About a 10 minute walk from my flat, there is a Canadian burger restaurant. I had never seen a restaurant advertised as ‘Canadian’ before, so I wasn’t entirely sure what to expect.
We heard it was a burger joint, and that was all. A review posted online proclaimed: “the soup was good.” Someone went to this place and just ordered soup and poutine. We were confused.
We show up, there’s an exposed brick wall with chalkboards, chalky tables, stuffed animal heads (the fuzzy squishy kinds kids play with) on the wall. A nod to rustic, but fluffy and absurdist.
I ordered 3 burgers, (Fat Bastard, CBC, Sloppy Joe), 2 poutines, and 3 beers. They charged me, opened my beers, and handed me a half full loyalty card, giving me a free poutine next time!
Food came, and I stuffed my face. It is impossible to eat in a dignified way, and that is how you know it is good. Covered in gravy, chili, sauce and jalapenos, we were suddenly home. I’m not even Canadian.