A good Gryfe was had by all

I know, I know. I’ve been back from Toronto for a week now and I still haven’t posted anything. I have no good excuses, but I do have some photos to share…

Toronto was wonderful. We expected rainy weather, and got it in downpours our first full day there, but, after that, we had mostly sunshine and even temperate weather. We visited our old favorite spots, tried some new places, and even “discovered” a very old place that was entirely new to us. And, on top of all that, we had a really nice time celebrating Laurel’s birthday with family. Oh, and we ate well, too.

Our first day there it was pouring, but that didn’t deter us from going straight to Gryfe’s for our fix. The place simply does not change much, and for that we are grateful. It’s small and nothing special to look at, and it keeps cranking out the bagels, little “pizzas”, and apple turnovers we love, and that still taste exactly the same way they did when we were kids and walked over with our grandmother to “go buy bagel”.

On the day we visited, there was a modest line out the door (yay!). When we made it to the doorway, I saw a woman unloading tray after tray of fresh pizzas:

By the time we made it to the head of the line, most of the poppy seed bagels (the ONLY ones to buy – they certainly didn’t sell flax bagels in my day!) were gone, but we weren’t worried. We were happy. This meant that FRESH bagels would appear shortly. Fresh, HOT bagels. And here they are, in the same metal baskets they’ve always been displayed in:

We left the bakery with one dozen fresh bagels, two bags of pizzas (6 to a bag), and one dozen apple turnovers (for Terry and his family). We emerged from the bakery into a downpour, dashed for the car, and then sat in the warm, steamy car, eating two bagels each. When they’re hot, they’re just irresistible.

Our next stop was the house. Two blocks from the bakery. There’s not much to say. The house that was our summer home, the stable house of our childhood, was entirely wiped away. There’s a giant in its place, pressing its large shoulders against the tiny bungalows on either side.

We stood in the pouring rain and looked at it for awhile, and agreed that we’re glad, at least, that no one else is living in the old house — that it lasted just as long as my grandparents needed it, to raise their family, and for us to know it. In spite of the rain, we took a walk a block up to where my great grandparents used to live. Their house is still pretty much the same as always, and I wanted to take a picture, but the woman living there now spotted us staring at the house from across the street and she was watching us carefully though her living room curtains. I didn’t want to worry her, so we turned and walked back to the car.