Garlic Scapes

           

            On the Wednesday morning of June 29th, in the parking lot across from my place, a man carrying a plastic cooler box and who looked like he was waiting for a ride, blew his nose on his hand and then wiped it in several places on the brick wall of the Dollarama.

            Later, when I arrived at the food bank there were two parking enforcement vehicles parked across the street and two officers standing in the driveway talking to Joe, the manager.

            I know that they work for Toronto Police Services and that they are technically considered to be peace officers (so is the mayor), but I’d never seen them look and act so much like cops.

            Joe had called them because there was a car parked in the space where the delivery trucks back up to be unloaded, and on this particular day there were two of them that were supposed to arrive in a matter of minutes. Joe wanted the car towed, but once the officers found out that there is only a verbal agreement among tenants not to park there, they told him they couldn’t do anything about it. They told him that what they need is a letter from the landlord to tag and tow the car and there was something about him having to pay a hundred dollars but I can’t track down what that fee would be for.

            All the staff members were tense that day, especially Joe and this one other guy named Brock. He and Joe were arguing a bit over this issue and even the people that wouldn’t be unloading the trucks were upset. It didn’t seem like a big deal to me. If they just moved all the garbage bins somewhere else the truck could back up beside the car and the extra distance they’d have to walk while unloading it would be about three meters. I didn’t suggest it, but that’s exactly what they did. They moved all the bins to the front of the building next door.

            The woman with the red and white Canadian flag baseball cap arrived and stepped in behind me, announcing to me, “I made it!” She said that she’d wanted to get there before 10:00. She had a big crossword book with her and told me that she’d broken her laptop when she’d gotten mad at it and smashed it on the floor.          

            Anyone that comes to the food bank regularly dreads the truck arriving while they are in line, because that would mean waiting for the line to move until after the truck has been unloaded. It was a relief to get inside and to get number 11.

On my way to unlock my bike from the tree that grows out from under the building ext door, I spoke to Marlon, who was lounging and smoking in the Muskoka chair nearby. “Busy day, eh?” I said to him. He nodded and told me about the two trucks and how much work it was going to be to unload them both, get everything inside, get it all down to the basement, then unpack and shelve the items down there. I suggested that it’s probably better to be active though and that it makes the time go faster, and he agreed. I told him that I’d worked as a mover for several years and he said that he’d done that a little bit as well, affirming that it’s very hard work. I related how I’d had to give that up several years ago because it had screwed up my back and I’d had to spend some time in physiotherapy to help push some disks back in to place.

When I came back at 12:30 one of the delivery trucks was still being unloaded. I overheard that both of them had arrived at the same time. We were informed though that, because of this, the food bank would not be opening until 13:00 this time around. I thought about going home, but figured that I’d be there for ten minutes before having to leave again, so I stayed.

I noticed that the little bush that’s growing out of the bricks beside the air conditioner at the back of the bar had one purple blue blossom.

When the sun came out, the light reflecting on the faces of some of the food bank customers waiting in the shadows would have made for some potentially interesting photographs, but I don’t always feel comfortable about pointing cameras at the people there. Maybe next time.

I walked a ways up Cowan and looked at the houses, some of which are old, interestingly designed and well maintained.

A little after 13:00 they started calling numbers.

From the top of the first set of shelves I just took another can of olive oil spray, because all the other choices that weren’t pickles were just packages of things that need other things to be complete.

In addition to Triscuits there was a bag of Dutch Gouda toasted bread chips. I don’t think that there’s any other kind of Gouda other than Dutch Gouda, since Gouda is a town in Holland. I took the bread crisps, which had a very ironic brand name: “Say Yes To No”. After the “no” there is a long list of things that aren’t involved in the making of the chips, such as fake colours, artificial flavours and GMOs. It seems like a negative approach to be so exclusive. I noticed that there is canola oil in the ingredients and so I wanted to catch the company in a lie, since I know that all canola in Canada is genetically modified. But it turns out that Just Say Yes To No is a Dutch company and they probably don’t genetically modify their canola. I’ve read though that the only gene in canola that is genetically modified is a protein and that in the making of oil all proteins are removed, so there is no genetically modified canola oil.

There were some packages of gnocchi, so I took one of those. My helper insisted that I needed tomato paste to go with it. I really didn’t, but I took a small can.

At the bottom was a choice between granola bars and jelly candies. I got three granola bars.

I didn’t take any beans or soups this time around, but I bagged a can of tuna.

There were more cereal choices this time around. In addition to Apple Jacks and Shreddies there was one of those semi-healthy mainstream toasted oats cereals and a box of gourmet granola. I decided on the Shreddies.

Across the aisle, Sue was back in her role of handing out the food from the refrigerator. She seemed a little stressed out, perhaps because of the busy day. I’d noticed her out there helping to unload the truck when I arrived. She had a bag of milk and a container of Greek blueberry yogourt for me.

I grabbed some sliced multigrain bread on my way to meet the vegetable lady at her corner near the exit. She asked, “What would you like my darling?” I took a little of everything. There was a slightly tanned around the edges bunch of celery, a fairly nice big red pepper, three plum tomatoes and a few potatoes. There was also fresh sage, rosemary and thyme. I told her that it sounded like a song. She gave me a bunch each of rosemary and thyme. There was a basket of several garden vegetables in the front, and she asked if I wanted anything from there. I noticed what looked like rhubarb and I asked if she had any more like last time. The little bit she’d given me was delicious. She looked and said she didn’t think she had any, but then realized she did. It doesn’t seem that anyone else is interested in rhubarb because she gave me everything she had, which was about three times more than last time. She commented, “Not a bad day for produce this time, eh?”

When I got home and unpacked everything, I noticed among the rhubarb what looked like twisted green onions that each looked like they’d swallowed a little bulb. I bit off a piece and it tasted oniony, but I couldn’t figure out if they were just mutated or a variety of scallion. I searched online, describing them in several ways until I finally stumbled upon a google image that matched them. It turned out that they were garlic scapes, The lady that had brought the rhubarb to the food bank from her garden must have donated the spirally buds as well.