| rev:text
| - I came here on a Friday night without a reservation to meet my old roommate from decades ago who has since moved to the U.K. like everyone else in my life. He was here on business and had to leave for the airport so we only had an hour to catch up.
We chose the communal table which seems to be a free for all and were wedged between strangers, a couple on my left and a gaggle of ladies armed with forks, sharing seemingly endless plates of food on the right. I love this kind of set up. This is how orgies begin. If he didn't have to get to Pearson, I could have totally seen the evening turn out completely different instead of me riding a streetcar home alone, tearfully holdling in my gastro-explosives because I always forget just how lactose intolerant I am (but fuck me, that dessert was worth the incendiary dutch oven under the sheets that night, more on that later....the dessert I mean, not the flatuspalooza).
I wasn't sure what to order because he called me out of the blue, and I am a broke bitch and the food here is expensive, so I was all kind of shy about it, but he took over and ordered the wine. It kind of became obvious he was going to pay, so I let him order an appetizer, a special which was 4 bite sized bricks of panko-coated cheese from Prince Edward County. Holy deliciousness, it was heavenly. I kept thinking how good it would be if it was on a burger, which is what the gentleman next to me was chowing down on. Based on his face while he was eating it, I would say he was probably really good at cunnilingus. If I'm lucky enough to find a date on OkCupid who isn't a goddamn vegetarian, I will take him here and suggest he have this meaty-ass burger just to see how he handled it. And btw, what is going on these days with dudes and their eating habits on these sites? FYI you're not a "pescetarian" if you put pepperoni on your pizza, just because the cow wades in water.
Our server, who was adorable, told us about the specials of the day and he kind of lingered over the chicken catchetori (I'm not going to bother to look up the spelling, I'm too lazy and you know what I mean) which was over a bed of creamy polenta. Fuck me and cream, we are mortal enemies and yet it gives me such hard rugged lady wood that I keep forgetting my delicate intestines. I ordered it because consequences are for pussies. My friend ordered something off the regular menu which was lamb merguez oriechhette (again spelling, fuck it, the pasta that looks like fetus ears).
My chicken cacciatore (nailed it!) was amazing. It had a HINT of rosemary in it. You know how rosemary can overpower everything when used incorrectly? it's like who ever thought to put an herb that looks like a Christmas tree in cuisine? And gross, soapy taste, ugh so 90s retro from that Silver Palate cookbook where they dumped it in everything. That used to be how I thought, now I am converted. They probably use a sprig, then take it out so it's aromatic presence is "just so."
My friend's pasta was a lunch bag let down though and the only reason I'm not giving this joint 5 stars. I felt really bad because a) ear pasta is ugly as fuck b) there was hardly any meat in it! The lamb merguez looked like a few tiny bacon bits sprinkled over top. I would have cried if I had ordered it. He liked it enough but we both thought mine was way better, obvi. I let him eat some of my delicious chicken meat but kept the creamy polenta to myself, it was soooooooo good.
We ordered a chocolate pudding dessert, which came served up as a hot mess on a plate, all blobbed any which way, with a dollop of ice cream and a sprig of basil. If I was judging this faecal looking monstrosity on looks alone, I would have flushed it down the toilet before checking it for worms. BUT! It was so delicious. And probably what did me in on the streetcar but whatevs, one has to live. IT WAS WORTH EVERY BITE. Perfection.
We were in and out in under an hour, they graciously called my friend a cab and off he went into the wind and over the ocean. My rumbling stomach reminded me of when we were roommates we used to watch tv and drink Diet Coke, pull each other's fingers, and have wicked belching contests. As I lacto-intolerantly farted my way home on the streetcar, I got kind of nostalgic thinking that maybe he was my one that got away. SIGH.
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