Forget what a difference a day can make…what about eight minutes?

My foodie-friend Yvonne had given me another suggestion. “You HAVE to go to Tosi’s on Main Street. You ring a bell to get in and then…well, you won’t believe it.”

Who wouldn’t go with a lead-in like that?

I got on my bike, turned left out of Yaletown and in less than eight minutes (I’m sure it was close to that) I was locking up my bike at Keefer & Main.  I had migrated from the chi-chi world of Yaletown – with its crazy-Urban Fare prices – to Chinatown where produce is half the price.

I walked south on Main and found Tosi’s, a tiny Italian shop that I’d learned had been open since 1906 and, in its current location since the 30’s, where it was once part of Little Italy.

The Italians migrated over to Hastings Street and soon Tosi’s, like the last hunk of parmesan in a bok-choy tide, was all that was left.

I peered at the dim shop door. It appeared that the window display had not been altered since about 1957. The hand-written sign said he was out for soup and would be back after eight minutes.

I liked this guy already.

Eight minutes. Perfect.

I wandered around poking in Asian shops that smelled of things I would never know how to cook or eat or what you would actually do with things like a slice of deer antler or any of those crazy big fungi the size of my head.  But after checking out all the produce prices, I realized that, as cheap as the prices are in Chinatown, the Sunrise Market on the outer edges of the area make the rest of them look like they’re gouging.

I LOVE the Sunrise Market. It’s like a Mennonite married an Asian importer. Except the Menno probably would have charged more…

I returned to Tosi’s to find the sign had flipped.

I rang the bell up in the corner of the door frame. I waited. I rang it longer. Nothing. The sign said to press hard because the owner had bad hearing.  ‘Bad ringing ears’ was added helpfully. I pressed in closer. I could see random items, piles of pasta, a cheese case.  I was not to be deterred.

I called the number. “I am standing at your front door.” I said. “Wait,” a man’s voice said, “I will let you in.”

Moments later, there was a buzzing sound and I had entered Tosi’s.

“I was in the cooler,” he said, “I couldn’t hear a thing.”

By the time I left and packed up my bike, my poor solo-right-side-pannier was overweight, overstuffed and I was listing heavily to starboard as I wobbled home…

Sooner than Dorothy could click her heels, I was back to the land of shiny people with small dogs where it costs much, much more to fill a tiny eco-friendly bags with perfect blemish-free produce.

But today it is pouring rain. Urban Fare’s proximity is a little more tempting on a day like this.

But what could I possibly need?

I’ve roasted the four large bunches of cherry tomatoes from Sunrise Market (four for a loonie) for future pasta dishes, I have plans to make ginger-carrot soup (the huge bag of organic carrots was $1.00/bag) and the cupboards hold bags of Italian pasta from Tosi’s.

Life is good. The larder is full. Bring on the rain.

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