Try it, or it may be gone

In one of my favourite episodes of the '90s sitcom Seinfeld, Jerry gazes out his upper-west side apartment window and guiltily observes the gregarious Babu as he stands outside his empty restaurant. In an effort to save this floundering local merchant, Jerry suggests he convert his worldly family-style restaurant into an authentic Pakistani eatery. Sadly, the restaurant fails just like all the businesses that occupied its cursed space before it.

Every neighbourhood's got their own piece of real estate that just doesn't seem to attract any longterm business. In my neighbourhood, it's right at the corner of Brentwood and Bloor, just west of Royal York. At one point it was a sandwich place, then it was a juice bar, then it was some other obscure bar, then a hair salon and now a jewellery store. The jewellery store has been around for a few years so perhaps the curse is broken, but I may have spoken too soon.

The world of independent business is unforgiveably perilous. Relying on local support is a dicey strategy in this age of fickle, bargain-hunting consumers. The practice of idly shopping along your neighbourhood's thoroughfares is dwindling, especially in the fringe neighbourhoods of the city where most would rather take their cars out to the mall and load up on discounted merchandise from chain stores. And I'll admit, I seldom shop in Toronto's independent boutiques because most of the stuff is just too expensive. As much as I love the delectable sartorial selections of Queen West, I like my beer money more.

But we need local businesses to keep our city alive, and one particular faction of local business that is essential is local eateries. You know, your greasy spoons, your cheap shawarma shops, your donut fixes. Toronto was founded on businesses like these and they provide the identity and livelihood of our city's diverse working class. Most of these places are sustained by a deeply loyal clientele that comes in regularly and whiles away the day over a cheap meal and small talk. I've always wished I had a place like this to call home, but in a city of this size, which one do you pick? And many of them are so obscure, there is really no need to go in unless out of necessity. You want it there, but you don't really have any burning desire to go in.

There was one restaurant like this that sat at the top of my street for almost as long as I've lived in Etobicoke (which is almost 20 years). It was called Stirid Up and it was one of those classic jerk chicken places found in almost every middle-class neighbourhood. I had never been to this restaurant. I had no reason to go there, for I had my Thai, Chinese, Indian and Japanese eateries filling my need for take-out dinners. Jerk chicken never seemed like a necessity for my gastronimal cultural variety. So for almost two decades, I passed by it every day without ever giving it a taste.

Then one day my sister's boyfriend at the time came to stay with us. He was from out-of-town and had never really been to Toronto before. Whether it was due to his guyish propensity to devour plain meat, or his curiosity towards a place I had come to regard to be as banal as a garbage bin, he decided to try Stirid Up. My sister and I let him be our guinea pig in case it turned out to be more vile than a McDonald's salad. Sure enough, he said it was delicious and it was served to him by a gloriously boisterous Jamaican man.

My sister and I vowed we would eventually make our way into Stirid Up for a meal, but a month later when I was all set for some tasty poultry, there was a notice on the door that the place was locked until rent was paid. The elusive jerk chicken restaurant that had mystified, unnerved and then tempted me was gone, and as my real estate cynicism told me, I knew I probably would never see it open again.

The notice and Stirid Up sign have been up for almost a year now. Its window still reveals a desolate counter yearning to be converted into something else. It kills me that I had 20 years to try that supposedly good place out and didn't.

After Stirid Up closed another charming little neighbourhood spot, Hob Nob Donuts (just east of Royal York on Bloor), bit the dust. It too waits for another brave merchant to take over the space. I would lament about the disenchanting turnover of my familiar local sights, but it seems too trite to even bother. I know that none of you will support your local businesses any more than I will, but if there's one lesson I wish to impart from watching Stirid Up and Hob Nob fall, it's that if you wait for that kitschy coffee shop to invite you in, it's not going to. And if you don't indulge your momentary curiosity and take a break from your well-traversed routine, it may not be around for you to try it. We like to pass by these places and know that they're around giving some new Canadian a better life or adding to the roster of family businesses in the city, but we often forget that these places need customers to provide the city with their charm. I missed out on some decent chicken because I was just too stuck in my routine to give a new place a try. I'm sure I'll miss out on more great food as restaurants flop around me, but as long as it doesn't become another Starbucks, I'm happy with whatever happens to it. Maybe it'll be another jerk chicken place that I'll actually go to.