Unsure why I ever thought a restaurant named after a repressed British food closet would be a good idea, but I'd just walked to Roncy from Bathurst and after the previous night's concert it looked appealingly dark.
I took a microbial biology with my server (awkward) so I took in good faith the diffident service and the forcing-me-to-beg-for-water-like-a-desert-exile BUT her recommendation of the zucchini pancake could be translated as: "have this extra greasy potato pancake that is also wet and mushy and which also costs $11."
I am okay with being punished by food, and with food, but not like this.