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Today I got a chance to try the headliner at the perennially busy (except this morning), Uncle Tetsu’s Japanese Cheesecake.

The cakes are a not unpleasant crossbreed between an angel food cake or maybe a soufflé, and a mildly flavoured cheesecake. With the exception of the company name, there wasn’t a lick of English anywhere on the packaging so I couldn’t tell what actually went into it. Allergies? That’s your problem.

The $10 cake should be enough for at least two people, and the $2.50 cupcake-like madeleines are a good alternative if you’re not willing to make the investment. I found both treats tasty and I’d probably get seconds if the hankerin’ hit, but despite the gushing adoration some people are heaping on it, you won’t catch me waiting in a line up for what comes across as essentially a sponge cake with a cream-cheesy taste.

I’m going to have to start taking my camera with me more often because some things, like the inside of Quinn’s Steakhouse &  Irish Bar, are worth snapping.

The decor is proper and pubby (dim and mostly indoors), and the establishment is clean, so they’ve got that going for them. The wait staff were pretty good, and the food wasn’t bad. Not great, mind you, but not bad.

Okay, to be fair, I did enjoy the bacon wrapped-Tenderloin that came with my prix fixe Summerlicious dinner, and the brocolli rabe was a nice addition. And everything was cooked well, so I can’t fault them for that either.

But nothing jumped off the plate and demanded that I pay attention.

Sarah ‘s Atlantic salmon underwhelmed us both with its blandness. There was a slight fishiness to the meat which I can deal with in some cooked fish if the flavour is enhanced somehow — in this case it wasn’t.

Again, I want to emphasize that technically, the food was well done. But for a restaurant that I would consider a “special occasion” place, the prices on the regular menu insist that I spend my money on better and cheaper options. And the drinks you can get at any Irish pub around town.

Whenever we can afford to, Sarah and me like to try out a new place to see how well it sits with our delicate culinary sensibilities.

And, truth be told, we are actually pretty snobby about food. Now that I’m thinking about it, we’re fairly uptight about our drink too.

And for good reason, I figure — now matter where you go, you’re paying for what you get, so why not get the best deal for your money?

When it comes to food, cheapest is hardly the best, but neither is the most expensive. It’s those in-between gems that manage to put together a tasty, filling meal at a great price that we focus on — sensible satiety.

Every once in a while we manage to get a few words in with the owner, or the head chef, or whoever has just delivered a meal worth writing about. Most of the time, though, we sit back unmolested and are thus able to bring you genuine reviews.

Hence the new link at the top of the site ↑↑↑

Just not all the time, cuz that gets expensive.

Rob Ford’s failures are easy pickings; they’re numerous and obvious. But every once in awhile, he also registers a victory which would be incredibly disingenuous of me not to mention.

Like yesterday’s vote, for example.

That Council item, made a top “priority” by Rob Ford, centered around the food concessions in the currently-under-renovation Nathan Phillips Square. Up until recently, those consisted of chips, chocolate, and fizzy drinks offered while the skating rink had blades on it. The rest of the time, the place was shuttered and the only place to grab a bite was at one of the food trucks parked on Queen Street.

But yesterday, led by Ford, Council flipped on a previous decision to not allow a local food chain to move in, and essentially greenlighted Hero Burgers for the location.

I need to point out that I have nothing against Hero Burgers. After Big Smoke and Gourmet, Hero is easily my third choice for tasty burgers (within walking distance). So I don’t have any issues with another Hero location opening up in front of City Hall. But it is interesting to point out the context…

Rob Ford made fatty fast food a top priority and managed to shove it down the City’s throat in record time. His push for subways was, and continues to be, a dismal failure. His repeated “guarantees” to remove or reduce the Land Transfer Tax are a lesson in how not to get things done. His constant threats to sic “Ford Nation” on various politicians is more or less a joke. And so on.

But let’s give credit where it’s due: when it comes to accessibility to greasy foods, you can expect Rob’s full support, undivided attention, and unrelenting determination. Rob also works tirelessly in other areas, like helping homeless Torontonians with a few temporary beds — and by that I mean being the sole dissenting vote against the simple, humanitarian measure.

Does Toronto need more condos?

It’s not that I’m against development, especially when new buildings appear on top of parking lots. And although there are always naysayers out there who are against any changes, I doubt that they lament the loss of paved lots that much.

But when it comes to places like the section of King west between John and Spadina, I don’t see why developers and people like the Mirvish family need to rip out an established and thriving chunk of the downtown just so they can put in their own condos.

But that’s exactly what they’re trying to do right now, with the help of councillors like Adam Vaughan who seem to think that if it’s not a giant tower, it doesn’t belong downtown. And it doesn’t seem to matter that no one along the so-called Restaurant Row wants to move, or that the Bell Lightbox tower, freshly built, is right across the street.

I’m not at all against progress or development, and I think Toronto’s often better for it. But this is a matter of cutting off the nose to spite the face, leaving little in terms of culture or uniqueness behind, and replacing it with private, off-limits property intended to only generate money.

The Mirvhishes, who at one time were pretty big patrons of the arts, have managed to do a full 180 since the death of Ed, and are now not only ripping up their own father’s legacy of love for the city, but also trying to push smaller business owners out of their way in what’s proving to be a lust for money and control. Pretty sure Ed would be furious to see what his kids are doing under his name.

And besides, a cold, heartless, exclusivist, and corporatist Toronto is not where I want to live.

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This fall has been just amazing for myself and our family.

First off, I got to have the birthday’s of all birthdays! I honest to God did not expect that I got to have 3 bday celebrations thx to the bestest man in the world! (my birthday was October 1).

Friday, Saturday, Sunday (I treated Him to a private brunch!).
That brings us to Monday, Oct 1, 2012, the best surprise gift day I ever got!!
What was so special? Patrick made reservations forTwo at the Fairmont Royal York!

Brunch was beyond words amazing and fairly priced to boot!

We have since gone to Kit Kat on King West, etc etc.

If you’re in town hit me up and we can go to great places together!

Love is healing my heart body and soul AND throw in some good food then you have it made!

PS: follow your life’s passions and have a drink to celebrate!

ttyl!

SarahD <3

Sarah and I made a sort of unnofficial agreement — well, no, really I made a proposal and she agreed — that we would try to try out a new breakfast joint every Saturday morning, time and money willing. I use the word “morning” lightly because Saturday and that word are not usually best of buddies; I’m sure you know what I mean. But this being Toronto, there are plenty of places around willing to serve breakfast at all manner of un-Godly hours, so that shouldn’t cause us any problems.

Yesterday, for our inaugural journey, Sarah found a place called Bar Wellington for us to try out. It’s a red brick job sitting on the corner of Wellington and Portland Streets, a trendy area with lots of trendy people wearing trendy clothes, walking trendy dogs, riding trendy Vespas, and just generally being trendy.

Trendiness, per se, doesn’t really agree with me — I tend to gravitate more towards the unwashed vagrant look. Plus, the intersection reminds me of the varied and harried times slinging code for evil advertising agencies I’d spent within literally a stone’s throw of there, not all of them bad, but always commensurate with the amount of overall trendiness exhibited by whatever employer I was under the yoke of at the time. In other words, I tend to whinge uncontrollably whenever I’m in the presence of threadbare shirts, fashionably unshorn faces, trendily asymmetric quaffs, and thonged-feet (this ain’t the beach, buddy!)

I was, however, able to put my judgement aside long enough to dig into a plate of sunny-sided eggs, brown toast, and a delightful, albeit misnomered, rendition of hash-brown potatoes consisting of cubed potatoes and lightly herbed cherry tomatoes, and washing it all down with fresh OJ and a glass of oddly vegetable-flavoured water. Sarah couldn’t verify this last part for me because she was busy slamming down a much more vegetable-laden Caesar and ripping into a plate of “Not So Classic” eggs Benedict in which the Canadian bacon is replaced with prosciutto. An extra side of hollandaise went mostly to waste as there was enough of the home made concoction to aptly smother everything on her plate.

Aside from what I thought was somewhat bland hollandaise (I like more zing in my butter/yolk artery-hardener), the $25-ish price tag seemed quite reasonable for a tasty (even the vegetable water wasn’t off-putting), fresh meal, that was big enough to be left partially unfinished. The outdoor patio was breezy, which was just as well since we would never have been able to get Sarah’s wheelchair into the inaccessible building otherwise. It could have been quieter, but then again this is just off of King West on a Saturday; expectations must be tempered.

Overall, I’d give the place a double-thumbs up. I know Sarah thoroughly enjoyed her meal, and I was pretty satisfied too. It was certainly a step-up from the traditional greasy spoon where the hollandaise comes out of a packet and and the hash-browns are swimming in month-old grease. As I said, the hollandaise could’ve used more acid, but Sarah seemed satisfied with it so I guess that’s a matter of personal preference. Next time I might try the “Wellington Medallions”, their fru-fru, Grand-Marnier-infused take on pancakes, but the breakfast was good enough that there’s nothing to make me think twice about returning to an area immersed in nightmarish memories of insane advertising agencies sporting trendy assholes riding trendy Vespas with trendy girlfriends holding trendy dogs…

The song on the P.A. system in the shop was Ozzy Osbourne’s “Crazy Train”. The place was Smoke’s Poutinerie, a tiny hole in the wall serving the generally agreed-upon definitive Canadian food consisting of fried potatoes topped with cheese curds and gravy. The recipe is pretty simple and Smoke’s doesn’t deviate too much except to add things like beef, peas, or other fitting toppings.

I stick with the tried and true peppercorn beef — sliced beef with a peppercorn gravy. Except that tonight it would be a large, for me and Sarah, with less gravy on her half.

Seemed pretty simple.

I gave my order, including two cokes and a plastic bag, to the bespectacled fellow manning the cash register and he cheerful acknowledged. After hovering over the register for what seemed like five minutes he finally managed to type in my instructions, but not before the guy in the kitchen, overhearing my request for half the gravy on half, managed to toss out some jibe about filling half a pool with only half the water.

Whatever.

I stood back for a bit, remarking on my luck at being the only one in the place. And before I could blink, my order was on the counter. Great!

“Close it up for you?”, asked cash register guy, pointing at the opened paper box of poutine.

“Umm, is that a peppercorn beef?”, I asked, noticing a complete absence of any beef on the meal. Usually the beef sits conspicuously on the top so it was hard to miss.

“Yup!”, replied register.

“And are you sure this is a large?”, I asked again, noticing that this was definitely not the large box.

“Oh, umm, you wanted a large?”, said cash register.

“Yeah, I said. But you know what? If you wanna just dump this into a large box and top it up, we can call it a day.”

This really stumped cash register guy. He stood there for a very long time, finger on his lips, deciding how best to handle the situation.

“Are you sure?”, he asked, “I only have a regular on this order.”

“Pretty sure”, I replied. “It’s for two people. But like I said, if you wanna put it into a big box and charge me the difference, I’ll by on my way.”

At this point the guy in the kitchen piped up. “How about I just put it into another regular box? If I dumped it into a big box, it wouldn’t taste as it was intended.”

“Sure”, I shrugged my shoulders, “why not?”

Back to register; “Okay? Great, so I’ll just charge you for another regular one then.”

“Umm, no”, I retorted. “I just want one large one. We can’t eat two and it’s more than I was expecting to spend.”

“Okay, so, umm, hang on a sec”, said cash register, holding up a finger. “Okay, so I’ll just charge you the difference, an extra two dollars, and we’ll get you a large one. Sound good?”

“I mean, sure, I guess. But it’s really no bother if you want to just take this one here and stick it into a large box and top it up. Really.”

“No, that’s okay. We’ll get you two regulars and charge you for a large”, replied kitchen guy, clearly the one in charge of the place.

Fine by me.

A few more minutes went by and poutine number two emerged. Except this one looked startingly different from number one — it had copious helpings of shaved beef and mushrooms (as it should).

Register held them both up to examine them. With a puzzled look on his face he remarked that they don’t look the same.

No they don’t, I said.

He called out to kitchen guy, asking if poutine number one was correct.

“What do you mean?”, replied kitchen guy.

“Well, isn’t it supposed to have beef or something on it?”, replied cash register.

I didn’t bother pointing out that I had said this at the beginning. I was really more interested in seeing how this would all play out.

“I can’t see anything from here!”, replied kitchen. “Pass it over.”

Register passed it back through the order window and under the consternated gaze of kitchen who seemed instantly to recognize that half of order number one was absent. In the meantime, I payed the difference.

A couple of additional minutes went buy as kitchen disappear behind the counter. Not sure where he went because it’s only about chest high, but he stayed there for an unnaturally long time.

Then he re-appeared and passed back a completed poutine. Both were slapped on the counter in front of me in a state of glorious completion.

“Close ’em up for you?”, asked cash register once again, beaming a “we finally did it!” smile.

“Sure”, I replied.

He did so with a little trouble (in his defense, those things aren’t easy to close), and slid them in front of me.

“There you go! Sorry for the trouble. Have a great day”, he half-waved.

“Did I order a couple of cokes too?”, I asked, not sure what the hell he’d punched into the register at this point.

“Oh yeah! Let me get those for you…and here we are. Have a good one!”

“Thanks”, I smiled. “Don’t suppose you have that plastic bag back there somewhere too do you?”

“Oh shit!”, blurted out register. He pulled one out and slapped it on the counter, red-faced. I thanked him again, bagged my dinner (at that point I decided it would be asking too much), and left Smoke’s.

“Crazy train” was just finishing up as I left the premises.