rev:text
| - It was my first night in Toronto, and I was on the prowl for some dessert. Near the cacauphonus intersection of Yonge and Dundas (there was a huge stage set up with a Celtic-Indian fusion band), I stumbled upon a waffle shop. Being an American, waffle shops have only existed in my dreams. I've heard tell of them before, but I have never felt the thrill of a warm, Belgian waffle with powdered sugar in a little wax paper holder. It is a small storefront, with cramped standing room for 2 or 3 people inside the door.
It must be a new restaurant, because many people stopped to gawk at the menu, but few seemed up to the task of ordering. Flavored waffles? What? Toppings? Huh? Trust me, order anything, it doesn't matter. During my short stay in Toronto, I tried plain, strawberry, and maple waffles and every kind of topping. Caramel, chocolate sauce, ice cream... This stuff is healthy, right? I figure waffles are breakfast, and breakfast is the most important meal of the day, so a second breakfast is like twice as healthy. The warm waffle, the soft ice cream. Incredible.
There were a lot of people outside the storefront deciding whether to order or not, and if I hadn't been stuck inside waiting for mine, I probably would've been shilling for Wanda's on the sidewalk. "No, you have to try it! Just order one! It's so good!"
|