About Blatch Ave

I lived on Blatch Ave during my first year of university, in what seems now to be a past life.  It was an eclectic house, there was myself, grad students, and a writer.  Blatch was full of plants, life and warmth.  I only lived there for six five months, after finishing my exams, I had to go home and work a summer job.  But I’ll always remember the place fondly.  I lived in a little room, maybe 6 by 10 or 12 feet.   Just me and a desk and a sponge on the floor that served as my bed.  My jeans and pants were folded neatly in a suitcase that sat on the floor, and all of my shirts hung from two hooks on the wall above said suitcase.  My books sat in a pile next to the desk.

In those days all my worldly possessions fit into two laundry bags and a book bag.  I found myself in Blatch because simply put I didn’t fit in with my roommates.  I lived with two girls, one who was quite sweet, and the other who wasn’t.   Since it wasn’t really working I started to look for a new place.  I found Blatch and moved out.

The Blatch life was appealing.  I was told we had to cook meals for our house-mates on the weekdays, and on the weekends, everyone had to fend for themselves.  It sounded good, but intimidating.  I moved into the house on a Friday and was treated to vegetarian spaghetti with sauce made from scratch, and angel cake.  The Chef du jour was M, a local writer.  He had a book launch a few days later, a collection of short stories which I was happy to buy.  He was kind enough to write his spaghetti recipe inside the  cover and I gave the book to my father as a Christmas gift.    I knew right away I wanted to cook meals like this.  So Blatch is where I first learned to cook.  These are the meals I cooked at Blatch Ave, and the meals I’ve gone on to cook thanks to my time at Blatch.