April 8 The Spring Craft Centre at the OCC

   In the spirit that inspires this blog, I visited one of the events from the past weekend. I give The Spring Craft Sale six out of eight pushy vendors and the unexpected Ottawa excursion 12 out of 12 reluctant cats.

    My friend and I went to the Craft Show on the Sunday and expected the vendors to be tired and hopeless, but the Convention Centre was a-bustlin'.

   As the jewellery and clothing booths were a little typical and a lot pricey we stuck to the tasty food stands with their vulnerable taste testing displays. One vendor had unwisely uncorked a sample of each of his offerings and had Tupperware containers filled with cubed bread and saltines. The result was entire families, cheapskates, and assholes alike saddling up and double dipping into pistachio butter, roasted garlic oil, and horseradish mustard. The stations were virtually unattended and salivating condiment-vultures from all corners of the OCC came scrambling for a shame-free taste. It was delicious.

   One of the first stands we came across (and where I ended up throwing most of the craft budget) was the locally-made Island Spiced sauces. In a fit of fake bravado, I walked away with a very spicy sauce. I've been stubbornly smearing it on President Choice crackers, daring anyone to ask why I'm crying or so sweaty. 

 

   Another stand that can win any heart is the Henderson Farms display. The jelly man was so effervescent, knowledgeable, and generous letting us try as many jellies as we wanted. We both walked away with a large jar of their Cranberry&Jalapeno scrumptiousness.

   The great fun really started in the Market. We snuck onto the back balcony of The Heart and Crown to try a citrusy beer called the Kronenburg 1664 Blanc. At the time I said it was delicious but I was lying and would be lying now if I said it was again. It’s a beer for your Bud Light Lime drinkers (that is to say not really beer drinkers at all).

   At the cat houses on Parliament Hill, a couple ladies said that Harper plans to shut down the haven as soon as the last kitty bites the dust. Probably he’s working to make it as unapproachable as Capital Hill. Ugh.

 

  

   We were wandering down Bank Street when the sound of live music pulled us into the Atomic Rooster. Easily taken for a discrete gay bar, it is actually an adorable tavern with a crowd reminiscent of people back home. There were ladies with bleached and teased hair with grey roots and men rocking their Canadian tuxedos.

   We ordered a Beau's and watched the band play for the couples dancing in front of them while the less brave snapped their fingers at the bar.

   On our way out we made a quick stop at the restroom. One of the stalls was generously large and the other not so much. My companion slipped into the large one because she is enormously selfish. I gave my stall’s door a little lock-test push that revealed this:

   Which lead to this:

   She hitched up her britches, tugged down her skirt, and waved off my apologies with exceptionally good humour as I stammered and spittled.

   Then we cheesed it out of there.