9th Stop: The Drake Hotel

IMG_7778Again Sully?

Actually, if I’m being honest this comes as little surprise.

Just last night I was asked, “brunch tomorrow with Sully?” to which I responded thoughtfully with, “if he’s out . . . probably not.”  Well, he was out.  I agree to have brunch at Barque next Sunday (which was our revised plan) so that he doesn’t miss out.  The original plan had been to check out The Drake, but Sully’s roommate had seen a tv show featuring eggs benedict at Barque, and after looking up the brunch menu I couldn’t blame him.  Smoked brisket–gah.  Like Pavlov’s dog, it rings my bell.  But, that’ll just have to wait until next Sunday.  Here’s hoping Sully wakes up for that one–or I could just take his roommate, I’m sure he likes to eat.

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8th Stop: The 3 Speed

Oh Summer, as lovely as you are, I’m truly looking forward to Fall.

Summer’s last weekend is considerably warmer than any of the days leading up to it, and I plan on taking full advantage.  Last night’s events consisted of a CANFAR benefit to end AIDS, a trip to 416 Snack Bar, and the Thompson Hotel rooftop (which really does have a stunning view of the city if you can get past the douchiness).  Quite the random collection of places, I know.  But, it’s Summer.

The trek to Dufferin and Bloor isn’t all that arduous, and I’m pleasantly surprised to find that The Three Speed is only half full in the main room upon entering.  I recall what Kate had mentioned about the patio, and I make my way through the dimly lit dining room and out the backdoors.  Why waste such a great day patio day?  There will be enough inside time for the Green Bay game.

Excellent-the patio is completely empty.  I feel as if I’m standing on the threshold of someone’s backyard.  With a stone fireplace, wooden benches, a picnic table and old patio furniture that looks oddly familiar, it’s just asking to be occupied.  The bench upon which I choose to seat my keister feels so nice, I’m tempted to have a lay down as I wait for Sully to arrive.

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7th Stop: The Bristol

He’s going to kill me.  It doesn’t matter how many times he’s been late, this is so much more worse.

You know when you’re running late and no matter how much you will the streetcar to move faster, or focus all your energy into slowing the minutes on your watch, it always feels as if time continues to race by at the speed of light.  Sweat has beaded along my hairline, and my body is hot in the already stuffy streetcar when I hear the driver announce, “this streetcar will be turning at Bathurst.”  WHAT?!  That’s not the meaning of ‘Long Branch!’

Along with several other disgruntled people who appear just as frazzled and rushed as I (I wonder if they’re also late for brunch), we climb down off the streetcar and wait for the next one which is within sight.  Oh thank you.  I’m only 15 minutes late now.  As the doors open and the other tardy brunch goers approach the car, I hear the driver announce “this streetcar will be turning at Shaw.”  I’ve come to the realization that I really don’t know the definition of ‘Long Branch’ at all.

At Shaw, I fly out of the doors and hit the pavement at a quasi-run.  Holy cripes it’s hot outside!  Why did I wear a hat?!  It isn’t actually all that warm outside, but after checking my watch, I estimate roughly that Sully will have been waiting for half an hour, and that is enough to make me sweat.


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6th Stop: Bonjour Brioche


How does a subtle little text tone still manage to slice through the silence of the morning like razor blades to my ear drums?

Sully can’t make it today.  This is a first, but to be completely honest I wasn’t entirely certain I’d be able to rise from my bed either.  That being said, I’m a trooper, and I mustered up whatever residual energy stores I possessed and sent out a text blast:

“Sully cancelled.  Brunch?”

Vanyel calls within 5 minutes of me pressing SEND, and I hear that all familiar groggy voice still drenched with sleep that mimics my own.  “I haven’t gotten up yet, brushed my teeth or anything . . .”

Good.  Neither have I and it’s almost 10.

“Where are we going?” she grumbles, and I imagine her speaking into her mobile with her face pressed into the pillows.  She’s not going to like my answer.

“East end.  Bonjour Brioche is on Queen, east of Broadview,” I tell her.

I hear her groan, “so far!” But despite her outcry, I know she’ll still come.

“It’s the next one on my list,” I explain, although I know an explanation wasn’t necessary from the moment she decided to respond to my text.

“Okay, I’ll get ready now.”  She hangs up, and I cringe inwardly as I realize that I too, must now get ready.

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5th Stop: Farmhouse Tavern

Did you press PLAY?  You should.  To get a better idea of how the day went (from my point of view anyway) allowing the playlist to run through in the background while you read will provide the most optimal experience.

The light of the sun continues to shine through my eyelids as I sit on the streetcar with my face turned up towards the window.  I slowly open them, and marvel at the sight before me.  The sky is so blue.  The sun is so warm.  I close my eyelids once again, and a release a slow sigh of contentment.  I don’t even notice how long I’ve been sitting on the streetcar as I head to the Junction.  I am well rested, my head is clear, and it is a marvellous day.

It occurred to me a couple hours earlier to give Sully a wakeup call.  But he’s done that to me, and I wore cranky pants for a while afterwards and thought better of it.  He’s a grown man, he can handle himself just fine.

The PleaOr not.

I glance at the time.  Almost 11.  I shake my head and tell sloppy-pants-McGee to get a move on.  The answer is no.  Now, I wasn’t being a hard-ass for the sheer joy of it, because if you’ll all recall, Sully has pushed the time every single week and I’ve been most agreeable.  But this stop is different.

Weeks ago, an acquaintance of mine had thoughtfully suggested the Farmhouse Tavern, and since I hold her opinion of all things delicious and notable in high regard, I made a mental note to book a visit.  After Rock Lobster last Sunday, I sent out a tweet and Darcy (owner of Farmhouse Tavern) responded immediately inquiring whether I’d booked a table.  There are only 2 reasons why a restaurant would take reservations several days beforehand.

1.  The extreme popularity makes for busy mornings, and no one wants to be disappointed and hungry upon discovering that there aren’t any tables available (lining up to watch people eat can be quite torturous);

2.  Someone has severe OCD, and reservations are the easiest method of ensuring order.

I was going to assume a little bit of both, and was grateful to Darcy for taking the time and initiative to book a table for me, for it would not have occurred to me to do so.


If Sully wants to eat an hour later, then he’s going to do the leg work and make another reservation.  I tell him so.  Ten minutes later, Sully is out the door and on his way.

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Second Stop: Lady Marmalade

“Did I wake you?”

Who is this?  What time is it?

I bring my phone around, and as I pry my eyelids open I watch as the blurry image slowly comes into focus, and there before me is the face of:

“60% of the time, it works every time.”


He’s up already.  WHY?!  Why Sully?  Breakfast isn’t for another (I glance at the time and my eyes widen) 2 HOURS!  I sigh, “No.  Sort of.  No.  Yes.”  It occurs to me as I look at the clock for a second time, I had 5 minutes of sleep left.  5 minutes.  Note to self:  Sully owes me 5 minutes.

“There’s a problem…” I hear him say, and immediately my mind races and plucks the most obvious reason for his phone call because, really, who calls these days?  Are you on fire?  What can’t you say in a text message?  Even though I much prefer phone calls to texting, no one else does and thus I can only assume that the nature of this call is of utmost importance.  For example, he’s cancelling.  He’ll be apologetic, tell me he’s sorry and that we’ll have breakfast next week, and I’ve already prepared my “oh that’s okay, no worries-BYE!” so that I can promptly collapse back into the warm cocoon of blankets I’d been extracted from 5 minutes too early.

“Can we have breakfast earlier?”

WHAT?!  EARLIER?!  Oh wow.  Didn’t expect that one. Continue reading