Let me state from the outset that I have been served a three-course meal while sitting on a toilet. You don’t believe me? Well click here! So perhaps, as far as food is concerned, I’m not excessively worried about hygiene. And it is for reasons of hygiene and sanitation that Toronto’s street food is limited to wretched hot-dogs and sausages.

I ordered a hot-dog last Saturday. The experience made me feel angry, sickened and ashamed. I hated the vendor who sold me the hot dog. I hated the people who lined up behind me to buy their hot-dogs. I hated the cows, pigs and cats who were slaughtered to make the hot-dogs. And most of all I hated myself.

Why, oh why did I do it? I was hungry. I was in a hurry. I confess that the aroma of that unholy flesh excited my palate. In the end it was an empty and degrading culinary experience. Eating a hot-dog on the street is the culinary equivalent of smoking crack-cocaine in an alley.

But for the hungry pedestrian in our modern Babylon the choices are bleak. City regulations confine street vendors to “the reheating of prepackaged meat products in the form of wieners or similar sausage products to be served on a bun.” And then there are the ice-cream vendors. No thanks. I was once run over and hospitalized by a Dickie Dee man hopped-up on methamphetamines.

This should all be changing soon, however. The City of Toronto is about to permit a wider selection of mobile food that is a tastier (and healthier) reflection of our multicultural city.

In the meantime, there is place to go for a different sort of sidewalk meal: Little India. Somehow – I’m not sure how – vendors bypass city regulations and set up stalls outside their shops. It’s an exciting scene. The sounds of Bengali, Hindi and Urdu swirl around your ears. Beautiful saris and exotic jewels glimmer in the shop windows. As dusk descends you imagine you are in the port city of Mumbai, the pink city of Jaipur, or even the holy city of Varanasi.

Now you are ready for a chaat. Chaat is a word used across South-Asia for a savoury snack, typically served from a stall or cart. Bhel purri and papdi chaat are both popular chaats available on the sidewalks of Little India. It is these two iconic Indian dishes my wife and I order during an afternoon sojourn on Gerrard Street.

Bhel puri is made from sev – a string-like fried noodle made from gram flour - puffed rice, chickpeas, cilantro leaves, potato and puri crackers. Papdi chaat is a mix of potatoes, yogurt and crispy puri topped with yogurt and tamarind sauce. Chaats are distinguished by the contrasts and combinations of textures and flavours – crunchy and soft, tart and sweet. There are massive jars of chutney available at the stalls so they can be spiced to taste.

My wife and I sigh with pleasure as we finish our plates. We’ve never sighed with pleasure at a hot-dog stand. We’ve emitted primitive, hostile grunts, but never a sigh. Now our taste buds desire yet more pleasures from Little India. We sample the roast corn. At most stalls, ears of corn are roasted on a brazier then coated with a masala (spice powder.)

Thirsty from the heat and the spices, we try a glass of sugar-cane juice. A vendor places a whole stalk of sugar cane into a grinder, which filters out the stalk and leaves only a greenish juice. It’s sweet of course, but not as sweet as you’d expect. Finally, we buy kulfis – ice cream made from boiled milk. Because it hasn’t been injected with air, kulfi is denser and creamier than regular ice-cream. Almond, pistachio and mango are the most popular flavours. Many of the shops make their own.