Tuesday, 25 November, 2025
I love pickles. Almost anything — I don’t see the point of pickled eggs. My mum used to say I was weaned on a pickle. Until I was five, we lived with my dad’s mum – Nana. Nana is a whole story of her own, and I think I’ve told it, but one thing she was known for was pickles. Somewhere I have the handwritten (not by her) recipe, ‘Pickels.’ I don’t remember if they were new or fully sour pickles anymore, but they were amazing. I remember the smell, or I think I do, and I can see the container they were fermented in, filled with the cucumbers, the brine and the generous amount of dillweed. It’s not so easy to find today. I’ve spent my whole life looking for a pickle that compares, even if I know a taste today may prove I’ve already found or even surpassed it. It’s just been too long.
In Canada, the taste for pickles is similar to the USA. A crisp and vinegary pickle with a slight sweetness. The UK gherkin from a chippy has the same sweetness but a different flavour. I see Canadians and Americans who live in Britain yearning for the Bicks or Clausen taste. It’s not for me. A brined kosher pickle is my style. There are a few jarred ones that I will eat but perhaps a Jewish deli is the best place to find the right one. If I ever find Nana’s pickel recipe, perhaps I’ll give it a go.
Toronto has a Polish neighbourhood in the west end, near High Park, its biggest park. Once upon a time it was filled with Polish restaurants, delis and other businesses, as well as Polish churches. When the pope was Polish, his photo was everywhere! Robin and I spent a summer on Roncesvalles in the early 90s. I woke every night thinking there was a fire. It was the smoke from the converted garages behind us, where they smoked sausages and hams. The air in the neighbourhood was always smoky. Luckily, I liked it. You had your pick of where to pick up sauerkraut, bigos, pierogies, pickles, smoked fish, cabbage rolls, and sweet doughnuts and pastries, When I left Toronto and visited again, they were almost all gone. Things had started to look smart and trendy. Now there are only two Polish delis left, although the restaurants and a couple of take-out counters for cooked food remain.
The main street is Roncesvalles Avenue. It gets its name from the  Battle of Roncesvalles, which took place in the Roncesvalles Pass in Spain in 1813. An early Irish settler,  Colonel Walter O’Hara—an early 19th-century Irish settler in the area—played a significant role in the establishment of the neighbourhood. He’d led a regiment that fought against the retreating army of Napoleon at the battle.
The name means ‘valley of thorns’ in Spanish.) In Spanish it’s pronounced Ron-sess-vie-yes (or with the alternate ‘th’ sound). In Toronto, we call it Ron-sess-vales. When it was first constructed, this was a primarily agricultural area with market gardens.  In 1904 many of the estate homes in the area were sold and the east side of the street became mixed-use. Today, at least at the lower end, the west side stays residential, while the east is shops. The homes in the area still seem quite grand but most are now split up into flats.
Roncesvalles is where you’ll find many greengrocers with vegetables and fruits overflowing wooden display counters. You go for the Polish deli, Benna’s, the restaurants like Chopin or Polonez, the trendy boutiques, European toys and other goods. I like that they do decorate for the holidays and I must go back closer to Christmas when it will be quite cheerful. Besides, I covered only a third of the street.
I took the plunge to travel by public transport on Monday. I had a false start when I took the wrong streetcar and ended up needing to backtrack and almost start again – my eyes aren’t functioning too well and the driver was reluctant to help! On Roncesvalles, the right streetcar pulled away too hastily from my stop and I ended up further up the street, when I’d had no intention of walking very far. Walk I did, pausing to inhale the scent of Christmas trees on some of the lots. I’d had a few other false starts to buy pickles, and those times I’d not managed it for one reason and another. I ended up buying my pickles from the supermarket instead of from the familiar “barrels” at Benna’s. Benna’s does stock the double-smoked garlic sausage I like, though. That was my only goal.
There are a lot of Polish customers in Benna’s. They chat happily with the (mostly) women behind the counters. The English speakers just may be at a disadvantage since some of the servers’ English isn’t fluent. Sometimes I get cheerful service, this time I got a grumpy reception. But I got my sausage. Job done. I also visited the hot counter for a small amount of potatoes and some pork stew, which I ate outside since the weather was mild. I skipped the sauerkraut, the pastries, and the herring that I always buy. This was a light shop.
I got the streetcar straight back, this time without any problems. This driver, unlike the first two, was a gem. I’m going to make borscht and use some of the sausage. Crossing my fingers.
I fear I’ve made lots of mistakes and doubled up on photos. Bring on the editors!