The Family Behind the Butcher Shop

My name is Catherine Oravec and I am one of the owners of Bloor Meat Market. There are four of us — siblings who inherited the business from our father, one of its previous owners.

Bloor Cut-Rate Meat Market was the original name of the shop, established in 1929 by Louis Becker. Our father, Rudy Oravec, started out as the bicycle delivery man for the shop in the 1940s and eventually purchased the business from Louis, along with three other partners.

The store became very popular, drawing customers from every part of the city. The original look was reminiscent of European shops — sawdust on the floor, a string dispenser hanging from the ceiling, a cashier’s booth — and it delighted neighbourhood regulars and newcomers alike.

The full experience of Bloor Meat Market was built on individual service, knowledgeable staff, superior product and an old-world atmosphere.

Business prospered, giving Rudy and partner Ed Naughton the opportunity to purchase the shares of the two other partners. By the 1960s, the name needed a change. “Cut-Rate” no longer meant good prices — the phrase had become synonymous with lesser quality — so it was dropped, and Bloor Meat Market became the official title.

This two-person partnership lasted until Rudy’s sudden passing from a heart attack in December of 1983. His interest in the business passed to his children. At that point, Ed Naughton was considering retirement, and the decision was made to purchase his half of the business. From that time to the present, the Oravec siblings have retained proprietary pride.

Remembering Sunday mornings

A fond memory from my youth involves the practice of shops being closed on Sundays. Ours was a typical family when it came to Sunday dinners, usually featuring something roasted. My brother Bob and I would pile into the store pickup — white with red lettering — with our Dad for a quick trip to the shop. Bloor Street was quiet, all the other shops closed. A fresh scattering of sawdust lay on the store floor.

As Rudy readied the roast or trussed a chicken, Bob and I would make paths in the sawdust by sliding one foot in front of the other. We’d also play store — one of us the cashier in the booth, the other the customer. Dad had to re-rake the sawdust after us. Home we would go with the makings of a delicious dinner in tow.

The recipe call

Another fond memory: Home after school, the phone rings. It’s my Dad, asking for my Mom. A couple of moments later I hear her reciting a recipe into the telephone. I can imagine the scene — Dad is serving a customer who has asked how to prepare their purchase. He tells them his wife has a great recipe, then calls home to get the details. The practice of offering cooking instructions in the market continues to this day.