I have a category in my sidebar for ‘Local Colour’ which was originally a subcategory of ‘Expat Life’. I was writing about what it was like to live in semi-rural Pennsylvania and my observations of little eccentricities like gigantic inflatable crabs on seafood restaurants nowhere near the sea. Now that I’m not living there anymore, I wasn’t sure what to do with ‘Local Colour’, and decided recently to promote it from subcategory and expand it to include local colour from wherever I live.
I have a mental list of places I need to visit while I live here, and Communist’s Daughter is one of them. It’s a tiny bar that’s popular with the locals and within walking distance of my own neighbourhood. I haven’t been there yet because I’m not really a barfly, and the fact that it’s small and often jam-packed is somewhat of a deterrent. Apparently the only way to get a seat is to go early on a weeknight. Sometime this summer, maybe on the way home from work, I’ll wander over there and check it out myself. In the meantime I found this video online, shot by my friend Sai, that’ll give you an idea of why it’s so popular.
Review on Yelp: http://www.yelp.ca/biz/communists-daughter-toronto
What made me think of this place was a conversation from last night, which turned out to be an unexpected evening with documentary filmmakers. What began as a key drop-off at a pub (I was lending my car) turned out to be seven hours of commingling with doc people, which for me is always interesting. Photography and videography are bedfellows, and the driving forces behind documentary films are the same for photojournalism: non-fiction storytelling. While I do far less story-telling here than I have in the past, in person I tell more stories than ever — mainly because as I get older there are more stories to tell. Thus the evening grew longer and longer…
The gathering at Pauper’s Pub in the Annex was a monthly meeting for doc people, and from there Jan and I went to a coffee bar a few doors down to meet another documentary filmmaker. The Green Beanery closed at 10pm (it used to be a bank — check out The Vault), so she suggested we head over to a place further west called Three Speed, which was hopping. The back patio was the only place left with seating, but it was perfect for a spring evening — spacious yet cozy.
For someone who claims not to be a barfly, last night was practically a pub crawl.
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