Well, Toronto got canned. I was woken by a text from Asinkwe saying she wasn’t able to make lunch. After some discussion, we opted to skip going back into downtown Toronto.
After helping Cathy replace a lock on her back door, we decided that the excursion of the day would be to the Royal Botanical Gardens in Hamilton.
Sorry, Burlington. For most of my life, I thought the Gardens were in Hamilton, because they’re on Hamilton Bay.
Sorry, Burlington Bay. I’m not going to lie, the last few days have really highlighted how much geography of the western end of Lake Ontario I’ve either forgotten or flat-out had wrong. For someone who prides themselves at being good with geography, this has been a bit of a hard pill to swallow. I’ll have to chalk it up to not being adventurous enough when I lived here, and not having lived here for over half my life.
[Checks Wikipedia and Google Maps] Burlington and Hamilton. The RBG’s Hendrie Garden and it’s HQ are in Burlington, the original Rock Garden is in Hamilton. I wasn’t totally wrong. Also, holy crap, the RBG is massive. There’s a lot of property, most of which is just preserves – keeping the wild intact, keeping endangered species safe.
Anyway, the QEW was crap. Again, too many cars. It took nearly 40 minutes to drive what should have taken only 20.
I’ve never been to the Royal Botanical Gardens, I’ve only heard of them. As far as I knew, it was a place on the edge of the Lake that is really pretty. And that’s about it. I figured it would be an easy venture without much investment and easy enough to return from without having to battle commuters.
The RBG dates back to the 1930s when a Hamilton politician decided that there needed to be a formal park, which led to what is now the Rock Garden (which we did not see today). It gained the “Royal” moniker from King George VI even before the Garden was complete (which is a touch unusual; Royal bestowments tend not to arrive until after a thing has proven value). Through various partnerships and funding requests, the RBG grew through the 60s and 70s, and still continues to add to its preserved territory to this day.
The biggest challenge with getting into the RBG was the Canada Strong Pass. We get a National Park Pass every year. Even if we barely use it, it’s a reminder to the Canadian Government that, yes, we like National Parks so please keep them going. (It’s a very small price to pay.) It’s a plastic tag that hangs from the rearview mirror, easy-peasy.
Canada Strong, however, is not a pass in that sense. It’s really just a time-limited discount to encourage Canadians to get out and see our country and its wonders. I fully support the initiative. But the name is a bit confusing. At any rate, it saved us a bunch getting in.
The Hendrie Gardens are very pretty. They’re on the north side of Plains Road (the main building is on the south; they’re connected by a tunnel under Plains Road), butting up against the valley formed by Grindstone Creek. I’d best describe it as Victorian-esque: You enter through a long channel that extends from the tunnel, about four metres wide. The centre of the channel is a low garden of short plants and flowers in a repeating diamond pattern. Stairs about midway down the 30 metre-ish channel lead off to raised areas with differing vegetation.
At the end of the channel are two narrow, shallow reflecting pools with simply metal and glass artwork, sans wildlife of any kind. At the far end is the Turner Pavilion / Tea House (sadly, closed on Mondays). On either side of the pools are 11 gardens interspersed with wavy paths. They’re ostensibly rose gardens of two dozen different varieties, overshadowed with a load of other flowers for variation. (Which, to be honest, I’m fine with – I’ve never been a big fan of roses.) Bees and butterflies flew about gathering nectar, kids and their parents loudly roamed.
To the left of the Pavilion, we found a pond. In it were frogs and turtles. Monkey found a completely unintimidated chipmunk that had no issues with her (and eventually me) watching its feeding activities, hopping up on plants and pulling them down for harvest.
Sauntering back to the main building, we ordered a surprisingly reasonable priced lunch. Being too hot in the cafeteria, we found a cooler part of the building to eat while the day camp kids roared about. After lunch, we quickly circled the Mediterranean Garden before heading out.
We opted not to see any more of the RBG. Alex’s feet were done, and she wanted to see water. We made it only as far as Port Nelson Park (which was once a self-sustaining shipyard until a storm all but ruined the gravel beach), which offered only a few of the lake, and no access.
Getting back to Cathy’s, the others relaxed while Cathy and I ran errands, the chief one of which was to find a tiramisu. I’m not entirely sure how we got into needing a tiramisu (though, honestly, who doesn’t love a tiramisu?), but it proved elusive.
Sorry, a gluten-free tiramisu proved elusive.
We went to the Metro on Upper Middle and Eighth Line. We found tiramisu, but with your standard wheat ingredient. Cathy then thought of the Longo’s at Dundas and Trafalgar, but no dice there, either. Which led Cathy to find a particular brand – Nonna Lia’s – which could be obtained from a bubble tea house that as in the same complex as the Metro we’d only just left.
But there was no love there, either. As it turned out, the gluten-free version of their tiramisu had to be ordered in advance, it wasn’t just something you could buy. At this point, I was prepared to bail on the idea. Cathy, however, was now on a mission, and dammit, we were coming back with a gluten-free tiramisu if we had to drive all the way to bloody Mississauga!
Which we did.
The Trustcott Italian Bakery had a gluten-free tiramisu. It was frozen, solid as a brick, but not a speck of wheat to be found. And it was $35. After all that, we were not coming back without it.
For the record, it wasn’t worth the $35. Cathy and I had debated the ups and downs of tiramisu – it’s either great or it’s shit, there’s very rarely a case where it’s middling. For a truly great tiramisu, you need the strong coffee flavour, the lady fingers (however you make them) need enough firmness to hold, the mascarpone needs to be present (not whipped cream, thank you very much), and there should be a good dusting of either grated chocolate, or at least cocoa powder.
This one failed on nearly every account. Coffee was there, but it was weak. The lady fingers had been replaced with a different biscuit, which had gone to mush. The ingredients swore mascarpone, but I had difficulty telling ti was there. I definitely think we would have overpaid at half the price. At least Alex got to eat it.
After dessert, Alex and I went on a geocaching expedition, successfully finding one, failing at the second, and bailing on the adventure lab due to the failing light. We talked about getting a dog, a near-sixteen year conversation. I suspect it’s still long from being done.
Tomorrow, we’re off to St. Thomas for Janice’s internment. I really don’t know how this is all going to go.
