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August 8, 2001
The last time I was there with my boyfriend, it was pure comedy. We asked to sit on the patio, and as the lunch rush was just over, we were the only people on the lower level, close to the street.
We ordered. Keith ordered a pizza with chicken, minus the red peppers. I ordered mussels with frites. We sat. We sipped. I smoked. We chatted. I smoked again. We were out of water and nearly out of wine. No sign of life except on the street.
When the food finally arrived, it was dropped unceremoniously in front of us, and the waiter did not hang around long enough for us to open our mouths to ask for more water and wine. On Keith's pizza, the red peppers seemed to have been replaced with zucchini, another vegetable he cannot tolerate. To boot, the pizza was lukewarm, and the cheese had congealed. My mussels were not even lukewarm.
We could have had it reheated, except that the waiter did not surface for another forty five minutes at least. I had worked considerably on her mussels, but Keith's pizza remained untouched except for a few bites of crust.
"Not hungry today?" the waiter quipped as he whipped the plates off the table.
"The order was wrong," Keith told him.
"Oh." The waiter shrugged. "Sorry about that." He left without offering us coffee or dessert.
When he brought us the bill, unsolicited, in five or ten more minutes, the pizza was still on it. We suppose that the waiter didn’t want to go back to his manager over an hour after the ticket time on the pizza and ask for a promo. He might look bad.
Amused and infuriated, I refused to leave without coffee. I stormed inside and asked for a cappuccino, a black coffee, and a bread pudding. We ate the dessert together and enjoyed every bite, although the bread pudding that once was heavenly there seems to have dried up considerably over the years.
From journal Toronto Restaurants and Bars