Change

“I’m not going to eat that kind of garbage anymore,” I said.

Later that day, I wrapped my neck in a scratchy scarf and stumbled against the wind to find a French Toast doughnut.

“I’m going be more considerate and compassionate,” I said.

Then, I laughed at the moron who couldn’t open the back door on the bus.

Change is hard.

I want to be a super-fit gentleman. I do. But, sometimes, I want a doughnut more.

Am I villain?

I hope not.

They usually lose.

Changing is scary. Isn’t it? It’s frightening to think that maybe the things I’ve been doing are wrong. It’s frightening to think that maybe I’m not really that awesome.

Change can be bad. What if I change to be nicer and it feels inauthentic? What if I change to be fitter and every day becomes a battle I fight for someone else?

Maybe those are excuses.

Change can be good. What if I change to be nicer and it feels inspiring. What if I change to be fitter and every day becomes a party for myself?

Maybe that’s wishful thinking.

Obby Khan made a big change and that worked out for him. In 2012 he (temporarily) retired from professional football and opened Shawarma Khan.

Big change.

He recently revived Shawarma Khan‘s Burger Week burger. Mondays and Tuesdays only.

Here’s what I had at Shawarma Khan:

Shawarma Khan Burger: Beef, lamb & falafel patty, caramelized onions, creamy Havarti cheese, hummus, beet & pickled turnip relish, homemade garlic sauce, mix field greens and a thinly sliced tomato. $13.00

Impressions: That’s the creamiest Havarti that’s ever slid into my mouth. That’s the sweetest garlic sauce that’s ever flowed, in tiny translucent rivers, over my hands and into my mouth and over my burger and onto my desk. That’s one of the best burgs I’ve bitten.

What made it? The patty. The star. The thing that makes this thing a burger. The part-beef, part-lamb, part-falafel patty is ridiculous. So many parts. It has a crispy crust and tender middle. It’s slightly spicy and totally dense.

Please, Obby, don’t change this.

Inspired

Heads up. Honesty bomb incoming.

Sometimes, when people are good at stuff, I cross my fingers and hope for their demise. I sit and wait for them to fail so that for just a moment, they won’t be good at stuff.

Sure. I’m the worst and you’ve never thought that.

Sure.

Sure.

Honesty bomb numero dos.

Sometimes, when people are good at stuff, I’m inspired. I’m motivated by their awesomeness. I see them doing cool things and being successful.

“I want that,” I say. “I want to do cool things and be successful.”

One time, I went to local burger joint Nuburger. They’re good at stuff. In particular, they’re good at putting food between bread. They’re good at sandwiches – or burgers.

Whatever you call it, Nuburger makes a mean one.

I was inspired.

They’re doing cool things and they’re being successful.

Sure. I was eating a spicy sandwich and drowning in sweat because of it.

Sure.

Sure.

But, I found the inspiration and the motivation I need to do the cool stuff I’m doing.

If you’re feeling like you’re out of creative juice and your thinker doesn’t want to think, check out what other people are doing. Go watch someone make something cool. Go watch someone do something cool.

Be inspired by the people in your world.

Inspire the people in your world.

Here’s what I had at Nuburger:

The Angry Joe: hot damn mushrooms, Bothwell cheddar, lettuce, tomato, low-fat herb mayo, & low-fat chipotle on multigrain. $9.10

Impressions. This sandwich smelled amazing. The heat from the spicy mushrooms and the melting cheddar and the sweet chipotle tickled the inside of my nostrils.

“Get out,” I said. “Get out of there.”

The multigrain bread wasn’t quite wide enough to keep my stuffed sandwich from falling apart. Knife and fork to the rescue.

What made it? Hot Damn Mushrooms. Hot damn, those are definitely mushrooms and they are definitely hot. Damn. My tongue was tingling and my ears were sizzling and my whole body was sweating. I could feel it. Inspiration. Motivation.

But mostly, perspiration.

Nostalgia

I used to go to Tapp’s Neighbourhood Pub.

A lot.

I used to go and drink beer and eat wings and eat sandwiches and drink beer and drink beer.

It was the place to be in St. Vital.

Maybe it still is.

The walls are lined with flat screen T.V.s and V.L.T.s. Bud is on tap.

It’s everything a St. Vital cool-dude frat-bro could want.

Er, hooray?

Tapp’s was the first place I went for a legal drink. It was the first place I went for a real live date. It was the first place I used a jukebox.

Memories.

I’ll always love Tapp’s.

Even if there are a hundred better places in the city. (There are).

Here’s what I had at Tapp’s Neighbourhood Pub

Buffalo Chicken Sandwich: Buffalo chicken, lettuce, tomato, cheese.

Impressions: Sloppy, messy, floppy. This sad sandwich isn’t the prettiest. It’s not the tastiest either. The chicken is crispy. The bun is dense. The tomatoes are cool.

What made it? Nostalgia.

DIY

DIY.

Do it yourself.

Way to go. Power to the people. Rock on. Stick it to the man. Do it yourself.

I was feeling strapped for cash so I made my own sandwich for this week’s blog. I thought I’d look in the old refrigerator, take whatever it could give me, and throw together a delicious sammy.

I did. I made a tuna sandwich, with some chopped celery and red pepper. I put it on some toasted rye with melted white cheddar cheese then smothered it all in Sriracha.

I did it myself.

It was okay. It wasn’t fantastic. I haven’t decided to pursue a prestigious career as a sandwich artist. I didn’t do any cartwheels after the first spicy bite. It was just ok. Not bad, though.

So, do it yourself, except not all the time.

You have to understand your weaknesses. I know that I’m not the best sandwich maker. I know that it’s okay to ask for help some times.

But, you also have to know your strengths.

I am one of the best sandwich eaters I have ever met.

Do it myself?

I will eat any sandwich. All by myself.

 

Was this a murky metaphor for coming to terms with my abilities and lack thereof? Does this post signify a new-found appreciation for who I am as a person?

Not sure. Metaphors aren’t really one of my strengths.

 

 

 

Story

The inside of the small cafe on Osborne is bright and busy as guests sip tea and eat waffles. The tea is poured from small, clear teacups into brightly coloured cups while the waffles sit on electric-green plates that sparkle with specks of bright blue.

The smell of waffle batter crisping into a solid fills my nose and my mouth and lungs and my stomach. The clean scent of fresh fruit follows shortly after. A group of young girls sit around a table and giggle loudly between slurps of neon-colored bubble tea.

The energy of Tea Story is exciting. A woman with bright white teeth and a retro haircut behind the front counter smiles as she scoops chocolate ice cream onto a waffle.

She offers me a menu and promises to be there when I’m ready to order.

The menu was clear and uncomplicated. I started with a hefty strawberry-mango smoothie. Even the extra-thick straw had trouble sucking up the drink, but when I did manage to taste some, it was worth the effort.

Ten minutes after my order is placed the energetic woman with the sparkling teeth floats over to my table to apologize. They are out of batter and needed to make more. She apologizes again.

I tell her it was alright, ten minutes is really not that long. She apologizes again and drifts back to her spot behind the counter.

Ten minutes after that, she brings the waffle sandwich I ordered. Yes, a waffle sandwich.  As in a sandwich with two waffles instead of slices of bread. Waffles. Like, the breakfast food. Only this was for lunch. This is waffles for lunch but with sandwich filling between them. This is awesome.

Here’s what I had at Tea Story:

Spicy Cowboy: Grilled steak strips, mild cheddar, grilled red onions & mushrooms, romaine lettuce, spicy chipotle sauce. $9.59

Impressions: I don’t know if you noticed, but this sandwich is between two waffles. Objectively, that is awesome. However, the waffle wasn’t as crispy as I expected. It did little to hold the sandwich together and I was forced to eat the second half with a knife and fork. The strips of steak are thick and tender. So often with steak sandwiches the pieces slide out as you try and tear them with your teeth – these didn’t.

What made it? I’m a sucker for spicy chipotle sauce, and the one in this sandwich packed an especially powerful punch. The beautiful dark red sauce was thick and didn’t seep into the waffle and break it apart. It brought a smoky flavour to the steak that really insisted that this sandwich was, in now way, for breakfast.