Fuck it was so ~*lovely*~ out on Friday, Jessica and I determined it was imperative we find a way to enjoy the weather while eating for maximum joyousness. So we went to Victory Cafe since neither of us had ever been there, and our food bible BlogTO always writes favorably about it.
We walked past this “mural” on Harbord. Children make shitty artists. I support the tiny Wu Tang fan in his/her quest to reach their full thug potential, but the crazy mouse man beast (is its Afro shaped into ears, or is it a black Mickey Mouse?) was fucking disturbing.
Anyways, we got a prime patio spot at Victory, and promptly ordered foooood.
I got a cheeseburger and Jessica got chili-cheese fries. I don’t know if its just because now, left to my own devices, I am starving, but I swear to God it was the best fucking burger I have ever had. And it came with this tiny container of ranch-like sauce that I kept dipping my fries in because though not visibly obese, I am so fucking fat on the inside.
Janice came by but we were already done eating so we moved on to Green Room so that she could get food and continue the patio adventure.
But not before being intimidated by Honest Ed’s.
Yay Green Room.
So we sat on the patio that no one knew existed until recently, and Janice ordered a sandwich and we got a few drinks. I do not trust the food at Green Room. Just because a place serves food does not mean you should eat it. They have sweet massive plates of $2 fries, and “quesadillas” (really just cheese in a tortilla) that I’m obsessed with, but I’m not venturing beyond that. Its a student pub, they can pull a tap or mix simple drinks and maybe bring you a plate of nachos, but I refuse to anything masquerading as a real meal.
It got pretty fucking gloomy out so we went inside. Our preemptive strike against mother nature allowed us to claim the couches, usually impossible because under normal circumstances no one ever leaves the building before midnight, but the experience was kind of wasted on the fact that there were like, 3 of us. Geoff and Paul came down, then we headed to Lab for $3 Jack night. Evidently $3 gets you a lot of Jack at Lab. Even Geoff, who shortly after I met him, was drinking whiskey and milk or some other abhorrent combination, thought the drinks were fucking strong.
Then Jessica, Geoff and Paul left to go see The Miles play at The Boat, but I was so fucking tired even my love of infectious dance music could not keep me awake.