| rev:text
| - As a lifelong Coronation Street fan, I have always hoped to find my own Rover's Return Inn. Corrie fans are already familiar with the place; it's the tattered old pub where half the 'action' occurs. Blood is seldom spilled on the hideous carpets, but plots are advanced through well-lubricated complaints and gossip.
The Rovers Return features a revolving door of owners and saucy bar staff, and specializes in packets of crisps and something called Betty's Hot Pot, which I imagine is something like Soylent Green. It's where the halfway attractive characters end up, to make way for more plotlines involving Norris' ambiguous sexuality and Gail's penchant for choosing literally self-destructive men (seriously; she doesn't even have to kill them. They just drop like flies).
Coronation Street generally appears not to be a destination for foodies. There are token Indian, Chinese and Italian places, but they lie outside of mainstream Corrie consciousness-if you've ever read Stephen King's "The Fog" you'll get the idea. It's a decidedly uncool Britannia; outside the purview Jamie Oliver's Food Revolution; a purgatory next to Hell's Kitchen; a search for adequacy rather than the perfection sought by Heston Blumenthal.
But I digress, except to say that for all it's faults, the idea of the local persists. If such a thing can be applied to Toronto, the Duke of Kent would be mine. I say "if" because the following points fall outside my Coronation Street frame of reference:
A) There's actually places closer to my apartment.
B) It's part of a chain (would "Cheers" have been as memorable if it had been set in a TGI Fridays?")
C) I'm neither alcoholic, nor do I drink until alcohol poisoning sets in (which seem like distinct possibilities given the amount of time the Streeters spend bending elbows).
The Duke offers a good beer selection, with fresh new taps introduced regularly. The odd time one gets an off pitcher, it is quickly replaced. Pricing is at the high end of average. Wine is available, but misses the point.
At brunch, people order Bloody Caesars and Mimosas, only because Guinness might be a bit too heavy at 11 AM, and indifferent bacon-and-egg platters require washing down.
The Duke of Kent's menu embodies the Coronation Street spirit. Pub standards, American bar food, and weekly specials promising creative use of local ingredients.
Chicken curry is politely spicy, and sometimes finds its way into spring roll wraps as a curiously addictive appetizer. Salads may be fresh and crisp, or drearily wilted, or worse-insufficiently dried. Sandwiches featuring roast chicken or turkey require gobs of mayo to make up for dry bird, and a freer hand with the bacon is urged. Fish and chips is by-the-number, served in newsprinty wax paper.
Hummus is just plain wrong and has no business on a pub menu, but sweet potato fries come crisp and fluffy, sided with maple chipotle mayo. Nachos may be the evening's highlight; piled high and drenched with cheese and chopped veg; standard bottled salsa, guacamole and sour cream nestled in tortilla cups. Chilli or grilled chicken can be added for a modest fee. Chicken wings and fingers are undistinguished, and often overcooked.
So it's not gourmet, despite occasional flourishes. The Duke's success lies in the genuinely friendly environment cultivated n a corporate space. On the ground floor, rosy-cheeked regulars celebrate life's smallest milestones: the end of a workday, the beginning of hockey season, the passing-through of friends. A patio curls around the side of the pub, off Yonge street. It is most often occupied by first-daters looking to people-watch while they avoid eye contact. Upstairs, there's a second bar that hosts Tuesday night trivia, among other things. This is where I find my local; with friends I like better each week, and the occasional chance to sound like I know what I'm talking about.
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