Something Fierce: Memoirs of a Revolutionary Daughter by Carmen Aguirre
My rating: 4 of 5 stars
On my last visit home to Vancouver, a friend gave me this book; I think he knows the author. When I first became friends with Allan in the 1990, some of his best friends were Chilean, and others were from Latin America. I’d just returned from a youth exchange in Ecuador. I found the Latin culture both passionate and political, and I was also interested in the immigrants from Latin America to Canada in those years. I was a volunteer buddy for an El Salvadorean man who’d claimed asylum in Canada; a simple man, he’d had children killed by both sides of the conflict there.
But now, it has been many years since my mind has wandered to that region, living in Australia now and in Europe before that. This rather amazing book brought my mind back to my younger days, and my attraction to the region, but it also unveiled something else, feelings of both wonder and horror. Wonder that at the time I was little formed in high school and college that a young, passionate woman of nearly the same age had given her whole life to a cause, working in the political underground, fighting for a better Chile; and horror too, remembering how many people were killed under Pinochet’s regime, all the other lives and families damaged and disappeared in the name of power, repression and greed.
It brought the politics of time to life in a very engaging and personal way: the story of the terrible politics of many of the countries there, the American support of dictators and killers to promote their economic interests. Aguirre’s story delves down to the level of families and neighbours: rich military kids in the same classes or neighbourhoods as the suffering underclass, or her and her family members, working for a revolution, spied on, in danger, and her extended family, some poles apart from each politically within the same households.
Yet the story is also woven into stories of making friends, the distance and intimacy of family, and various sexual and romantic awakenings. Born from the truth of experience and memory, the writing doesn’t feel embellished or that it simplifies what the author has been through.
For perhaps the last decade the adjective ‘fierce’ has been adopted by the gay community to describe attitude and strength, perhaps exhibited by a drag queen unafraid to cross gender boundaries, or to be subject to abuse or attention. It’s a different kind of fierce here: fiery, honest, political, passionate, brave and even flirtatious. But yes, something fierce.
I’d certainly noticed Haven on the little stretch of Chalmers Street between the two entrances to Central Station, the one across from the bottom of Foveaux and the other at Devonshire Street. This place had such a buzz when we walked by one Sunday.
on a cute little board, with a handful of currents. I’m not sure about the trend of food on a wooden board (anymore, I thought it was cool the first time) but I’m on board with coffee on a board. My latte was delicious, strong and milky and just right.
I noticed that Fifi Foveaux was gone, the corner cafe in kind of a garish shade of red. I can’t barely remembering trying the place, but I think I did once. Apparently, the owners of Cup Half Full bought Fifi about two years ago, but just recently have given it a name change and a full change of decoration, really putting their stamp on it.
Hurrah. I was expecting a regular cafe meal and we got the extra touches that will hopefully allow the cafe to survive with so much competition around! My crumbed egg was unexpected, sort of like a scotch egg without the pork, served atop a generous serving of green peas, and though they called it a ham emulsion, it tasted more like a light pork broth. Though in the photo it does look nicely like a foam. I thought it was delicious and unusual. Oh, with a few slices of chorizo, it was delicious.
I consider it a good thing to have to look up the names of food on a menu and for three items in both of the amazing ‘plates’ at 
My pal had an egg on smoky eggplant, on toast, with a middle eastern sauce called zhoug. He loved it too.
It was packed when we were there, and their bread, pastry and sandwiches also looked superb. What an interesting and great place, tucked away on Cleveland Street, between Regent and the university, not really a pretty area but they’re making it charming!
So, I was thinking of correcting the colour of the photos here, but the thing is: the name of the restaurant is orange, the waiter was wearing an orange apron, there were fake oranges hanging as decoration from the trellis outside and yes, the lighting is kind of orange.
Am I behind? Like really, really behind? I stumble on these reviews for the Devon which went from one location on Surry Hills to another on Danks Street. By the time, I try it, hidden in that strip of restaurants on Devonshire between Elizabeth Street and the entrance to Central Station, I find out it’s been there for TWO YEARS.
Hipster paradise, here at Stinking Bishops. The waiters were hip and Inner West. The patrons looked like they were in the know. The first times I’d looked, they seemed to close early in the day, but I believe demand is high and they’re now open for dinner every night of the week except Sunday and Monday. We grabbed a reservation for a meal before seeing Avenue Q at the Enmore Theatre a few weeks ago.
fresh and picked veg. It was delicious. I kind of missed the crunchy bits of rice you get when it served in a stone bowl, and there’s something satisfying about mixing everything together in the cheap and non-elegant version, but I loved this. The food instagrammer #PrincessPorky told me that this is actually the way bibimbaps are supposed to be. Who knew?
crispy deep-fried chicken. What’s not to love?