Riley Brandt

A day of shopping, eating and drinking Calgary's best — what more could a girl ask for?

I’ve lived in Calgary my entire life. So, I was surprised when I looked at the Best of Calgary results that, while some of the winners are old favourites, many I have never visited. And some I had never even heard of.

It’s about time for this lifelong Calgarian to discover what makes our fair city just that. My goal: visit as many Best of Calgary places as possible in one day and write about the experience.

5:45 a.m.

With low and ominous clouds, I drag myself out of bed. The previous night, I had decided to take in a hot yoga session at the Bodhi Tree (best place for yoga). I thought it would be a great way to start the day. But as I drive to Kensington half-asleep I’m not so sure about that.

Rolling out my mat in 40 C heat in the earthy, softly lit studio, the heat feels lovely. My muscles relax, allowing me to stretch a little further into my “downward dog,” with all fours splayed across the mat, my butt stretching high into the air. But that’s until sweat starts running up my nose.

Driving away from class relaxed and blissful, the feeling is abruptly ruined when a cop steps in front of my car as I turn off of 14th St. S.W. I somehow didn’t see the “no right turn” sign at the corner. The thoughtful officer is making sure I don’t miss it next time by lightening my wallet by $172. Frick.

Throughout the breakfast of eggs and toast at Nellie’s (best breakfast), I stew. My sour mood doesn’t appreciate the kitschy ’50s memorabilia I’m surrounded by, as well as a Mona Lisa sporting Mr. Bean’s face. I am slightly disturbed by the cow winking at me from the wall across the room.

9 a.m.

My first tough decision of the day. Plain ol’ coffee or Bernard Callebaut hot chocolate at Café Rosso Cafe Beano* (best coffeehouse). My coffee arrives hot and strong, kind of how I’m feeling, but it’s just what I need to give me a jolt to hit some balls at the Shaganappi Golf Course (best public golf course) driving range.

Just off of Bow Trail S.W., the golf course is currently ripped up because of West LRT construction, but two 9-hole courses and the driving range remain open; the 18-hole course is slated to reopen next year.

The range overlooks downtown. While gracefully whacking my bucket of balls, I pretend they are hitting the Petro-Canada building. “Look at that ball go!” My fingers are icicles by the time we leave since it is all of 3 C.

Noon

Afternoon. Time for a beer. Looking at the long list of Best of Calgary places to eat and drink I figure we had better get an early start. My boyfriend, Kyle, likes this part. I do, too, as I quietly realize that the suds will lube his brain for my afternoon of shopping! We find a cozy corner booth at Bottlescrew Bill’s (best beer selection) and open the beer menu.

“How are you supposed to choose with this many beers?” Kyle asks.

“Uh, eenie meenie miney moe?” I reply.

Kyle chooses a beer from Montenegro and I go with our waitress’s suggestion: Tuborg from Denmark.

A tad lubricated, we make a quick pit stop at Art Central (best place to find cool jewelry). Well, not really stopping — more like drive-by shopping, as we cruise the windows on our way to 17th Ave. S.W. (best shopping district, best place to people-watch, best place to waste an entire day) for a wild shopping spree… and a lot of food.

At Fair’s Fair (best place to buy a book), I’m overwhelmed by the thousands of books lining the shelves. The clerk advises we pick up a copy of Water for Elephants. He claims it’s one of their most popular books, along with a series for kids “like Harry Potter with vampires.”

Call me a prude, but I have never been in a porn shop. A Little More Interesting (best place to buy porn) is far from the dark, curtained-off, back of the video store stalked by greasy men in sunglasses and trench coats I had been expecting. It is bright and open with hardwood floors, and displays of every vibrator, whip and, “What do you think that does?” you can imagine. All “approved by the doctor on staff,” I am told by the sales clerk in her matter-of-fact tone and straight face.

After browsing the videos and feeling a little weird reading the back of Debbie Does Dallas, I decide an erotic novel is more my style. Got a minute… a collection of erotic quickies sounds like fun. Kyle decides on a book about the best sex positions ever. (He should have been at yoga this morning.)

We miss the lunch buffet at Moti Mahal (best Indian). But that’s OK because I’m craving galub jamun, the Indian version of Timbits in honey — only ooey-gooey better. The problem at most restaurants is they come from a can and taste like stale doughnuts. Moti Mahal makes theirs in-house. And they are to die for — melt-in-your-mouth, soft, warm, sugary and perfect. Even Kyle, who usually won’t go near the things, likes them.

Good thing we didn’t have a full lunch at Moti Mahal. The next three stops are restaurants. Salad rolls at CoDo (best Vietnamese), a cheese platter at FARM (best new restaurant) and a mint and chocolate liqueur tofulatti sundae at the Coup (best vegetarian, best veggie burger).

The plan was to eat some Wicked Wedge (best pizza) next but Kyle begs off, groaning that his stomach is reeling from the strange food combination we just pigged out on. Even I agree. We take time out from eating to exercise my God-given right to shop.

Each store has its own look, from the dingy garage-look of Divine (best consignment/vintage clothing) to the unrestrained opulence of SHE Apparel Inc. (best lingerie) to the bright, open concept of Purr (best women’s clothing store), as well as Gravity Pope (best shoe store).

Apparently, for the past decade I have been wearing the wrong bra size. At SHE the clerk sizes me, informing me that my 34 B is completely wrong for me. I’m actually a 32 D. Yes, D. Choke. I gag again when I look at the price tag of the lacy little white bra I have slipped on. $139. Plus tax. Gulp. Well, you can’t put a price on making your tits look fabulous can you? Kyle totally agrees. He promises NEVER to put it in the washing machine.

4 p.m.

After dropping $139 for a bra I need a drink. Ming (best cocktail bar, best cocktail menu, best martini) is one of my ol’ favourites. We are served by “the dancing man,” who seems a little bashful about his recent fame. In case you’ve been living under a rock for the past week, he’s the guy made famous by a viral video of his dancing at Sasquatch Festival. Leaving, we realize it has been pissing rain for a while. But hosed after a few colourful fruity drinks, it is alllllll gooooood.

After picking up tomorrow’s lunch of garlic-stuffed olives and risotto balls from Mercato (best Italian), we decide that since we are already soaked there’s no point in visiting the Elbow River (best place to get wet). Instead, we opt for more beer (YAY!) and the best fries in Calgary at the Ship and Anchor (best…way too many to list).

At Prince’s Island Park (best public place to “do it”) we look around for a suitable “doing-it” spot before deciding it’s freezing and we don’t want mosquito bites on our naughty bits. We make out behind a tree, instead.

7 p.m.

One of the staff at the River Café (best everything to do with a restaurant) is outside cutting decorative pansies. The rustic furniture and antique fishing paraphernalia is the perfect setting for West Coast oysters and fresh grilled asparagus.

The hostess at the Bankers Hall Earl’s (swankiest washroom) looks at me funny as I explain that I need to use their washroom to do research for this story. With textured wallpaper, chandeliers and ornate mirrors, it is definitely swanky. But the lack of toilet paper in two of the stalls is… well, decidedly unswanky. Good thing I looked before I sat down.

Milk Tiger (best new bar, best hole-in-the-wall), which opened last December, occupies the old home of A Bar Named Sue. I understand why it won this category. They serve an orgasm on a plate. Technically, it’s called strawberry and brie “bubblegum,” but damn, I’ve never had bubblegum like this.

But it is far from a hole-in-the-wall. With hardwood floors, sparse, natural décor and tunes that don’t include anything by the likes of Britney or Christina, it is a haven. “No TVs, no Red Bull, no Red Mile,” boasts Derek, one of the owners.

And it’s not just the food that’s great. They also make a Moscow Mule (vodka, ginger beer and lemon) with homemade ginger beer, and serve a wine called Devil’s Staircase, produced by a young Kiwi metal-head with hair down to his waist.

10:30 p.m.

My friend Andrea and I get our groove on at Broken City (best live rock music club) where there is… no live music. We did have fun people-watching, though. From too-cool hipsters to dolled-up divas to Mohawk-sporting punk rockers, Broken City rivals 17th Ave. for best people watching.

On First St. S.W., Andrea stops. “You can write in your article that your friend stepped in vomit,” she says. Ewwww. (It isn’t mine. Honest!)

We find Christine (best bartender — The Palomino) with pigtails, a battered cowboy hat and a tongue stud downstairs at The Palomino. She claims her personality is what makes her Calgary’s best bartender. “And I like showing off.” Our drinks (we asked for “a tasty shot”) are made with a blur of spinning bottles, her hips grooving to the deafening rockabilly. Andrea says there is Chambord liqueur and pineapple juice involved. Whatever it is, it’s yummy.

A pit stop in the bathroom, where we giggle about all the guys in skinny jeans (worst new trend) and add our clever thoughts to the hundreds already on the wall, including someone’s wise: “LOVE ME OR HATE ME AS LONG AS YOU SPANK ME,” scrawled in giant letters. Now, it’s off to the HiFi (best place to dance) where we dance our brains out to Michael Bernard Fitzgerald and an animated video of a tooth doing naughty X-rated things to a toothbrush.

2 a.m.

Some guy tries to pick up Andrea in front of Tubby Dog (best late night, best cheap eats). He asks her to go to Star Trek with him. “Sorry, I’m married,” she says. She doesn’t sound sorry.

There’s no room left in my stomach for the Cheetah dog piled high with sauerkraut, cheese and relish (definitely no room for one with PB&J and Cap’n Crunch), but I cram it down anyway. I feel sorry for Kyle. He has to sleep beside me tonight.

Exhausted but satisfied, we head home. Calgary is a great city. Perhaps even the Best.

CORRECTION: This story originally named Cafe Rosso as best coffeehouse. In fact, the writer visited Cafe Beano, which was voted best coffeehouse. We apologize for the error.