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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4th Stop: Rock Lobster

“This just saved my soul.”

It’s so bright.

Alive?My phone rings.  It’s so loud.

“Of course I’m alive!  I’m Sully!  What kind of question is that?”

He’s so loud.

I’m operating on limited system functionality this morning.  My sunnies are a comforting buffer for my retinas, and Broods is playing in my ears, as befitting a soundtrack as any for the part of the book that I’m currently at (Note:  I would never give away parts of Game of Thrones…that would be terribly horrible of me, and I’m not cut from the same cloth as that guy who sent spoilers to girls on Tinder).  As I walk, fully engrossed in what are the last few chapters, I suddenly pitch forward, stumbling as the toe of my shoe catches the raised edge on a bit of concrete.  Falling, you’re falling!  My reflexes are slow, but I manage to regain my balance to avoid plummeting face first into the sidewalk because like the fool that I am, self-preservation failed to activate, and my hands don’t release my book to save myself as they should.  I’m going to fall and break my teeth one day, I just know it.  Irrational fear #3.

A few seconds later I look up from my book only to realize that I’ve passed Rock Lobster.  As I backtrack and chastise myself for not having the sense to close my book after almost smashing my face into the ground, Sully is standing before me locking up his bike.  “Good timing!” he says as we enter the restaurant.

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