Basi

Hanging around the markets has its rewards. Atwater has its own aura, and Jean-Talon does too. Lately it's my quest for the perfect garlic that drives me there. I know it's ridiculous to expect to find newly-harvested garlic now but, hey, I can dream. So now, though I can't find the ail au baton, I do find the ail de Provence. I found some at Chez Louis, possibly the premier go-to place for chefs across this city.

But I digress. Near the corner that houses Capitol, the Italian getwhatchouneedery, there's an intriguing cornerplace. That would be Basi. More on this later, but suffice to say that I went in to use the bathroom (excuse) and talked to chef-owner Maurizio and lo and behold, I'm going to dinner there next Wednesday. Not a thing over $30 except the very moderately-priced wines, and who knows? A camera might suddenly pop up. A review might be written. Who knows?

These days I go at a restaurant very differently than I used to. This is possibly due to an inordinate watching of the Food Channel (I signed up to my present cable service ONLY because I wanted the Food Channel, many years ago).

But what I've realised over the years is that instead of anonymous drones bringing you plates, these are real people slaving over very hot stoves and managing businesses that have very short odds. That's the difference between then and now. They were faceless providers whom I didn't know and would never know then but they are real people who really go in and out of business and put their heart and bank accounts into making you eat well. I know, it's easy to say "Well, doh, what did you think? It's an army of robots making your food?" But it's just as easy for many people, as I myself used to, to make the disconnect.

Sure, I'll write an un-partisan view of the restaurant as I see it, but I'll take into account Maurizio and his wife's smiling faces while I do it. That can't be so bad, can it?