SUB SC RIB E Luso Life is released four times per year. To subscribe, visit lusolife.ca/shop Price: $10 CDN l i s t en Listen to a few of the many tunes that helped us through some long days while we were crafting this issue.

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Published by MDC Media Group Manuel DaCosta, President.

Noah Ganhão Printed in Toronto. WOR D S Adrienne Oliveira David Ganhão Inês Carpinteiro Julia Dantas

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Contents 14

Vamos petiscar Let’s go have a snack with Avó Lúcia.

Just a small town girl Julia Dantas talks about her journey from growing up in Greenbank to touring with Avril Lavigne and making-up Lizzo for the Met Gala.

The dirty business of fast fashion

Walking with the faithful The Romeiros, a pilgrimage of faith that is over 300 years old, explained.

Wearing the latest styles can be fun but it comes at a cost.

So, I guess this is work Meet Ron Hawkins... musician, painter & political shit disturber.

Destination POR

No diving

Ever thought about just packing up and leaving? We found a family that did just that.

Summer swimming at the public pool.

Just face it… you’re boring Sure, we all think we're exciting, but our buying habits tell a different story.

La Baracca Don't let the name fool you... it's no shack, it's a fine-dining experience.

Portrait The [lost?] art of shooting on film.

WORDS: David Ganhão

recipe: Ana lúcia sousa

PHOTOS: mike neal

avó lúcia

Vamos petiscar let’s go have a snack

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petisco [noun] [pe-tea-sh-cu] A Portuguese relative of Spanish tapas, petiscos are small snacks meant to be shared while having a drink. Petiscos can be simple [olives, bread, salted lupini beans] or something more elaborate [grilled chouriço, octopus salad]. petiscar [verb] [pe-tea-sh-car] The act of sharing a petisco with friends.

clean

boil

hen my wife and I were planning our wedding, we set out to do some comparison shopping. We looked at prices, the quality of their work and the personalities of the people we spoke with—we didn’t want to hand over thousands of dollars to a person who could potentially ruin our big day. We had two caterers referred to us, so we scheduled appointments with both on the same evening. We met with the first one, an older gentleman who’d been in the business for many years. His first order of business was to badger us for not having the bride’s parents with us. We explained that since they wouldn’t be paying for the wedding, it was a moot point but he was undeterred, insisting he couldn’t speak with us if they weren’t present. When we asked for a ballpark figure, he asked what we wanted to be served. When asked what the choices were, he got more annoyed, tossed a paper menu on our table, told us he was a very busy man and left to speak to someone at another table. Isabel and I exchanged a glance— 16

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time to leave. We showed up to our second appointment early and were greeted by a smiling gentleman behind a desk. “Hi! I’m Bert.” When we asked him for some menu suggestions, we let the genie out of the bottle. Bert took us on a culinary voyage of options and recommendations for every course, passionately explaining how each dish would be prepared. I swear you could see a twinkle in his eye and he was definitely salivating. He was passionate and that was enough for us. When I called Avó Lucia to talk recipes, she displayed the same passion for food as Bert did. “I can do rabanadas Poveiras… I have my mother’s secret recipe but I heard you wanted to do the francesinha sandwich, so I can do that if you like but I’d have to call my mother in Portugal to get her recipe for the francesinha sauce—her sauce is the best and that’s the key! How about we do an octopus salad? It’s a very typical dish in my hometown, in fact my parents used to serve it in their tasca.” I could hear the saudade in her voice.

wait

done

Saudade is an emotional state caused by missing someone or something or someplace and thanks to some incredible mythology, it’s possibly Portugal’s most famous word. Lusophones have been telling themselves [and anyone who will listen] that since the word isn’t translatable into any language, they are the only people on the planet able to have these feelings—a cute story but total rubbish. In Spain they say añoranza, the Germans say sehnsucht, and although we may need more than one word to say it in English, we anglophones are quite capable of feeling nostalgic longing.

fill up on the day’s special which are usually hand written on the paper table cloths—if you see a fancy multi-lingual menu printed outside the door, I suggest passing that one by… it’s probably and over-priced tourist trap. Eating at tasca is like eating at a friend’s home—the menu changes daily, the owners and staff treat you like family and the food tastes homemade, like it was prepared by your avó. Okay, admittedly my theory is a small stretch, since you can find a family-owned restaurant anywhere in the world, but trust me when I say that tascas are something totally unique to Portugal.

If we’re going to talk untranslatable Portuguese words, I think tasca would be a better suggestion. These are small, family owned no-frills restaurants that started popping up in Portugal ash the end of the 19th century serving cheap house wines and petiscos. Portugal evolved and so did the tasca, which now serve up large portions of authentic food at honest prices. Locals in any city or town fill the seats [especially at lunch] to

I met Lucia for the first time when we showed up at her doorstep on the day of the photo-shoot and I immediately got that “feeling of being at an old friend’s house” vibe. [to be fair, I’ve had that feeling at every avó’s house we visited]. Lucia told us about growing up near the ocean in the city of Póvoa de Varzim. If the city name sounds familiar to you, maybe LUSO LIFE

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it’s because in 2021, American fashion house, Tory Burch drew attention to the fishing city when they copied the Poveira sweater then told the world it was Baja inspired—they’ve since corrected this slip-up and all parties involved are happy. Lucia’s father owned a tasca in the city and she worked there, naturally. She met and fell in love with José Marinho, her future husband, in that city. His grandparents also owned a tasca in a nearby town and he would come to the city to visit the market or to go fishing. Since Lucia was only 14 when they met, her father wouldn’t let her date, but there were workarounds. José would show up with a few sardines to use as bait and his homemade spear [a broom handle with a large spike nail curving out of one of the ends], and the two of them would take a walk to the ocean, to go octopus fishing. They eventually got married and moved to Canada, worked hard and built a family—three children, two boys and a girl, and a pair of grandchildren. At this point in the story, I’m inserting an “ewww” warning… If you think members of the cephalopod clan are gross [squid, cuttlefish, octopus], you may want to skip to the end of the story because now it’s time to talk octopi… or octopuses… or octopodes. I’ve been a fan of the octopus for a very long time—probably since my Sesame Street days, when I remember watching the Muppets do their rendition of a Beatles classic that was written by Ringo Starr. As the story goes, Ringo was hanging out on Peter Sellers’ yacht, off the coast of Sardinia, and was served squid—something he had never eaten before. He told everyone, “It was OK. A bit rubbery. Tastes like chicken.” He then went to chat with the boat’s captain who told him that octopus travelled along the seabed looking for shiny objects to build their gardens. This inspired the Beatle timekeeper to write a song and with a little help from his friend George, Octopus’ Garden was born. Aside from this fun sing-song memory, I also happen to find the octopus delicious, so when Lucia suggested her recipe, it was my turn to start salivating—I can, though sympathize with the people who haven’t tried it and think the octopus is, well, ewww. Raw octopus is slippery and the suction cups can be off-putting but given a chance, it can quickly become one of your faves. Although it comes from the sea, it’s not fishy smelling or tasting, in fact they are just as flavourful as lobster with some people saying they taste like chicken [Ringo] or are similar to pork—it’s really dependent on how they are marinated or the flavours added while cooking. As a bonus, most octopus sold in stores comes pre-cleaned, so all it needs is a quick rinse and you’re ready to go… and in case you need more convincing, it is high in protein, iron, vitamin B-12, and selenium, but low in calories and fat.

As Lúcia cooked, the conversation twisted and turned and touching on a variety of topic —as two old friends often do— and she was passionate about all of them. Whether she was talking about planning her husband’s birthday party [happy belated José!], sharing memories from Portugal or food, everything seemed new and exciting. The one thing that she seemed most proud of was talking about her yearly Movember fundraiser. Since 2016 she has organized an event that has raised close to fifty thousand dollars for the charity [If you’re interested in donating or attending her event, send us an email to info@ lusolife.ca and we’ll put you in contact with the lady herself]. With the meal prepared, we moved to the dining room where, just like a tasca owner, she pulled out three traditional clay plates, cutlery, glasses and set everything down on her checker-board tablecloth, all of which were brought to Canada from Portugal—mementos of the tasca life she left behind. Her final touch was opening a bottle of wine and pouring some for me into a mug that used to belong to her husband’s grandfather, telling me it was the cup he used for wine. As we packed up to leave, Lúcia promised to make some rabanadas Poveiras for us to enjoy at the LL studio and walked us to our car. The only thing that seems to be missing from Lucia’s life is a tasca of her own. “Maybe one day,” she smiled. “It’s my dream.” I look forward to that dream coming true.

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serves 4 to 6

Octopus salad octopus

Fill a large stock pot with 2 litres of water [or enough to cover the octopus].

2 kg octopus, head removed

Add 1 large onion and salt to the water and bring to a boil.

1 tbsp salt

Meanwhile, rinse the octopus under cold running water.

1 large onion

Carefully lower the octopus into the boiling water.

molho verde 1 bunch parsley (to taste) 1 onion 125 ml olive oil 250 ml red wine vinegar salt (to taste)

Let cook until tender—about one hour depending on the size of your octopus. Drain the octopus and discard boiled onion. Place on a cutting board and cut into bite size pieces. Prepare the molho verde 1. Finely chop onion and parsley and add to a bowl. Add vinegar and olive oil to bowl and stir. Serve with corn bread and olives. If you have left over molho verde, warm a can of chick peas or black eyed peas and drizzle with the vinaigrette

molho verde literally means “green sauce.” although there are various versions of this punchy herb infused sauce, they are all olive oil based with onion and/or garlic and loads of parsley or cilantro depending on your taste buds. 22

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words: julia dantas

photos: @josieciprianophotography

JUST A SMALL TOWN GIRL

julia dantas

ey you, it’s me again. I’ve been writing this column for a while now and if you’re a frequent reader, you know the next few hundred words will be about makeup but, this time, we’ll go off script because I haven’t ever really told you about myself. Backstory! It’s no surprise that I’ve always wanted to be a makeup artist. I was always fascinated with how makeup could give you an instant confidence boost and since all of the women in my life were such powerhouses, it made me admire makeup from a young age. My mom would often do different TV gigs and I remember when I got to be a part of the make-up room it felt like such a special time. Fast forward to the day my appendix ruptured in high school and I was put on life-support at Sick Kids hospital. The doctors told my parents that I might not make it through the night. I was really sick and there were tubes everywhere including an IV in my neck feeding me medicine. This IV ended up damaging the vein going to my right eye which developed into Horner syndrome. Horner syndrome is when your pupil doesn’t dilate properly and the eye starts to change colour from your other eye. Going through this in high school gave me a newfound love for makeup and I started using makeup as an amazing tool. I would start manipulating my features and make my eye look bigger with different hacks like putting white in my waterline and a darker colour in my other waterline. It was then I realized that makeup was such a powerful craft that was so much more than just making somebody feel beautiful. From that point on I knew that I not only wanted to be a makeup artist but I knew that I wanted to do something big. I grew up in a little town called Greenbank—there is literally only one restaurant in my whole town. So yes, I’m a small town country girl but I always had a burning passion for makeup and I knew I needed to impact more people's lives. I went to makeup school, left for the big city and never looked back.

You may be thinking, “Julia, why are you giving me your life story?” I get it, I feel like I’ve told it 100 times but I wanted to share a bit about my life with you because a little old me is currently touring with Avril Lavigne. I remember doing dance routines in my house to Sk8er Boi and making all of my family sit through my different routines (sorry fam). It’s truly been a full circle moment the past few months from doing the Met Gala with Lizzo, the Juno awards with Avril Lavigne, and then getting asked to be a part of her tour. If you’re wondering, “Julia, how did you get here?” It wasn’t luck. It wasn’t because of the people I knew. It was by hard work. I always remind myself why I started—it was so much more than just putting makeup on somebody’s face. I wanted to make a difference, and I wanted to make an impact on other people's lives. Whenever I have bad days I draw from that reminder in the back of my head—why I started, and the experiences that I’ve gone through, from being in the lowest places in my life to where I am now. It’s important to reflect on yourself, on your life, and on how far you’ve come. You can’t compare yourself to other people, but you can compare yourself to who you were yesterday, last month or last year. The moral of the story is, you can’t let something like where you live or experiences you’ve gone through dictate your life. If you have passion, drive, and the willingness to never give up, anything is possible. This is my PSA—start doing that side hustle; quit your job; post that story on Instagram; or do whatever it is that sets your soul on fire. You only have one life, you’re always going to be your biggest cheerleader, and you can do this. @juliadantasbeauty

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W THE F

WALKING WITH FAITHFUL Romeiros of São Miguel

words: Inês carpinteiro photos: Joseph Amaral

here’s something predictable in human beings. When misfortune knocks on our door, we tend to turn to some kind of spiritual journey to bring meaning to the calamity and comfort of our minds. Portugal’s history is filled with moments that exemplify how we search for guidance in a superior source. Some of those crusades originate traditions that integrate our culture and are treasured century after century. That’s how the Romeiros in São Miguel came to life.

São Miguel is the largest of the islands of the Azores archipelago. In the 16th century, the island suffered a massive earthquake that caused landslides and brought devastation and loss to the population. This tragedy was perceived by the locals as being a punishment for their human actions. In Vila Franca do Campo, a hill collapsed and more than five thousand people died. According to history, the few survivors – around 70 – were the ones that made the first procession that originated the Romeiros. After the heart quake, Friar Afonso de Toledo appealed to the survivors to hold a procession in memory of the victims. When they did, eight days after, the earth stopped shaking. The news spread on the island and the entire population started repeating the ritual. It all started as a supplication and mercy to God. 28

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Romeiro is the designation given to someone that travels to a certain part of the world to pay a promise or pay devotion to a certain saint. In São Miguel, this pilgrimage was created reflecting the population’s need to respect and honour the Virgin Mary. And so was born one of the greatest traditions. They began to pray in large groups, walking through every corner of land, stopping in local parishes to rest and eat while begging for forgiveness of their sins, giving thanks for the many blessings in their lives, asking for peace on earth and blessings to the church and all the families. In the Portuguese island, the Romeiros are catholic groups, organized by ranches and localities that departure at different times, and visit the largest number of churches and chapels in São Miguel, during the Season of Lent. Their journey starts at the end of February and it lasts eight days. The route that covers over 300 kilometres and is completed on foot, will be done in a clockwise direction, meaning that the sea will always be on their left. The faith of the men and their power of praying are unimaginable. There are no differences between men, no rich or poor, here not even names matter, they are just men of faith. All brothers. When asked how many they are, they always add three more to the group – the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. The Romeiros are not saints, however they assure that joining a pilgrimage between ‘brothers’ makes them better men. 30

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Until the 20th century, the pilgrimage was composed of men, women, and children. When the Church started to regulate the pilgrimage, the women were advised not to participate, for various reasons – hygienic reasons, lack of individual protection and to take care of their younger children. Many desire to be part of this tradition to fulfill their own promises or the promises of other who cannot go. Some have been part of it for decades. Others may go led by their friends and others may just want a silent break for a week. However, it demands a few requirements and great preparation. You must be an active member of the catholic church and to be accepted by the master. Once accepted, you will need to memorize all prayers and songs, prepare your costume, and comply with the rules of conduct. Every year, hundreds of men, fulfill their centuries-old tradition in a journey of sacrifice and faith that takes the body to its limit of resistance. Wearing traditional clothes, the men and boys carry a staff, a colourful scarf over their shoulders, a bag that conveys food and a few pieces of clothing, and the precious rosary in their hands. No matter the weather conditions, rain or shine, the day starts before dawn and they will only rest again when entering a locality for an overnight stay, right after sunset. Their prayers and singing invades the streets and create a feeling of benevolence extended to the entire island. As the days go by, the bag they carry becomes heavier, the feet start to drag, blisters and ills disturb the body, and the few hours of sleep make the walking even more challenging. After all, the Romeiro is the ability to overcome. The faith the Micaelenses community has in the pilgrims is difficult to measure. The pilgrimage takes over everyone, it takes over the entire island in a link of prayer, mutual help, and sharing that knows no limit. From the priest that celebrates the mass when the whole village is still asleep, to those who get up early to guarantee sustenance to give strength to the pilgrims. All over the São Miguel, the population opens their doors to the Romeiros, offering them a place to rest and assist to their basic needs to ease their journey and share the gratitude for their mission. People request them to pray for them, and at the same time, they pray for the Romeiros. This expedition provides an admirable insight into the local people’s values. LUSO LIFE

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words: Inês carpinteiro

photo: David Ganhão

f you were born in Portugal 50 years ago, maybe a few years earlier in Canada, you’ll likely remember that your mother or grandmother were the one’s making your clothes. For most Portuguese families, mastery of the art of sewing was essential part of their financial planning. Every house had a sewing machine—a little, sacred space where hems were adjusted, garments were sewn, knitted socks were made. The only limit was imagination and access to raw materials. If you lived during this time, you probably didn’t own a pair of jeans until you were an adult. Clothes would be ripped and sewed until the fabric finally disintegrated. Fashion was not a priority or even a necessity. In a typical Portuguese family home, only half a dozen pieces of clothes were seen hanging on the clothesline. This is because most were passed between siblings. You would have only a few outfits for school or work and a more treasured item which was your Sunday best and only worn to church or on special occasions. Each family member had only a couple pairs of shoes, which were meant to last, and if the kids damaged them before their time, well… they had to keep using them anyway. This was the reality for the majority of the Portuguese population. From a young age you would learn to cherish your belongings, to make them last, as new items wouldn’t come to you often. This applied to clothes, food, books, toys, or anything else. It was rooted in the mentality of the time. When you can’t have much, you learn to manage the little you have. We have come a long way from those days—from having only a few pieces of clothes, many of those passed on from generation to generation, to the insane desire to always own the new trend.

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Have you ever thought about the amount of clothes you have already owned? Did you use them to their full potential? And when you are done with them, what happens? I only very recently stopped to think about this, and it has made me rethink my own choices. In Canada, the average person throws away 37kg of clothes, per year. In 2020, the fast fashion industry was valued at around 35.4 billion dollars. Clothing production has doubled – around 200 billion units per year – while garments lifespan has decreased. Does fast-fashion exist due to our desire for constant trendy looks or did the top industry’s players convinced us that we are behind trends as soon as they are released? This cycle of trend replication, rapid production, low quality, and competitive prices is an armful for the garment workers, for the environment and even our wallets. Sometimes I think that, in many aspects, globalization was the beginning of the end. The same globalization that allows you to experience other cultures is also hurting them. The big fast-fashion companies have been taking advantage of this by setting up production in places where labour is cheap, while they sell their products in developed countries. A staggering 93% of brands surveyed by the Fashion Checker [a project set up to investigate and show the world what fashion brands pay their workers] aren’t paying their workers a living wage. For example, the average salary of an Ethiopian garment worker is $26 a month. Trendy stores like Fashion Nova, Shein, Revolve, Boohoo, Forever 21 and Pretty Little Things score 10% on the Fashion Transparency

Index. As we say in Portuguese ‘Quem não deve, não teme’—which, in this case, pretty much means that if they have nothing to hide, they would have disclosed their factory’s locations and work conditions. Besides unfair wages, the workers also face long work hours, poor resources, exposure to chemicals that harm their health and some even suffer physical abuse at the hands of their employers. So, when we buy a cheap shirt, someone, somewhere, is paying the price. However, if you think fast-fashion can’t harm you because we are many kilometres away from the main factories, you are wrong. Fast fashion is not only dissipating human misery, but also accelerating the climate crises. This is the third biggest manufacturing industry, responsible for almost 10% of global carbon emissions—equal to international aviation and shipping’s carbon emissions combined. To accomplish their main goal, which is to lower production costs, they neglect all environmental advice. Most of the fabrics we use are made from petrochemicals which take over 200 years to decompose. The washing, diluents and dyes used in manufacturing are responsible for one fifth of industrial water pollution and our clothing is responsible for almost 35% of micro-plastics flowing in the ocean. It takes 6,800 litres of water—or what one person would drink in ten years—to produce one pair of jeans. How much water was wasted on your closet? Every year, the value of more than $500 billion is lost to clothing underutilization. The clothes haven’t even left the factory and 15% of all fabric

has been wasted at the cutting stage of production. Then, when retail stores have too much inventory, instead of donating or creating a recycling program, they opt to toss it away or burn the unsold stock. When bought, three out of five fast fashion items end up in landfills. So, these garments, filled with pesticides and many harmful chemicals stay in open air, for many years, releasing their toxins. Buying clothes has become more accessible than ever, but someone else is paying the price. In fact, you are paying the price too, as this poorly made clothes can be harmful to our skin, which happens to be our largest organ. How many times have you been convinced to buy something you don’t need? Personally, more times than I would like to admit. Our mentality and the incessant marketing tricks play a major role in sustaining this industry, but their success is not limited to that. The reality is that consciously made clothes are not for everyone’s pockets. Since their purchase power is low, their [justifiable] higher prices can be discouraging for most of the population. I guess we should start picking our clothes just like we should pick our friends - quality over quantity. If by now you are still not convinced that this is a major issue in today’s society, I advise you to see the videos from the mountain of clothing in the Atacama Desert in Chile. Every year 53,523,900kg of clothing from Asia, Europe and North America arrive at Chile’s Iquique port. From there the clothes are sold in Latin America. From that, around 39,000 tonnes cannot be sold and end up in landfills. A graveyard of fast fashion is the proof that making clothes is a dirty business.

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SO, I GUESS THIS IS WORK ron hawkins

INTER VIEW : Dav id

Ganh ão PHOTOS

LUSO LIFE

: No ah Gan hão

I was putting together a soundtrack of my youth, somewhere near the top of the list is Lowest of the Low and their debut album Shakespeare… My Butt. Like many people, my introduction to the Low would’ve been via CFNY, Toronto’s “alternative” radio station. Like KROQ in LA or WLIR in NY, CFNY were always ready to give something new a chance and in 1992, it was Lowest of the Low. At the time I was playing DJ at a local bar and made it my mission to buy their CD so I could play it for the 50 or so people that showed up to hear me force-feed them whatever I was in the mood to hear that particular night. Surprisingly, I don’t remember where I eventually found it, but I ended up with a copy, and every night I would play a couple of songs from the album—a singalong for the crowd like Salesman, Cheats & Liars” or “Henry Needs a New Pair of Shoes” and something for me like “For the Hand of Magdelena” or “The Taming of Carolyn.” The Shakespeare CD followed me everywhere—it would leave the DJ booth and go to the car, then leave the car and come into the apartment where I would put it on and strum my guitar to the 15 songs—I probably should’ve bought a second copy, but I was broke, so one would have to do. When lineup for Edgefest 1993 [a music festival hosted by CFNY] was announced, I immediately bought two tickets—one for me and one for my girlfriend, and on July 1 we jumped into my Volkswagen and made our way to Toronto. We arrived at Ontario Place, parked and made

our way to the gate. Over a dozen bands were playing and the lineup was ridiculous: Rheostatics, The Waltons, The Watchmen and of course, Lowest of the Low. As we walked past some people, my girlfriend casually asked, “Was she pretty?” Here we go again, I thought. This was an annoyingly common, and undeserved question. I stopped and asked her to point out which girl she was referring to. “Never mind, I thought you were looking at the blond girl.” “I wasn’t,” I answered, “but yes, she is pretty.” Knowing this would make her angry, I probably should have crafted a different answer but I didn’t care. I just wanted to get inside to watch the show. I figured she’d give me the silent treatment and I was willing to accept that. What I hadn’t anticipated was full out argument ending with, “I’m going home,” and me watching her stomp away. What she hadn’t anticipated was that my love for the Low was was a lot stronger at this point, so I turned around and continued walking, through the gate, and took my place on the lawn to watch the show. I eventually made my way back to our apartment. To this day, I have no idea how she got home and it doesn’t matter. We broke up Christmas Eve, and I sent some friends to pickup my things on Christmas Day. She sent everything except a pair of mustard coloured pants and my very used copy of Shakespeare… My Butt. A few weeks later, I received a letter in the mail. The lyrics to “Subversives” in her handwriting. “And we'll drink but not to forget but to remember instead all our happy years.”

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Recently I heard a Paul McCartney interview where he was asked if he thought 2020’s McCartney III was “the best thing he ever recorded”… his answer was, “you know I was in the Beatles?” In your case, you’ll fight anyone who doesn’t think Agitpop is the Low’s best album…. if I put my nostalgic feelings aside, I may agree… Yeah. Well, I always say that Agitpop is probably the Lowest of the Low’s finest hour—fight me. I feel like it’s a real companion piece for Shakespeare…My Butt, Right down to the cover. When we were finished making it I was like, “Hey, is it a weird subconscious coincidence that it’s sort of manila coloured with burgundy red in it, just like Shakespeare…?” I feel like it’s almost like a bookend, you know, because a lot of the same concerns, the same obsessions with people, and stories of people are in it. It’s a more mature record and I think it nails the kinds of things we wanted to try on Shakespeare…My Butt, but in a better way.

they’re political songs about this tip towards the right. Not like that wasn’t going on under the hood for all these decades but I mean, it’s obviously coming to the forefront again. So yeah, that kind of disturbs me, but artistically it’s pleasing that you bring something back that’s that old and it’ll still be relevant. Well, it’s like our article on protest songs from the last edition, where you, of course, were mentioned alongside Bragg, Lennon, Strummer and a slew of other shit disturbers…One of the things that I wrote was, how many of these songs are still relevant today when they shouldn’t be—they were written in the 60s in the 40s, 20s. Right?

Some of the songs are pre-Low?

I was very honoured to be on that page with those people. I’m sure the people who write them probably would hope that, if they had their druthers, “I hope the song is irrelevant in 30 years,” because they would probably rather live in a world where those things aren’t true, that have their songs on the charts or whatever.

Yeah, two of the songs were written in 1988. I think it’s both exciting and sort of existentially disturbing, that they’re still relevant, because

Your father is a classically trained pianist, but your music school was in the back of your uncle’s station wagon?

Yes, literally. It could be said that, musical education happen in a lot of different ways. My dad is classically trained, as I say, so he’s come through the whole Western history of musical development—the way it’s charted, the way it’s tabulated and everything. I’m always saying to him, that the vast majority of the world works in a folk tradition, wherein, it’s not that they don’t have an education, it’s that their education comes from their aunts and uncles and moms, sitting around the kitchen and sitting around the fire. That said, my dad, being a classical musician, I certainly got the benefit as a kid of having that around me, whether or not I took part in it and learned, officially, I was learning all the time. What I’ve learned is, I have a good ear, and I’m interested, so that combination means I’m bringing it in like a sponge all the time. So when my dad’s playing classical music, that’s all going in there, and I’m learning those forms, even if I don’t know how to write them, you know. And then as I was telling you, driving to the cottage with my aunt’s, and uncle’s singing Beach Boys songs, and all of us trying to sing different harmonies, that’s a real education because you’re just listening and you’re learning how the structures are made. So all of that is just an informal education in my book. It goes in there, and then you have a hard drive full of other people’s ideas, then you start writing your own ideas, which tend to start off as bad copies of other people’s things. You get better and more sophisticated at hiding those things. Right out of the gate you record Shakespeare... My Butt and it gets serious attention. It must’ve been tough to follow that success. Yeah. Well, it was surprising because we tried to get signed by every label in Canada. Everybody thinks that we just came out of the gate as committedly indie, and we get these labels put on us, like, “local freedom fighters” or “indie freedom fighters.” We tried to get signed, and nobody in Canada would touch us. The DIY thing was in us anyway, because we all came from punk rock, and it was like, “Okay,

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well, I guess we put this out ourselves and see what happens.” We didn’t have any other responsibilities so we weren’t thinking, “What if it doesn’t fly?” We thought, “We’re gonna play anyway, so we just continue to play shows and we sold these records. I think we sold 7,000 of them at our live shows, which was huge in those days for an indie band. Then all of the record labels called us back. We already sort of felt these kinds of vibes, but it was one of the first times we were like, “You know, what? Fuck this. Now, they come grovelling back to us because we’ve already done the work.” Now, you’re just handing over your money. Exactly. You just want to put your hand in my pocket. In the day, they could say “Well, we have a farther reach,” now they don’t— you can’t reach further than the Internet. So Shakespeare blew up and we were as shocked as anybody. Not because we weren’t confident but just because we thought, nobody in the industry wants this... but we know we had a grassroots crowd that loves it and maybe that’s who we are. It’s one step above busking on the street, and we’re cool that. All we need is some beer and a place to flop. Then as more people are into it, and you start to understand the worth of what you’ve created, you start to expect more from it and, maybe we want to make better records. For me, that was a great time in Canadian music. Were you guys the spark that pushed the labels to hunt down all those bands? The conduit was Dave Bookman at The Edge, 102.1. Suddenly this confluence of things came together—for the first time in history, it became doable for a band to make their own CDs. They were not new but they were still generally out of reach. We were able to take advantage of that and then somebody like Bookman would find people like the Barenaked Ladies or us and play us on a major radio station. That door was open, and we got the advantage of it. It’s one of those things where we worked really hard, and we were talented but we also had a massive

good fortune of being in the right place at the right time because even that window at The Edge, I feel closed by 95 or 96. There doesn’t seem to be anyone doing that in radio today… maybe I’m wrong. I mean, the Indie88 claimed the mantle of 102.1 but that’s not what they’re doing. Sometimes I can’t tell it apart from Virgin FM. Today, we consume music differently— radio is no longer the primary source for discovering new music, streaming services have taken over. Do you think it’s easier or harder for a new band to get noticed today. I think it is and it isn’t. I think it’s a great opportunity to have people discover you. If your friends are sharing their playlists with you or you wind up on other people’s playlists, I think it’s a great way to find things you don’t know about that are cool. There’s so much amazing music being made. I would say, there’s probably more amazing music being made now than there was when I came up in the 90s, just due to the fact that there’s more people doing it and there’s more outlets for it. The problem with it is, the democracy that we were all begging for in the 90s—to get rid of these six taste-makers, who held the purse strings. Then we got democracy, and it was like, be careful what you wish for, because now the listening audience is so splintered into niches. It’s a great thing on one hand, because if you like Persian hip hop, then you can find it and you would have had a really hard time finding it in the 90s. I love that you can find whatever you want. The thing is, there are no “water cooler shows” on television anymore; There’s no film that everybody’s going to see and they’ll talk about it on Monday because society is breaking up into niches. I just go back and forth, I don’t know what to think about that. On one hand, I think it’s incredible and it’s democratic, and it’s the way art should be consumed. On the other hand, I miss the, “Everybody’s tuning in to Get Back because The Beatles are the biggest band in the world.” That will never hap-

pen again. There will never be a Beatles, and not because there aren’t people as talented, but just because that’s not the way society works anymore. So I miss that. I know, I miss hearing something on the radio, and then going to my local record store to hunt it down. The other thing I missed from that, is the sort of cold flipping through the records, and then you might see something. I actually did it at Rotate This a little while ago with this band called Royal Headache. I pulled up this record, and I’d never heard of them before but I’m sure I will like this because look at this fucking record label. I took it home and I loved it. So I miss that because I think when you’re streaming, they do the, “People who like that also, like...” and they’re just siloing you tighter and tighter into a little area. When I’m painting, I might just pull LUSO LIFE

vote’s wi th a S o, the idea of, “myssnearxt ’m I at th n ea m ily ce ne t n’ es do ,” brick s, et re st e th in on ti lu vo re t en ol vi ng ti es sugg but I ’m not taking that off the table.

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punk rock,” Then up [on Spotify] “kick ass women, of them I won’t 300 or 200 there’ll be 500 songs and of that. ion vers d goo know, so I guess that’s the on Ron’s wrist] What does BASTA mean? [tattoo it because I star tIt means enough in Spanish. I got I met in a bar. I ter ed taking Spanish with this pain ss you would gue I e, was always kind of a hispanophil through the ory hist say. I was brought into Spanish ico a lot, Mex to t Spanish Civil War and then wen ure, and cult ting and loved Rivera, and all the pain Spanng taki ted pre-Columbian cultural. So I star ty old che crot this ish lessons with this guy, who was in. He Spa in on regi dude originally from the Basque pher, oso phil —a was a drunk, but a fascinating guy ys alwa “I’ve , him to kind of, and a painter. I just said ys alwa “I’ve , said he wanted to learn Spanish,” and my of ch bun a got I wanted to make $20 an hour.” So, be ten people in my friends together and we had may seven of us, and six kitchen. Two months later, it was then eventually it months later, it was two of us and ed to teach me tinu was just me and Vidal. He just con a while. At the for nt and I became very close to flue stance probsub e same time, I had a lot of addictiv like, when was I e aus lems and I got it here [wrist] bec reminder a e hav ’s I’m in a bar I’ll go, [slaps wrist]. “Let k.” Back trac on life r that you’ve got to try to keep you super got d ban my n then, shit kind of hit the fan whe mber cha o ech little popular and we wound up in that that you ng telli on” where everybody’s a “yes pers t. grea is do you ing you’re a genius and that everyth ing gett was it and I did every drug you can imagine some people who way out of hand, as it does. I know lot of friends to a have skir ted it but I’ve also lost lifestyle that the and different kinds of drug abuse plane off the the ed comes around it, so I kind of pull like I got feel I . 90s runway at the last minute in the of it, part was that out by the seat of my pants and h it muc how sure not having that as a reminder. I’m . helped [laughs] but it didn’t hurt al, where my parYou spent some time in Portug inspiration taken ents hail from. Was there any from our culture? on and then we Yeah, I went there in ’89. We hit Lisb Viana do Castelo. went up to Coimbra, Por to and , I just loved what Coming from Toronto in the 80s pace of the places seemed to be the very laid back food. Going for a we were in, and the sensuality of the ter of the biggest seafood lunch, that was a giant plat and just incredible prawns I’ve ever seen in my life, es, tucked away in wines in these beautiful old plac basements. to smell and I just There are memories connected stayed at and, in remember the very first place, we ty, seaside salty a great way, there’s this kind of mus if I conjure that I’m smell memory that I have, and t to see fado sometransported back there. We wen were just Canadian where and of course, because we e fado place that tourists, we were gonna go to som some kind of travel was in the “Let’s Go Europe” or ut to go in and this thing that we had. We were abo LUSO LIFE

little kid, who I got to think was maybe 10, was in these streets in Bairro Alto or wherever we were, and the kid grabs us he’s like, “No, no, no. Don’t go there. Come here.” So we’re following this kid, down this lane way and down another lane way, then down the cobblestone street, and then down into this basement. It was unbelievable because maybe it held 60 people and we were two of them. I have Irish descent and it’s like when we talk about my grandfather, if somebody started to sing “Danny Boy,” he’s gonna cry. There’s just no way he won’t cry. The sort of sentimentality and that deep empathy of the fado songs are similar to folk music, or Irish ballads. It’s people’s music. They’re about things that don’t change, sometimes they’re about politics, but they’re generally about much more foundational things about humans that don’t change, like love and compassion and community. We had this incredible time. One of those times where you stumble out of there at whatever time, you get back to your room you think, “Did that happen? You saw that little kid, right?” That might have been three or four days into our trip, so wired the way I am, and as a storyteller and a songwriter, I just was in love instantly. That was Lisbon, which was, cosmopolitan. I was just an East End kid who hadn’t traveled that much and I had the all the biases that you get as a little a working class kid in Toronto, which is that, I didn’t really expect Lisbon to be as cosmopolitan and developed as it is, but of course it is, it’s way older than the place I come from. Then we went up the shore and we wound up in Coimbra and just that the vibe there—the university town and the palpably socialist, sort of Marxist sensibility—of course spoke to me because I was raging Marxist teenager. Everywhere I went, there was something for me—it seemed tailored to the things I love. Then I came back and then in the mid 90s, I was trying to write a novel. A lot of it took place in Portugal. The idea was that it was about this guy who makes his bed and has to lie in it... and there’s a lot of drug culture and political intrigue. He runs away from his life in Toronto, and he goes to Lisbon figuring he’ll just get away from it, but of course he just resets up the exact same dynamics in Lisbon that he had in Toronto and tends to find that you can’t run away from yourself. You have to deal with the issues, because they’re inside you, and you’re going to take them wherever you go. There were snippets from my own life, and snippets from the political culture that I had grown up with. I had known this guy who was a wealthy lawyer, who was collecting these skinhead kids and making, in his mind, a little army. I think he thought he was going to have a political revolution in Canada with this little army of skinheads. Kind 50

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I got a sort of a cold email from a guy who was a fan of Lowest of Low in the early 90s, and then he moved to China to teach English. What I found when I got there was that everybody who goes there to teach English, eventually has some time on their hands and they import hockey jerseys or they start a bar or whatever. So he started at a bar. He sent me an email that just said, “What would I have to do to get you to come over here and tour China?” I read that sentence, and I was like, “I’m on my way.” He said, “I’ll put you up, I’ll pay for your flight and I can pay this much money.” It was Hong Kong, Guangzhou and Shenzhen and Shanghai.

like Union Station. Well, you get to Guangzhou, and there’s several giant train stations, so I didn’t even really know which train station I was supposed to get off at. Also, in my ignorance, I thought there would be like pictographs, or there would be Cantonese or whatever and there would also be like Roman alphabet versions and there was none. My pronunciation of everything was so poor, that people could not help me if they wanted to. My friend who taught English in China, was saying that even if you say all the letters in the word “correctly,” a Chinese languages are based on the singingness of it. He said, so you can say the right thing, but not be singing it in the right way or not bending the phrases in the right way and it’s literally like the person can’t understand you. It’s not that they’re bullshitting you and dicking around with you. So I was asking people about Guangzhou, and eventually, they spit me out at this one station. I went in, I looked around and went out to what I thought was the main street in front. There’s a fog, construction hoarding on the other side and there’s nobody in the street. All I can think of, is my dad’s voice reverberating my head. “So you’re gonna go across the world to China, on the basis of an email” I go to another place, where there’s taxis and nothing. I don’t even know if I’m at the right train station and after an hour of doing that, I go back out to the same sort of desolate street and out of the mist, like a movie, comes the promoter and his right hand man, whosh, like a like a mystical character and he goes, “Ron, oh my God,” and I’m like, “right?” He says to me in hindsight later, “I thought to myself, Ron doesn’t have a phone. If we can’t find each other, what the fuck is gonna happen? We didn’t think this through.” What I should have taken out of that is, “next time I should be more organized”… but what I took away from that was, “see everything works out?” I’m not sure it’s the most responsible takeaway, but, it’s the one I took away.

My dad sort of famously said, “So some dude emails you from China, and you’re like, ‘Alright, my bags are packed, here I come.’ You don’t think you should look into this?” And I said, what’s the worst that can happen? If I get there and he’s an Internet troll and doesn’t exist, then I’ll get a hotel room, I’ll see some of China and I’ll come back because he had sent me the tickets and the flights were taking care of—nothing can really go wrong. It was back in the day when I didn’t have a phone, so I took a bus to the airport here, took a plane to LA, switched over the plane in LA, landed in Hong Kong, took a train to downtown Hong Kong, and took a train into Mainland China. By the time I got there, I was, Trains, Planes and Automobiles, and totally jet lagged and messed up. I got to Guangzhou, and just out of my complete ignorance of China, I assumed there’s probably one major station,

So that tour was, it was amazing. I figured, I’m gonna go there, and it’s just going to be a life experience. There’s going to be nobody at the shows and nobody could possibly know me there. Our records didn’t come out in China, how the hell is anybody gonna know? So at my first gig, I go to eat, and I’m walking out of the restaurant, and from the back of the room I hear, “Ron, can’t wait to see your show tonight.” It turns out there’s a massive ex-pat community there of Aussies, English, Canadians and Americans. So a bunch of those people came to my shows and then there are all these little Chinese punk rock kids that I didn’t even know existed. I thought the communist government had such control over the country that stuff would have been meted out or illegal but there was a whole bunch of punk rock kids with rockabilly haircuts. It was awesome.

of like a cult that he was creating, on the far left. So that came up as a character in that novel. I read “The Lusiads” because I thought you have to go back to Luis de Camões—if I’m going to write about the place that I should know what I’m talking about. Then I got sidetracked from it for a while and then when I came back, I just had that thing where I just couldn’t get back inside it, so it just sort of languished. I guess I could sum it up by saying I have an absolute love affair with Portugal. Oh, and I guess I should mention that the person I went there with was my girlfriend at the time and she was Portuguese. Is she the subject of “Taming of Carolyn”? Yes... and “Rosie & Gray” and “Subversives.” Ironically, that relationship was breaking up just as Lowest of the Low was starting. So I was writing these kind of romantic songs about a relationship that had just come to an end. That was a bit of a head trip as well. You did some shows in Japan and Australia how did all of that come about?

Then you end up in Australia. Yeah. I was doing it all on a travelers visa not on a work visa. So I got to Australia and like an idiot, I’ve taken all these Chinese posters of my shows and put them in my acoustic case because these will be great keepsakes. I’m going through customs and the guy’s going through my stuff, and suddenly, I’m going, oh, fuck, I’m on a tourist visa and I’m clearly working. So I did the thing that you’re supposed to do. He opens my acoustic case, and I start talking up a storm like, “oh, yeah, man, I just flew blah, blah, blah,” just firing stuff out and he’s going, “Oh, yeah. Oh, yeah.” He lifts the front part of my acoustic and he’s just about to lift the back part where all the posters are under and I said, “You know what, the first thing I saw in China was? A guy in a full Red Army outfit dumping out a bucket of Kentucky Fried Chicken into a garbage can.” And he’s like, “Oh, that’s wild.” And I’m like, “Yeah, total clash culture.” He puts the guitar back down and closes the lid. It was like out of Indiana Jones or Star Wars or something, “These are not the droids you’re looking for.” I struggle with voting—on the one hand I’m grateful for the right, but on the other it seems like it doesn’t matter who’s elected… then I hear you saying your next vote’s with a brick.

novel, ron’s own. toilet, not ron’s.

Yeah, that was one of the ones that was troublesome when I brought it to the band. Every now and then there’ll be a political idea that represents me, but maybe doesn’t represent everybody in the band. We’re very much on the same page, sociologically and politically but I’m farther left than anybody in the band. As an organized person who been an activist in the left, I’m the farthest left person in the band, so if I push that parameter, artistically, which doesn’t happen that often, that I go into that zone. Sometimes I’m in that position, where it’s fine for me, but now you’ve got four other people on the stage, who may be uncomfortable with certain ideas... or not. So that’s something I take seriously, and I want to make sure everybody feels comfortable. So we talked about that, and I basically had to explain that really it’s just an artistic tool to express my frustration with the idea of voting and bourgeois elections. There is no real Workers Party to represent us. Even taken out of the Marxist language, there’s just no party that I think listens to the vast majority of the constituents in the country. Certainly there isn’t one south of the border, and in Canada, I guess you would go to the NDP and sort of suggest that maybe they’re the most workers party that we have, or like the Labour Party in Britain, but they continually prove themselves LUSO LIFE

not to be true workers parties, or labour parties, so they vote in the wrong way, on almost everything. You’re left in a situation where, I think it’s Emma Goldman, who said, “If voting could change anything, it would be illegal.” I kind of believe that. Voting gives us it gives us a certain amount of reform as parameters we can use. I’m not saying that voting does nothing, but I’m just saying that it props up the status quo, and it keeps the peasants from getting too rowdy. You can certainly work inside the system and vote for certain reforms and all the things that we enjoy, including the fact that we can vote were fought for and voted for inside a relatively free society, but at the end of the day, all those things that we fight for can be, as we’re seeing in the United States right now, rolled back... and they can be rolled back fast. Like Roe v. Wade, no matter where people fall on that spectrum of what they believe about abortion or choice, you still have to look at the fact that somewhere between 65% and 70% of Americans don’t want it repealed. At least 85% of Americans think there should at least be exceptions for rape and incest. Yet, the Supreme Court rams that through, and it’s getting rolled back in more than half the states, and who knows where it’s going. So how can that happen in a democracy where you supposedly elect the people who represent us? I realized that at an early age, that it’s a bit of a scam. It’s a scam and it’s kind of something to give us the sense of freedom or control, without actually giving us the freedom or control to create our own destinies. So, the idea of, “my next vote’s with a brick,” doesn’t necessarily mean that I’m suggesting violent revolution in the streets, but I’m not taking that off the table... but I’m also saying that everything that we cherish from the women’s vote, to Roe v. Wade, down there, to gay marriage 52

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to universal health care, those things were all fought for, against the system. People were arrested and went to jail because it was illegal. People either used physical violence, or they used the threat of physical violence, or physical pressure, like labour unions, to get a 40 hour workweek or to get child labour abolished. All those things weren’t voted on. Most of those things weren’t reforms that somebody voted on and everybody went, “Oh, that seems sensible. A majority of us agree with that, so no more child labour.” People got their heads beaten, and people went to jail. To me, it’s not even anything new to say that... it’s how the world works.

for him and when Chuck Angus ran, partially because they’re the real deal and they’re similarly working hard on the street for their constituents, but they were also in a band called L’Etranger. When I a kid, I loved their punk rock band. So, you know, it’s like every now and then I’ll step out of my hard position and support somebody, if I think they’re real because for me, it’s not a weird manifesto I have, it’s a moving target that I generally just think we kind of don’t live in a democracy. I mean, there’s no way we live in a democracy, corporations own everything. I think that we’re in a point where corporations run governments. So we live in a kind of a kleptocracy, to begin with.

Peaceful protests are great to raise awareness, I guess.

You know, and it’s funny, because I also know, as a white person, it’s like I was saying before, what we were saying before about the gatekeepers of Canadian music in the 90s, we’re all white. I’m a white, cisgender male, and I’m a person who is going to get hurt last by any of the things that happen. I’m a working class kid, so there’s a class element to it but I’m still a white, cisgendered male. I’m the last one to get punched out on the list, so it could be easy for me to just fall asleep and live my life but I’ve never been like that.

If you can get it through voting, awesome. If you can get it through peaceful protests, awesome. If they push you to a point where you have to get your rights by force and by multitudes, then so be it. I have a friend who is a city councillor and I asked him about running at a federal or provincial level, and he says there’s no point because he feels he wouldn’t be able to do anything at that level. He likes being at the municipal level because he feels he can actually accomplish something for the people who voted for him. Yeah, for sure. I played at the campaign launch of Chris Glover, who’s an NDP candidate in our neighbourhood and I normally would not do that. I normally don’t support any of the parties but he’s the real deal. He spends his Sundays delivering food to people who need it. Then when Andrew Cash ran, I did something

The biggest problem is if we get too caught up in each one of—Is it a class issue? Is it a gender issue? Is it whatever... I think all of these things have a Venn diagram with the similar enemy, which is capitalism and corporations. So it would be good for us to combine into one army. If we get to a place where we can defeat that enemy, then maybe it’ll be even easier to solve these situations that are a problem, but I know a lot of people get into silos where their thing is the thing, and they don’t see that they have links to other people’s struggles as well.

“I’ve been blessed to basically play fo people get to do... That’s not really an It comes down to compassion. Yeah, if you don’t give a shit, then who cares. If you just care about yourself, then you go out and carve your way and do your American Dream. Shit on everybody and get to the top, if you can. When I mentioned to one of my twentysomething colleagues that I would be interviewing you, she pulled up “Peace & Quiet” on Spotify and said “this guy? I love this song… they play it at the Leafs games”. Kinda cool to have your songs reaching an audience that might not normally know you. Low fans procreate, too. So there’s a lot of kids out there. I just did a house show for some people and at the end. You know, a lot of people were coming up telling me about all I saw you in 1992, thanks for the Tommy Douglas Tuesdays—that kept me sane through lock-down, and then this person said, “Can I just get a picture with my daughter and her friends? They’re big fans.” I was expecting they’d be in their 30s or something and it was a 15 year old kid and her buddies. Okay, awesome. The funny thing is, this idea that there’s an old music and new music. People still listen to Mozart, Robert Johnson and Cole Porter. Music is just music. Obviously, there are contemporary references and but if it’s good, then maybe somebody finds it, you know? On top of being a musician, you’re also a visual artist. I’m assuming this isn’t something you picked up during lock-down? I drew when I was a kid and I took art in school—I never took music. Then I left school and was in bands, so I never did it. The funny thing is when we’re talking about going to Portugal or anywhere, other than the fado thing, I never go see a band. Usually I would go to galleries and see art, which was weird because I was a musician. I was always just really drawn to it. When I got together with Jill, we were at the 54

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McMichael gallery, I think we’re looking at some Frida Kahlo, George O’Keefe thing and I said, “Every time I see painting, it always intrigues me because it looks so visceral and hands on.” My birthday came, and she bought me a lot of art supplies, and we were both broke, so it was like, wow, what if that was just an off the cuff comment I made, and she’s gone out and spent all this money? This was like 2001. The minute I touched paint to canvas, I got kind of hooked and it just became really like an addiction. I was painting every day and I got better quickly. The learning curve was quick and steep and I tried a bunch of different things but then wound up with portraiture. What I’ve sort of figured out after the fact was that it’s very much like songwriting, in that I’m interested in people’s faces, I’m interested in what is going on in there? What makes this person tick? There’s a famous portraitist named Alice Neel, who I love, and she referred to herself as “a collector of souls.” That sums up the idea that I like to look at what are these animals doing, on the planet? A couple of years before COVID we got so busy touring and making records, that I wasn’t painting for quite a while, then COVID happened, and we couldn’t play live. Just around then I also started getting into abstract expressionism from the 50s and Neo expressionism like Basquiat and people like that. So I thought, “Well, I’m going to try that.” I started doing this abstraction stuff. Some kind of geometric abstractions—I was calling them the “Conversations with Vladimir Mayakovsky” because they were a little bit like Russian constructivist stuff in the 20s. Just geometric shapes. I would doodle them and find these, very mathematical looking things. The more loosey gut ones were called “Beer Graffiti Walls,” which was based on a song off the Hallucigenia record. Anytime I’m out, and if I go to the washroom, I’m always looking at what’s the graffiti saying. There’s the usual, you know, people drawing dicks on everything and “call this number for blow-jobs,” but Sneaky Dee’s used to have this incredibly

weirdly philosophical and political graffiti in it, so I would always be writing it down. Some of that stuff went into these abstract paintings, like, “Fuck, power, choose hope,” I saw that on a wall somewhere... “You can’t eat money.” Just things that were intriguing to me, so I would sometimes stick that stuff in the paintings and that would become the theme of the painting. Then I came back to portraiture because I started to miss it. I did this balaclava

or a living as an adult, which very few n adult job but it’s the one I have.” series. I come from a family of gangsters on my dad’s side that are literally bank robbers, so, I don’t know if that can be genetic but the idea of balaclavas was sort of like... A natural progression, maybe? Yeah [laughs]. And just people having COVID masks, you know. I did that balaclavas series just because I was missing portraiture a little bit.

See, when I saw them, my mind was like, Oh, it’s like a Pussy Riot thing. Oh, yeah. There’s always a bit of a class war, kind of romantic Robin Hood thing applied to gangsters. Usually it doesn’t apply. Usually, they’re just assholes who are in it for themselves, like my uncles were robbing banks to steal money. But sometimes there is a class element to it and people are stealing because

they need to survive. Then there’s Pussy Riot which is activism, and hiding from the police or from the state, so there’s kind of a crossover. I’d like to thank you for Tommy Douglas Tuesdays. They were a fantastic way for your fans to spend some time with you during the pandemic. Love the Ron Hawkins bobblehead doll? The bobblehead I got from a guy who is in Buffalo who made bobbleheads of all the people in the band. So I thought, well, that guy can open for me every night. When you’re 16, or 17, you go fuck, for sure I’m gonna be a rock God, but you don’t really believe it? And then you’re 50 and you’re still doing it you realize, “I’m doing this for a living.” Which just comes back to the Tommy Douglas Tuesdays and why I didn’t want to monetize that. I wanted to have an opportunity to thank everybody who has supported me in doing this all my life, in this time where everybody’s hurting, and we’ll just do this together. I’ve been blessed to basically play for a living as an adult, which very few people get to do. I just love to come home from like that boxing photoshoot we did yesterday, and tell Ruby, “This is what I did at work today… I pretended to be a boxer.” Or talk to you guys and walk around getting my picture taken. That’s not really an adult job but it’s the one I have. ronhawkins.com listen to our Ron Hawkins Spotify playlist

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DESTINATION POR my move to portugal

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words & Photos : Adrienne Oliveira

s the shipping container came to take our things to the other side of the world, a question kept popping into my head—Why am I moving to a country I’ve only visited for two weeks of my entire life? Am I crazy? Maybe. I have to be a little… right? So, there I stood, waving goodbye to our 40-foot container truck with a 5-month-old baby on my hip and a 2-year-old standing next to me.

This all came into play after the birth of my second son. Everything was in order—more like perfect order. We moved to a beautiful home in the nice neighbourhood with great schools, my husband and I both had jobs nearby, I had made ‘mom’ friends… I mean everything was good. Why would a sane person shake things up? We knew we wouldn’t be having any more children and I really wanted to soak all of it in. I desperately wanted to enjoy my baby and maternity leave was coming to an end. Amadeu, my Portuguese husband, made a random comment one day, “Why don’t we move to Portugal? My parents retired there and it is more affordable than the San Francisco Bay Area. We can live there for two years so you can be with the baby and then we can come back here.” I was really at a crossroads. I knew we could continue the rat race and chuck up the money to pay for two daycares or I could quit my job and be with my son for two years in a country where I don’t speak the language or even know anything about. Why would I pick the later? My son of course. It was an option I knew I could not take back… I also knew that I didn’t want to regret turning down this opportunity. So, I told him, “OK.” Surprised [and overjoyed, I’m sure] by my answer, my husband took it and ran. He made a plan for us to take off in the summer—he scheduled a container to move our things, put other things in storage and decided to rent out our home, to give us some extra income.

We boarded our flight from San Francisco and flew to the east coast for a layover. Flying with an infant can be challenging, and my poor baby, now six months old threw-up in the airplane… and all over me. So, our [very] short layover was spent running through Newark Liberty International Airport in search of clean clothes—new sweats and a tee for the flight to Lisbon. We spent the overnight flight holding our kids instead of sleeping and anticipating our arrival, where we would be reunited with Fadista, our dog. We landed at Humberto Delgado Airport and made our way over to cargo to pick him up, where we were held up for two hours. Turns out it was a holiday in Portugal and the vet who was needed to clear our dog was nowhere to be seen. Once that was all finalized we were off, almost. Packing our “big” yet small car proved to be another problem but nothing we couldn’t quickly resolve—the dog carrier stayed behind and we started our 3.5 hour drive north to a small village near Braga.

When there is a family dinner, it’s long tables full of food and we sit there for hours. Wine is water and by midnight the concertinas come out and the singing begins. I find the Portuguese people are very friendly and welcoming. Strangers pass by and say bom dia or boa tarde, older people will ask to hold your baby or the man at the store will give your children lollipops. Strangers will pat your children’s head and people may stare but in a curious way. It feels so safe walking on the cobblestone streets, day or night. Sometimes you can still find an elderly lady wearing the more traditional skirt and head covering, and carrying a basket on her head—it instantly transports me back to another life. A life where families were self-sufficient—growing their own food and raising animals… basically living off the land. It still exists here, but is sadly is dying out.

Now here we are in a small village nestled in northern Portugal and it is absolutely beautiful. Views of the lush green valleys, pastures of sheep and cows, and chickens roaming freely is the daily norm. At first, I was “worried” about how I would survive without my Amazon Prime but quickly realized that I could easily live without it. Our water comes from a spring and my mãezinha (mother-in-law) gives us dozens of eggs from her chickens every time we see her.

Walking in any village there are beautiful churches decorated with intricate paintings and gold all around. At times, you can stumble across and old castle and feel the history that once took place there. It is almost romantic getting lost in any city. We have traveled south to Algarve, midway to Lisbon, Sintra, Óbidos, and north to Monção. No one place in Portugal is the same and every area has their own local cuisine, Portuguese sound, and flavour. Not knowing what to expect always makes travel always fun!

Having fresh food is a priority here, and it’s easy to find. Fresh meat from the talho, people selling fresh produce on the streets and the bakeries offering hot bread, which may not be good for my waistline but is oh so good. The hearty meals were [are] so delicious that I realized I was missing good home cooked food my entire life. Even the schools cook fresh food for the children every day, something I had never seen in the United States.

When I’m asked about moving back to America, I think of the familiar faces in cars that pull over just to say hi; the friends who swing by our home uninvited for a café; the intoxicating long summer nights; the festas that take place every weekend; the sounds of crickets chirping in the background while we drink a cerveja and watch the children play with their cousins… and I realize that to me, this is what life is all about… so let’s just say, “I am not planning on it.”

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words: David Ganhão

photo: noah Ganhão

VING NO D I

meant taking a dip in the potenBunch didn’t have a pool, and I brought home the sealed envelt was a beautiful June day in tially radio-active waters of Lake Mike Brady was an architect— ope containing my grade five reOntario… and the second best Ontario was out of the question. but by 1980 aboveground pools port card, my mother was once day of 1980, so far. The first We did, though, have a cleaner were making a splash [sorry]. For again disappointed at the string of had been a mere 24 hours alternative—Rotary Park. At the a fraction of the cost, the middle Cs and unsurprised by the comearlier, when Stephanie and I time, the park had two pools— class were now able to create a ments, “David is often seeking the walked home shouting the lyrics one for the little kids and one for backyard oasis and cool off after attention of his classmates, which to Alice Cooper’s classic adios the more mature aqua-fiends like work or entertain some friends causes distraction for everyone.” to the school year: “School’s 11-year-old me. on a Sunday afternoon. To my Sometimes we have to give of ourout for summer. School’s out knowledge, we had exactly one selves in order to not get beat up, forever. School’s been blown Our trek would usually begin backyard oasis in my neighbourand since a C meant a pass, I was to pieces.” Today, was the 45 minutes after lunch. Wearhood—the Prest family, and to good to go as far as summer break first day of summer vacation, ing bathing suits and a pair of my recollection, I was invited was concerned. and I was ready for a new old sneakers, we’d throw towels over for a swim exactly once. The soundtrack. As I got out of over our tanned bodies and start Prests would limit the number of Summer days in suburbia would bed, I turned up my radio—a the walk, stopping to pickup our guests their children could invite usually start with a bike ride to plastic, faux woodgrain clock cousin Gilbert along the way. because too many would cause meet up with our cousins, Nanradio made by Candle, the We’d show up at Rotary Park 15 a ripple effect [sorry again] of cy and Debbie—big sister Janstar of budget radios in Canminutes later, tongues bright red aggravation for the homeowner. ette was there as well and would ada—and out of the distorted or blue from the freezies we ate. More than a handful of us would occasionally hang out with us, single speaker came a familTiming. By the time we jumped in cause the water level to rise, this but that was probably a “make iar guitar riff—Echo Beach by the water, a full hour had passed combined with all the splashing sure these kids don’t get into Martha & the Muffins. I love[d] and any solid food we had in our we did would create a grassy trouble,” scenario. It was hours that song. I had no idea where bellies was no longer a threat. swamp at the base of the pool, at the park or playing in the Echo Beach was, but I wanted [Fun fact: it turns out this little bit then once we got out the water back yard, there were bike rides to go there. of maternal science is untrue. level would drop forcing Mr. and trips to the library but once Nobody knows where the rule Prest to bring out the hose and the afternoon sun was beaming I had worked hard and done my came from, but in 1908 it was spend the next hour giving the down on us, it was time for a dip best during the school year, but printed in the Boy Scout handpool a top-up. in the pool. not in the conventional sense—I book, warning that if boys didn’t kept my classmates entertained wait at least 90 minutes before Without a pool of our own, we Back then, swimming pools with jokes, allowing me to walk swimming, they might drown and needed a Plan B. Living a mere were for the elite. In the movthe tightrope between the nerds “it will be your own fault.” The 20 km downwind from Pickeries, pools were toys for the rich and the cool kids. This of course truth is more likely a concern for ing Nuclear Generating Station, and famous—even the Brady took a toll on my grades and when

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DIVING NO the parent’s health. Can everyone say “parental break.” Money in hand, we’d pay our fifty cents split up for a few brief minutes to hide our shoes in the change room—girls to the right and boys to the left. We’d come out the other side to the smell of chlorine and the feeling of hot, rough concrete under our bare feet. There’s something nostalgic about it now, but at the time, the heat burned the soles and forced us to move quickly—not too quickly lest we we be judged and scolded by one of the lifeguards. “No running on deck!” The last step before jumping in was to scan the chain link fence in search of a spot for us to hang our towels. We’d carefully take one of the corners and loop it through the fence, high enough for the towel to not drag on the ground and get dirty, lest we be judged and scolded by our mothers.

inadvertently turning into a bellyflop led me to use the cannonball or a simple foot first jump as my methods of entry. Once in, it was test time—two laps under the watchful eye of a lifeguard. If we passed, we were granted full access and would immediately line up at the diving board for our turn to show off. I eventually learned how to do a front flip [landing with my feet, of course] but in 1980 this usually meant higher, louder and splashier cannonballs. Occasionally I would try to wow the spectators with my impression of Buster Keaton in “The Cameraman” by faking a run, stopping at the edge of the platform then “accidentally” falling off and plunging into the water. Slapstick at it’s finest.

I loved being in the water. I’m sure swimming was invented as a way to stop your lungs from filling with water if you fell in the river, and then at some point people watched animals doggie paddle across the river and decided to copy them to see what was “Cannonball!” Splash! I never on the other side. Today it’s the learned how to dive—there is most popular organized sport something unnatural about jumpfor Canadian children. Partially ing into a pool headfirst. That combecause most parents realize pounded with my fear of my dive

learning to swim is a valuable life-skill, and also because it’s cheap. My single mom armed us with towels and bathing suits to hit the pool everyday at a cost of five bucks a week, but she wasn’t about to shell out thousands for a season of hockey, so playfully dunking and splashing it was. Games of tag, Marco Polo, handstand contests, and seeing who could hold their breath the longest were some of the ways we passed the time. Sometimes I simply floated face down staring at the painted blue bottom of the pool, lifting my head briefly to catch some air. There’s something magical about the feeling of zero gravity in the water. Maybe it’s some sort of primal feeling that subconsciously evokes memories of weightlessness we felt in the womb or maybe it’s the fact that every living cell in our body contains some water, so we feel right at home. Whatever it was, I remember it felt great, and I’d lay there, alone with my thoughts, many times only being jolted back into reality by a lifeguard tapping me on the shoulder because I hadn’t heard her loudly blowing the whistle to

clear the pool—it was 4pm and time to leave. Shrivelled fingers and eyes stinging from the chlorine, we’d dry off, put on our shoes and make our way home. The walk was slower and as we turned onto Celina Street, I’d start to wonder what would happen when we arrived at Gilbert’s home. Usually, we’d stop and grab a treat—they seemed to have a never ending supply of Dairy Queen Dilly Bars in the freezer but sometimes, our aunt would be inside with the door locked and we’d have to help Gilbert “break-in” to his own house—bizarre but I guess she wasn’t always in the mood to entertain a group of loud kids on the hunt for free ice cream. It would be years before I realized Echo Beach was not a real place. It turns out Mark Gane was writing about being somewhere else other than the reality of now. There are days when my Echo Beach is Rotary pool—laughing and splashing in the blue water. A place where singing School’s Out in the halls was annoying to the teachers, but our chants of blowing up the school weren’t taken as a threat. “Echo Beach, far away in time”.

LUSO LIFE

words: David Ganhão

illustrations: stella jurgen

The list

JUST FACE IT… YOU’RE BORING

n 2016 our family went on a long awaited vacation to Portugal… and since one can’t travel to Europe with a suitcase full of last year’s drab clothes, I took the opportunity to go shopping. I wandered through the mall looking for items that caught my eye, came home with an armful of bags and proceeded to proudly show my purchases to the family. When I finished dumping the contents of the bags on the kitchen table, my wife finally asked, “you spent an afternoon at the mall buying black t-shirts?” Yes. Yes I did. It was in that moment that my wardrobe went from drab to drabber. The lazy part of my brain had made a decision and the practical part had backed him up—jeans and a black tee was to be my new uniform, and six years later, it still is. I mean, I do stray, I’m not as dedicated as Steve Jobs who donned a black Issey Miyake turtleneck, Levi's 501 jeans and a pair of New Balance 992 sneakers (aka the “dad shoe”) daily, but a bulk of my time is spent in uniform. (Incidentally, if someone is thinking about writ-

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ing a bio of my life, “Ripped Jeans and a Black Tee” will make a great title… just saying). So why would a person who considers himself creative and has spent most of his life trying to stand out in a crowd decide to blandly blend into the background? I can ask you the same question. I’ll guess that at least one of the cars in you driveway is either white, black, grey or shiny grey (aka silver); you’re appliances are likely white or stainless steel; your carpet is a shade of tan; and your walls are probably a shade of grey, beige or a combo of the two— greige, is now the best neutral colour ever. Your musical tastes may even fall into that neutral void, I mean Ed Sheeran is the most beige singer of our time, and someone is streaming his songs. So why do we seem to crave boring? I can only assume its practicality. Neutral may fail the personality test, but it rarely goes out of style. My grey car will sell quicker than the yellow

one, unless, of course, the car is a Corvette and the buyer happens to be a dude going through a mid-life crisis (cha-ching). Neutral walls allow us to decorate with bold colours (if we choose) and not have to repaint every time trends change, and a grey suit can be easily dressed up with a loud tie or an even louder pocket square. It’s also possible that many of us would rather not stand out. Being safe and blending in is an easy way to navigate life—and there’s nothing wrong with that, just open Pinterest, it’s a sea of neutral. White cabinets, filled with white dishes that will eventually end up in your white dish washer before being returned to their home within the white cabinets. Stylish and safe—win-win So, put on your black tee, get into your grey Honda Civic, go out for a tofu dinner, chase it with some vanilla ice cream and don’t forget where you parked—there will likely be a few more grey civics in that parking lot.

dishes

app l i anc e s

top colour: white

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u nd e r w e a r

men's dress shirts

top colour: white

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ice cream

dress

top flavour: vanilla

top colour: black

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ca r s

men's suits

top colours: white, grey, black

top colours: gray, black

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Cell phones

toilet

top colours: black, white

top colour: white

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LA BARACCA PHOTOS: MICHAEL NEAL

words: David GANHãO

LUSO LIFE

donaldo crecco

ypically, when we choose a restaurant to write about, we choose a place we’ve eaten at. Places we’re familiar with. Places we’re proud to share. Sometimes, though, things don’t go as planned. At the last minute, the restaurant we had scheduled to shoot asked to reschedule, but since we were on a tight deadline, we were forced to find a substitute, quickly. You would think that having someone come into your restaurant to shoot some photos would be greeted with a joyous cheer of gratitude, but not so much. As it turns out, the restaurant business is a bit… chaotic, so a last minute request to allow a photographer to roam your kitchen while you’re trying to serve your guests can be a bit… annoying. We were ready to give up and submit Issue 013 without a restaurant when I received an extremely vague message from a colleague, “Got one. Call me. La Baracca. Donaldo. Kleinburg.” What? Our chat was brief, “Spoke with Donaldo, he’s the manager and a sweetheart of a man, I think you’ll really like him. La Baracca opened last week. Call him to schedule something. Let me know how it goes.” What? Normally, I’d be on google reading their menu and trying to talk with people who’ve eaten there—no time. I immediately called Donaldo and left a message. After 10 hours passed without an answer, it was time for the Hail Mary— one last text. At 9:06 pm, a reply, “I’ll get back to you shortly.” Yes… finally a positive response. He called and we had a brief chat—he was on board, but needed to speak with the chef and would let me know… shortly.” At 1:37 am I got the answer I wanted, “Sorry for the late reply. Chef is good to go. See you tomorrow at 3pm.” I went into this totally blind, but ready for whatever culinary adventure was lying ahead. Knowing baracca is Italian for shack, I could only assume I’d be served Italian street food from a window which I would enjoy at a picnic table… maybe they’d be making porcetta sandwiches or panzerotti or spiedini… mmm. As we got closer something hit me—I’ve been to Kleinburg and am positive there are no baraccas littering the downtown. I was right—turns out the name La Baracca is a friendly nod to the shack that was there before the renovations. Although the restaurant was closed for two hours, to give the staff some time to catch their breath and then prepare for the dinner rush, there was a couple still sitting on the patio, enjoying a few more sips of wine before leaving to enjoy the sunny afternoon. We went in and were greeted by the man himself, Donaldo, sharply dressed and sporting a stylish black cane. “This just came in,” he said, smiling. “I have an appointment, but I’ll be back. Let me introduce you to the chef.” In the kitchen, more smiles as they extended their hands to greet us. “This is Eduardo Beccati and Fabio Errico, they’ll be cooking for you. Make yourself at home…”

chefs fabio errico & eduardo beccati

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We flipped through some old issues of LL to show them what we were looking to do and they politely excused themselves to go figure out what recipe to make. As they conversed in Italian, two men walked in. “Donaldo! You’re here now? Someone told me you were here, but I had to come make sure.” It turns out Donlaldo is a bit of a celeb in the Toronto restaurant scene… and he comes by it honestly. “My father went to culinary school in Italy and arrived in Canada in 1967, with a diploma, something that was almost unheard of back then. He immediately got a job Constellation Hotel as a Maître d’, even though he couldn’t speak english—they would send him to school to learn the language. The funny part is, he served Pierre Trudeau in his room that night, just before he was elected Prime Minister of Canada. Almost 50 years later, in 2016, I served his son, Justin Trudeau, at Buca Yorkville.” He explained how, a car accident left him dead on the operating room table, and how doctors told him to switch professions—since he was good at math, maybe accounting would be a less physically challenging option. But Donaldo would have none of that and after five years of rehab and a new hip, he hobbled back to work, running a slew of restaurants from Harbour 60 to Zafferano. On New Years day, 2022, Donald’s hip gave out during a celebratory dance and he again ended up in the hospital [hence the cane]. “Again, the doctors are telling me, I’ll never work again.. so I said, ‘sure, whatever.’” During his recovery, the phone rang. It was his old friend Luigi Beccati, asking him to come manage his new restaurant in Kleinburg. “He told me his brother would be working there but he couldn’t do it alone. Eduardo would be running the kitchen but he needed someone to make sure this place was set up, and running well… someone he could trust. I said, ‘Sure.’” Donaldo [half] jumped back into it. “That was 45 days ago. I worked for 45 days straight to… sorry, my life… 44 days. One night, I was driving our dishwasher home and a car travelling twice the speed limit ran into us, and destroyed my car. The dishwasher was okay, but the next day, I couldn’t move, so it’s the only day I took off… I always say, my life is ups and downs.” I imagine calling in sick would be a problem with this guy. “We’re ready,” came a voice from the kitchen. “We’re preparing two dishes. Pork belly and fregola.” Mike went to take photos and I continued chatting. In a few short minutes, Eduardo and Fabio appeared from the kitchen holding plates. “Sit and eat, I’ll bring wine.”

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We did as we were told and enjoyed our meal—no arm-twisting necessary. It was time to hear Eduardo’s story. “I came to Canada in 1989, and I’ve always worked in restaurants. In Italy, I had some other jobs—I worked with carpenters, brick layers, I drove bulldozers in the caves—but they didn’t last very long because I always went back to restaurants… and I’ve always worked. I have no idea what an unemployment cheque looks like,” he proudly announced. Eduardo and his brother Luigi both came to Canada and started working. “We worked at a restaurant and would take the bus, morning and night, one hour each way. I remember sitting on the bus saying, ‘Wouldn’t it be funny if we opened a restaurant across the street from where we work?’ And that’s exactly what happened. We opened our first place across the street… then our old ex-employer bought the building and became our landlord!” That was Sapori Trattoria. Eventually there were more restaurants Sapori II, then a pizza/pasta place named Trio which Eduardo sold four years ago. “I had a good business going, but after that, I said, no more restaurants.” “No more restaurants? So how did you end up here?” “You get sucked back in. My brother needed help… we do all our restaurants together. Also, it’s hard to find staff… but we have some good people, like this guy here,” happily gesturing towards Fabio. “He’s new! He arrived in Canada mid-May. He has no idea what you’re saying!” That explained why he didn’t speak much. “We work well together. Actually, the recipes we gave you are his.” Fabio turned to Eduardo, “Dove posso comprare la rivista?” “He wants to know where he can buy the magazine.” “Let him know I’ll be back with some magazines... and I'll be sure to bring my appetite . Ci vediamo piu tarde.”

labaracca.ca

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Fregola gamberi e porcini fregola

fregola

80 gm fregola

Place the dried mushrooms in a bowl. Add room temperature water until all of the mushrooms float to the top and let sit until fully softened (30-60 minutes). Strain and set aside.

1.5 - 2 cup light fish stock dry porcini mushrooms king oyster mushrooms

Add the broth to a saucepan, bring to a simmer over medium-low heat.

4 jumbo black tiger shrimp (16/20) cut in pieces

Heat oil in a skillet over medium heat. Add mushrooms; cook 5 minutes. Add fregola and cook for 1 minute, stirring constantly. Add 1/2 cup broth stirring constantly until broth is absorbed.

cream of burrata 125 gm burrata 1 tbsp extra virgin olive oil pinch salt 1 tbsp ice cold water

Add shrimp to fregola. Add remaining broth, 1/2 cup at a time, stirring constantly until broth is absorbed before adding the next. Remove from heat, plate and drizzle with parsley oil and cream of burrata before serving. cream of burrata

parsley oil

Place ingredients in blender, and purée until smooth.

2 cup parsley

parsley oil

pinch of salt

Blanch parsley for 5-15 seconds in boiling water.

2 cloves garlic

Immediately transfer to ice bath to stop cooking.

1/2 cup olive oil

Wrap parsley in paper towels, and squeeze out moisture.

1/4 cup corn oil

Place parsley, and remaining ingredients in blender, and purée until smooth.

Pork belly pork belly

pork belly

1 lb pork belly

Set sous vide 1 machine to 85ºC.

salt & pepper

Generously season pork belly with salt and pepper.

apple pure 1 apple

Place pork in freezer bag, and remove the air using a vacuum sealer. Drop the bag in the water bath for 12 hours.

1 tbsp sugar

Remove bag from bath. Take pork belly out of the bag, and place under a weight to keep flat and let cool.

1 tbsp lemon

Cut into 2 inch squares.

carrot ginger sauce 1 medium carrot 1 tbsp ginger 1 tbsp onion 1/2 potato

Heat oven to 500º. Heat large skillet on high and sear each side until crispy. Place season pork with Maldon salt and place in oven, skin up, for five minutes. Drizzle plate with carrot ginger sauce, spoon some of the apple purée and add a piece of pork belly in the centre. apple pure

salt

Place all ingredients in pot and boil until apple is cooked. Strain and reserve some of the water.

sous vide refers to the process of vacuum-sealing food in a bag, then cooking it to a very precise temperature in a water bath. if you don’t have a sous vide machine, there are slow cooker hacks available online. 80

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Add ingredients to blender, and purée until smooth. carrot ginger sauce Place all ingredients in pot and boil until carrot is cooked. Strain and reserve some of the water. In a blender, add all the ingredients and blend until completely smooth. Mixture should not be too thick, add a small amount of the reserved water if necessary.

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Carpenters’ District Council of Ontario thecarpentersunion.ca | 905.652.4140

Service Ontario Trinity Bellwoods | Manata Coffee | Manata Cigars

846 Dundas Street West, Toronto | 416.603.9572 | manata.com

TRAINING TORONTO

Since 1978, LiUNA Local 506 has provided “Just-In-Time” and “Custom” training programs to meet the challenging needs of our members and signatory employers. Proudly and proactively we work together with labour, management, government and community service associations to promote health and safety in the workplace, while meeting the growing training needs of our various industries. Each year we continue to develop top quality, comprehensive, up-todate specialized skills & safety training through certification, retraining and apprenticeship programs.

1600 Major Mackenzie Dr E, Richmond Hill, Ontario 905-883-4268 | local506.ca

PHOTO & words: MICHAEL NEAL film

Portrait

Since learning that the lovely photographs made of Ron Hawkins from earlier in this issue were made on 35mm film, I’ve been reflecting on the strange relationship I’ve had with film throughout my own life. I was raised right as the full transition to digital was underway. My grandparents still made photos on instant film Polaroids, my Father recorded home videos onto VHS tapes, and my Mother used the camera on her cell phone; a broad spectrum of image capturing methods. As I grew older I would find cameras in all my phones, mp3s and laptops, but now almost everything with an ‘ON’ button has a camera in it that serves a purpose. Despite this, I still fondly remember carrying stacks of Polaroids made in a single day, or using disposable cameras with family and getting them processed and printed at 1 Hour Photo labs with those mysterious little envelopes of 4 x 6 prints. When the first Covid quarantine began in 2020, I borrowed an old film camera from my Grandmother to pass the time and see if I had what it takes to make photos the way it would have been done decades earlier. The camera itself is a 50-year-old Konica that you could find on eBay for around 5 to 10 dollars, except this one hardly worked. I wasn’t confidant an old, cheap and broken camera would serve as a good gateway to rediscovering film, but it managed to do the trick. Although I wouldn’t have predicted it then, it’s a camera I use to this day. 94

LUSO LIFE

As a music photographer, one of my favourite things to photograph with this new camera is people. I’m comfortable with making photos digitally, and confident that I can see the results immediately to know what needs to be changed and fixed, but there’s a sincere fear I experience every time I put a new roll in the Konica that it’ll be a bust that wastes time and money. It’s terrifying not knowing what the photos look like until it’s too late, but they’re usually the photos that are the most carefree, casual and honest. They also happen to be the photos these bands are the most excited to see, and It’s an excitement I understand. If the bass player blinked at the wrong millisecond, or the drummer has to sneeze and makes a strange face, or my idiot finger is accidentally covering a corner of the lens, a whole 1/24th of the shots are already unusable. Throughout my life I forget just how fascinating film truly is; tangible images made from time, light and chemicals, even the 98% of photos from rolls that are “wasted shots” still have some magic in them.

vianaroofing.com

501 Davenport Rd, Toronto flordesalrestaurant.ca info@flordesalrestaurant.ca 416.923.2604

Luso Life 013

Articles inside

Portrait

La Baracca

Just face it… you’re boring

No diving

Destination POR

So, I guess this is work

The dirty business of fast fashion

Walking with the faithful

Just a small town girl

Vamos petiscar