I’ve read only half way through El Alto’s list of platos fuertes (main dishes) when a petite woman sidles up to my table, her curly hair tied back in a messy bun, a camo mask over her face.“Hi, I’m Traci,” she says nonchalantly, as if she’s not a two-time James Beard Award winner; as if she’s not th.
It’s happy hour in Vancouver’s Gastown and I’m sitting at the bar at L’Abattoir, with a Paper Seaplane in hand. It’s an expertly balanced cocktail with local amaro, Calvados and,