• KARRI SCHUERMANS

     …a beautiful inappropriateness & principum individuationis.  

    Curator & Writer | Hakan Burcuoğlu · Venue | Chambar · Gear | Leica

    A forlorn moon, and lonely skies befriended by curious constellation. Our night is waning; left is the scent of dying embers, the lingering smoke of ashed cigarettes, and the poignant perfume of potato chips. It’s late. So late we can hear the pond frogs fuck. But what’s an inundation of amphibian virility in the face of revelry? These are the love-children of Dionysus, a ragtag of impish lifers—chefs, industry, and everyone in between. Tightly nestled inside a wunderkammer tucked deep in the wilderness, suddenly, there’s a turn in parlance. Sitting in the corner, his eyes disguised under a cap, a chef renders wax poetic, “Karri and Nico… they were like godparents to me”. A forceful introspect, and a final pour of red. As nostalgia bleeds into wistfulness, we observe our silence. And even though the frogs have come to a halt, we remain sentient, beckoned by daybreak. So I fasten my wings and journey to the Sun. And in an utter reversal of fate, amidst dark coffee and crumbling cake, there appears Helios incarnate—“Good morning. I’m Karri”.

    Though I’ve fallen victim to hubris, much like the ill-fated Icarus, the case of Karri, vis-à-vis Chambar, is one that demands heavy concessions to promulgated pontifications. Deeming “West-Coast safe” their anathema, Karri and Nico, alongside their bacchanal-inducing staff, have conjured up a cosmic brand of revelry—a phenomenon they’ve coined Civilized Debauchery—that [still] constitutes the single most unassailable blueprint for operational success in Vancouver today. It’s the telling tale of trickle-down gastronomics, and not a soul feels foisted. Over the last decade and a half, hundreds of Chambar alumni have bid adieu to their lodestar in search of new beginnings, bringing along with them the patois, and boundless bravura, they once helped forge at Chambar. Collectively, they’ve unfucked the complacency out of a town once painted in pastels.

    I’m not in the business of lauding restaurants, it’s the people that compel me. And from where I stand, a posteriori, Karri is rara avis—an effusive spirit, a post-modern mother, and a boss [I’m told] you’d prison-shank yourself to work for. We’ve imbibed the Chambar story ad nauseam, but perhaps, this particular rendition of Karri’s life, and lore, proves to be the one never before witnessed.

    Welcome to The Curatorialist, Karri Schuermans.

    & & &

    Read More

  • KIERAN FANNING

     …on wanderlust, weltschmerz, and wine [grape juice]

    Curator & Writer | Hakan Burcuoğlu · Venue | Kieran’s Home & Pepino’s · Gear | Leica

    Life doesn’t come easy for a wunderkind, especially with the countenance of a 13-year old [his words, not mine]. And as is the case with most of his ilk, Kieran, too, vacillates the grey areas between weltschmerz and wanderlust, searching for his place in this world. Otherwise, he’s heedful—tending to thirst—pandering to the baser instincts of impish patrons with burgundy lips, and bubbly spirits. And though he brandishes an unassuming patina, he’s studious—and forever curious—holding a panoply of grape [and classical music] knowledge that is unassailable. This, coupled with his unorthodox ways, imparts a much-needed fleck of sunshine into two worlds that are otherwise rigid, and pantheistic. And for that, he’s deserved of any paean.

    Kieran also holds a dear place in our heart for being the inaugural subject in our newly founded exposé—SpeakEasy. Partial to the life stories of beguiling boozers & belligerent bon vivants, it’ll serve as an insightful, yet electric, echo chamber for those who hail from the world of hospitality. Expect no aphorisms, and assailants to the inviolable. Welcome to The Curatorialist, Mr. Kieran Fanning.

    & & &

    Read More