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| - First things first, it's a very lazy walking distance from Broadview Station. Score! That means you now have a reason to leave your car at home, stop blaming the weather for being a hermit and finally get your German jollies on.
Secondly, I love all things brunch: it starts with my favourite letter, it's a portmanteau word, and it's a great way to glamorize drinking with breakfast; albeit, Russians insist that champagne for breakfast is only appropriate for aristocrats and degenerates but I digress...
Das Gasthaus was my choice for the first brunch of 2014 for various reasons: it's located in the area I'm sentimentally attached to, it's very conveniently situated and like most Eastern Europeans, I'm a carboholic. Hey, if pizza as a vegetable was good enough for U.S. congress, I'll do them one better and add vodka to that list. Bite me. It's a potato.
As I was strolling along Southside of Danforth, my mind was already entertaining my stomach with fantasies of various livers, bratwurst and sauerkraut, while sheepishly shooing away any involvement of beer. Yay, I'm going out for German! AND my first time dining alone, ever. OMG, I'm almost a well-functioning adult! Good grief, this weather is gross, can't wait to eat something substantial...
It was pretty hard to make out the atmosphere from the outside, which only intrigued me further, so as I pulled the door open, what initially met the eye were a variety of adorable chandeliers and a *gasp* gorgeous antique blue velvet bench. The charming, intimate place smelled inviting and a pretty floral paining on the wall instantly made the restaurant feel like a cozy home of a pedantic frau. Yes, it was that clean.
I wasn't greeted by a frau, I got a warm welcome from Marc instead. As he bid farewell to a couple who were just on their way out (and appeared delighted), I decided to park myself at the bar. It was still quite early in the afternoon so I was pretty excited to have the place all to myself. Marc mentioned a few specialty drinks he had been offering, one of them being hot chocolate with mint schnapps, which I am looking forward to trying one evening in place of dessert. Second suggestion was hot cider with rum. Third option was....couldn't tell ya. He had me at cider, I couldn't think of anything more perfect on a windy January afternoon.
It definitely hit the spot: the perfect blend of acidity and sweetness, infused with the comforting scent of cinnamon and just the right amount of rum to warm up your frozen heart without setting your lungs on fire.
"I'm SO hungry! What would you recommend?"
Marc offered me a very uncomplicated, easy to understand menu that varied from light fare to substantial "hungry man" options. I settled for the golden middle, choosing the classic two eggs, roasted potatoes, thick cut bacon and smoked Gouda.
"It's served in a small skillet", Marc smiled.
While waiting for the meal, we were engaged in a pleasant conversation about the decor: the mural, the furniture origin, our favourite dining spots in Toronto, our mutual love for Queen St. and large canines. He evidently exuded passion for hospitality as well as genuine support of local business owners.
My food arrived on a humble wooden tray, in a petite skillet (as promised), with some fresh fruit and toasted rye on the side. If much like yours truly, you possess the grace of a cow on ice skates, I suggest starting with the fruit not only for proper digestion purposes, but also to keep face and avoid scalding yourself. By the time you're finished, your food will be at the adequate temperature and cantaloupe fruit is best enjoyed ahead of the meal anyway (IMHO)
The eggs were fresh and cooked perfectly, with silky yolk oozing all over crispy bacon and cheese-coated potatoes. No extra salt or pepper were required. I was only halfway through my cider and although I am not a fan of drinking with my meals, the subtle acidity settled the richness of eggs while cinnamon enhanced the smokiness of beloved Gouda beautifully. Potatoes were well-prepared, not mushy or hard, but rather that perfect roasted "al dente", if you will. And bacon...Well, bacon is bacon is bacon, and when it's a proper thick cut variety, the only thing you're left with is deciding whether to pile it on top of rye or devour it like a caveman. To be honest, I don't recall if I even used my utensils for that part. I'm pretty sure I threw my manners out the window for that one. I attack my bacon with bare hands, I don't think there's a way to be lady-like about it.
"You know, Ruthie loves smoking. She does this wonderful thing with eggs, you have to try them some time. She calls them Russian eggs and they are wonderful, with dill...." Sold. I've never had smoked eggs, please let me know if you tried them.
The touching finale of the meal was a hand-written bill. How like Europe. I will be back for dinner. Bye-bye social anxiety over dining alone. Thank you, Das Gasthaus
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