Take Me Out

As every devoted tabloid reader knows, when a celebrity eats in public, the press reports on every last detail—unless you’re Franz Ferdinand front man Alex Kapranos, in which case you do it yourself. The lanky Scottish singer of hyper-addictive hipster anthems recently wandered into Banu, a spanking new Iranian restaurant on Queen West, with bandmate Nick McCarthy. Apparently, the pair really dug the pomegranate juice, shashlik lamb and lawasa bread, because Kapranos subsequently penned a glowing review of the spot for The Guardian. “I love Iranian food. It is delicate and exciting,” wrote the Glasgow-based rocker, reminiscing about eating it as a child (Kapranos, a former chef, is moonlighting as a travelling food columnist for the U.K. newspaper during this year’s world tour). Banu owner Samira Mohyeddin says the pair lingered over tea on low-slung banquettes for about three hours, chatting with her about politics, George W. Bush (“He’s scary”) and the Iranian revolution before departing to play a show at the Ricoh Coliseum. Another diner advised Mohyeddin not to charge the musicians for their meal, and to display a photo of them in the window. But she was puzzled. “I’m like, why?” she recalls, scrunching up her nose. “Don’t you know who they are? That’s Franz Ferdinand!” said the diner. But the name of the stratospherically successful four-piece didn’t register: “I automatically thought of the archduke of Austria.”—Sabrina Lux

Prom King

Galen Weston Jr. was on his knees, hands raised, screaming the words to Guns ’n Roses’ “Sweet Child o’ Mine” in the middle of a packed, sweaty dance floor. Welcome to PROM Unchaperoned—a.k.a. ROM Prom—the Royal Ontario Museum’s first ever Young Patrons’ Circle fundraiser, a kind of Brazilian Ball for the pre-facelift set. In Austin Powers– esque plaid pyjama pants and tuxedo jacket, Weston fit right in with the 450 or so guests in attendance—a smattering of local boldface names that included a Jackman, an Eaton and, of course, Weston’s wife Alexandra (who topped off her effortless-chic evening gown–and–Converse ensemble with a messy ponytail). It was an evening ruled by the popular kids—musical tastes aren’t the only thing that hasn’t changed since high school.—Liz Montclair

Idol Minds

The air was thick with vegans and bike helmets at the Danforth Music Hall on a recent Friday evening. The occasion: City Idol, an unorthodox exercise in municipal politics in which 71 wannabe politicos from across the GTA got exactly one minute each to persuade the audience they’d make a great city councillor. The prize: a fleet of volunteers dedicated to helping the winner secure a seat in city hall. Dave Meslin of the Toronto Public Space Committee—a local group devoted to building civic pride—was the brains behind the event. He explained to the packed room that, while American Idol is all about aping rock stars, this contest isn’t about aping politicians. “If anyone looks or acts like a politician, don’t vote for them!” One by one, the candidates took the stage. One articulated his views on gun violence in rhyming couplets. Another beat out her pro-Kyoto MO on a bongo. But despite outward differences, their collective platform could have been taken from the editorial pages of NOW. (The one exception was Simon Malek, whose thickly accented “God bless America. God bless George W. Bush” was met with a loud chorus of boos.) At the end of the night, ballots were cast and an armada of counters clad in white aprons and visors emerged to tally the votes that would eliminate half the contestants. Outside, one candidate suddenly turned to me, wide-eyed: “All these people scare me.” A sure sign that they’re ready to be real politicians.—Sara Wilson