Timing, they seem to say, is everything. And so it was yesterday, when I arrived at the wonderful Monde Chocolat at the exact moment they were bringing the Amedei chocolate into the store.

Amedei, God love it, is considered among the finest chocolate in the world, and the Chuao from Venezuela the best of the best. It is a deeply satisfying bar–full of red fruits and aromatic roundness. No other chocolate I have eaten, including Amadei’s Toscano Black, compares.

Monde Chocolate has a full range of Amedei products including the Toscano Black, Porcellana, Tavoletti ‘9′, and Chocolat Au Lait.

Monde Chocolat
2391 Burrard Street
Vancouver, BC
604-733-2462

I will write more about this marvelous chocolate and the wonderful Monde Chocolat, which sources amazing chocolate from all over, soon.

And now, back to my carpal tunnel holiday. See you in October!

From Rick Patel and the rest of the Avaaz team:
The Canadian government is breaking its own environmental laws, and
could get away with it if we don’t act within 24 hours. Last June,
Parliament passed a law confirming our legal obligation to comply
with the Kyoto Protocol, and gave a heel-dragging Harper government
60 days to show how they would do it. Harper’s plan is out, and meets
Kyoto’s targets 13 years too late - it clearly breaks the law.

Canadians are irate over this, but somehow everyone failed to notice
the official public consultation period on the law, which ends
TOMORROW. The comments that Environment Canada receives in this
period will be admissible in court, when the Harper government is
brought before a judge on this. If there are no comments, the
government will claim in court that the public supports its bogus
plan. This argument has worked before, and we must not let it happen
again. Please click below to send a quick message to Environment
Minister Baird, and tell everyone you know to act right away:

http://www.avaaz.org/en/canadian_climate_crime/c.php/?cl=19537119

Will the mighty Michael Ignatieff be our next Canadian Prime Minister? With Mr. Dion’s fortunes potentially on the wane after the byelection losses in Quebec, it seems the Liberal swords may be out yet again.

This item over at Public Eye online discusses how Mr. Ignatieff’s handlers are flocking together to make political hay while there is still sunshine in arctic climes. Apparently Mike meant to be funny when he was talking to the press last month about the sex lives and toileting habits of the arctic puffin.

Meanwhile, over in Iceland, one YouTube is worth a thousand words:

My hands hurt. In fact, they’ve been hurting for several months. It looks like I have a nasty constellation of overuse syndromes–carpal tunnel and tenosynovitis, with a little osteoarthritis chucked in for good measure.

I’ve taken a few days off here and there, and applied various remedies including Korean magnetic balls with all kinds of spikes on them that are designed to get at my various acupressure points, Performance Grip clay with a scent that combines durian and bubble gum, low density rubber and sponge squeeze balls, plenty of stretching, massage, and essential oils.

And, of course, night splints. They have plenty of straps, stays, and buckles. They might even be risque if they were black instead of flesh-toned. Since I’ve been using them, my hands no longer go numb while I’m sleeping, so I guess that’s progress.

But my hands still hurt. I’ve finally concluded they won’t stop hurting if I continue to peck at the keyboard, so I’m taking an extended break. I hope to be back to the blog sometime in October, possibly with my new friend, Mr. Dragon Naturally Speaking.

Lame.

This past Friday night, the end of a long week, with company visiting from out of town, no one wanted to think too hard. We were in the peaceful easy feeling kind of space in which a restaurant is chosen with minimal effort, and so we settled on Osteria Napoli, a nearby hole-in-the-wall pasta joint Mr. V. and I hadn’t visited in a long while.

Osteria Napoli is forever the same–a charming and cozy restaurant, decorated in pre-minimalist Italian kitsch. The green tile floor, the straw-encased wine bottles, the beige leatherette and wood chairs, and the romantic wall murals evoke the same feel of every Italian family eatery you have ever seen, whether in real life or in the movies. The ambiance is enhanced by a a keyboard and accordion maestro, stationed near the back, who plays, popular tunes in both Italian and English, including a facsimile of Don Henley that was so true I thought he’d sllipped on a CD and gone for his break.

We were seated promptly and cheerfully, at a table near the front, where we could enjoy both our conversation and the musical entertainment as well as the fading summer’s evening light. Almost as promptly, bruschetta was delivered to our table. Traditionally prepared, delicious, and exactly the right thing to nip the edge off our appetites.

And then it was time to die and go to heaven. “We have,” said the captain, “the buffalo mozzarella.”

It comes to the table in great, soft, gooey pure white slabs over thick slices of beefsteak tomato, accompanied by some micro greens, a few olives, dressed with a good balsamic, a better olive oil, and with a subtle dusting of sea salt. It was amazingly good. In fact it was perfect.

The food that followed the mozzarella masterpiece were exactly what one would expect from a pasta joint in a traditionally Italian neighbourhood. First there were the warm crusty buns and sweet butter that was cold, but not too cold. And almost immediately after, the pasta.

I ordered rigatoni and sausage, which came with a classic marinara sauce that had clean, simple flavours. Mr. V. had a creamy lasagna en casserole, while our companion enjoyed a casserole style dish that featured spinach and ricotta. All were generously portioned, and very good; they were even better accompanied with Moretti. Nothing, of course, outdid the buffalo mozzarella salad, but that was fine with us.

Service was charming, attentive, and hover-free. Despite the fact we weren’t regulars, or even Italian, we were made to feel very welcome by the energetic woman who looked after our table. We had no room for dessert, but some melon slices were brought with the (very reasonable) bill.

Our stomachs full, and our palates refreshed, we agreed to return to Osteria Napoli the next time we needed a pasta fix.

Osteria Napoli 1660 Refrew Street, Vancouver 604-255-6441

It is Sunday night and five old friends are enjoying what has become an annual reunion dinner. We are so old, in fact, that The Transcontinental hostess, a sweet, very young thing, expresses surprise when she overhears that we all have Facebook accounts. We are not as old, of course, as The Transcontinental itself, one of Vancouver’s newest restaurants, and the recent recipient of a very expensive facelift.

What once was a covey of Via Rail offices in the circa-1917 Canadian Pacific Railway station, is now, thanks to Cadillac Fairview and to Steamworks’ founder, Eli Gershkovitz, a very nice room at the edge of Gastown, an ideal location to snag the tourist trade.

Great pains have been taken to not only use fine materials, particularly for the millwork, but also to install them with all the respect and care these materials deserve. Craftsmanship is evident everywhere in this 307-seat room. Given the shortage of skilled trades as the 2010 winter high jinks loom, the level of craftsmanship is even more remarkable.

We are seated almost immediately in one of the plush, curved booths. It is cozy and surprisingly comfortable. In due course the menus are brought, the special of the day is announced, and the water glasses are filled.

In the evenings, The Transcontinental offers two menus, dinner and club car, that acknowledge the various Canadian regions. The menus feature mainly the tried and true–surf and turf, prime rib, BC salmon, steamed Nova Scotia lobster–plus a couple of vegetarian options and lobster poutine, seemingly the only original item.

Two in our party choose burgers, another the crab salad on croissant from the club bar menu. Another friend and I choose pastas from the dinner menu. The wine list features plenty of standards, and a very healthy markup. We decide on the Grey Monk Pinot Auxerrois. It is very pleasant; light and fruity, with a hint of citrus.

The two pasta orders are brought to the table first. We wait a few moments for the rest of the order, and when it is not forthcoming, our friends encourage us to eat before our food gets cold. It takes several more minutes for the burgers and sandwich to materialize.

My dish is nicely plated. Pasta rounds filled with smoked mozzarella are garnished with basil oil; its bright green contrasts nicely with the pasta. The dish is dressed with some lightly grilled radicchio and romaine, one-half a roasted roma tomato, and a halved lamb sausage from Oyama. The sausage, tomato, and grilled vegetables are all very enjoyable, but the pasta is disappointing. The basil oil is tasteless, and there is no smokiness evident in the smoked mozzarella filling, which is hard work to chew. Evidently, this is cheese that does not melt in the time it takes to bring the pasta rounds to al dente status.

Everyone else appears to enjoy their supper. I filch a few fries from one of the burger plates, and they are pretty tasty.

Then it is time to order dessert. Carrot cake, a couple of cheescakes, a maple syrup creme brulee, and for me, one pound of apple pie. When the desserts come, they are elaborate affairs, highly garnished eye candy on over-sized plates.

The cheese cake is light, and the carrot cake is pronounced delicious. Only the maple creme brulee fails to impress. A huge portion, served in a mini-flan rather than a brulee vessel, it has a nice crackly crust, but the maple is overpowering, and the custard too rich.

I am not a big fan of pie, and so I leave most of the crust on the plate. The pastry is good, but I am only interested in the filling, and the warm, slightly caramelized apple slices are totally delicious accompanied by the vanilla bean ice cream. A wonderful consolation prize after the so-so pasta.

At the end of the evening, I ask my companions to rate their experiences at The Transcontinental, and almost everyone says “8.” My friends are always and exceedingly kind.

They remarked on the friendly service, and indeed the service was friendly in the right sort of way, which is to say not the way that gets in your face.

Our server, Matthew, whose name I only know because it is on the restaurant receipt, was a very nice young man. He was not the least bit discombobulated when I mentioned the kitchen might need a bit of work getting their orders out in time, patiently explaining to me that the pasta and sandwiches were on different menus.

Let me just say that problems of kitchen coordination are not something I give a flying poutine about. I know everything I need to know about the rigours of the kitchen from watching Kitchen Nightmares and Top Chef, as well as my early forays into the world of work.

Nonetheless, Matthew was pleasant and accommodating. In a room as luxe as The Transcontinental, though, I would like something extra, something as simple as the flourish of a peppermill, maybe even an amuse, and most certainly all, not just some, of the tablewear properly branded with The Transcontinental’s crisp blue logo.

For the most part, the food was good. But the food is good across the parking lot at Steamworks, too. Is good good enough?

No expense has been spared to create a beautiful and elegant room. With new, upscale restaurants opening practically every week in Vancouver, if The Transcontinental wants to stand out from the crowd, this room room should be a canvas for beautiful and elegant food, not for tried and true standards competently executed. Either that or settle for snagging tourists.

The Transcontinental, 601 West Cordova Street, 604-689-9151

Ryan Gosling drifts as junior prosecutor, Willy Beachum. Anthony Hopkins reprises a lazy, cartoonish Hannibal Lecter, this time without fava beans.

This film had its stylish moments, but any possibility of suspense or surprise was drained by the limping, lumpen direction of Gregory Hoblit. It will forever be referred to chez Vancouveriste as “Crapture.”

But if you have time to kill, you can always read about gravy wrestling.

I was late to the Monet to Dali show at the Vancouver Art Gallery yesterday, awe struck at the number of important paintings on display. If you haven’t been yet, this one is not to be missed. It closes September 16.

Now, the VAG has just announced that there will be a major retrospective of Georgia O’Keeffe paintings on display from October 6 to December 13. This will be the first solo exhibition in Canada dedicated to the American artist in 50 years.

The exhibition will also feature a selection of photographs of O’Keeffe as a young woman taken by her husband Alfred Stieglitz, and of her later in life by American photographer Todd Webb. I saw some of the Stieglitz photos a couple of decades ago in New York and look forward to seeing them again, this time in conjunction with some of O’Keefe’s canvases.

Image source: George Eastman House webpage