The Pizzaburger

This is not a lazy review. So when I tell you that Joey and I decided, after a long afternoon of ghost strolling the city, that we unanimously (maybe a little divertedly) decided to go to Boston Pizza, it wasn’t without good consideration. Yes, Boston Pizza is famous. So franchisy, it’s an absurd theatric to even bother to give it a review. Blue collars love it; foodies despise it. For cibos, it remains a very guilty pleasure. And I should feel nothing but shame for deciding on it. But Joey is always a good centre for reason and perspective. I’ve reviewed franchises or chains in the past, certainly not nearly as prolific, but what right do I have to deny myself the curiosity of Boston Pizza’s latest pastiche, he says? Besides, Joey and I have been so culinarily curious for the past month we could no longer risk the mutual shame of being those dudes who talk about doing something, but never actually doing it. Losing face is something my Old Master taught me never to do. Ever. That’s why Boston Pizza gets a review. More specifically, why one novel item on Boston Pizza’s menu gets a review. Because one item and a side of fries is all we can really afford. We have debt, we have mortgages, we have condominium investments, and while our assets remain frozen, 14.99 is as much as we’ll feloniously pay. If television hasn’t already told you, or if you’re too cool for television (or the internet), you may not know about the pizzaburger. It’s everything it sounds like. Even though your mind may interpret the name as beef on a pizza, or pizza acting as burger patties, think harder- it’s a kind of panzerotti. Actually, it’s entirely a panzerotti wrapped around a hamburger. Why it wasn’t called a hamburger panzerotti? Joey and I will never know. But don’t worry, we e-mailed corporate. We’ve yet to hear back. Yup, the pizzaburger just might be the obelisk of food novelty. Why else would anyone venture to pay a solid fifteen dollars for something no larger than 6 inches in diameter? Apparently though, when it comes to choice, the pizza burger isn’t novel enough. It only comes in two variations: bacon and pepperoni, or three cheeses. Guess which one we chose? Never mind, I’ll tell you. We ordered bacon and pepperoni. We reckoned there was enough cheese in the mix anyway. Guess what, again? We were wrong. There was also very little sauce, which came as no surprise to the waitress. She said it was the most common complaint; even more common than the pliable premade burger patty clammed inside the chewy wrapping. It sounds less appetizing than it was. Surprisingly, the dough was slight enough that it didn’t overpower the actual burger, nor did it absorb every bit of flavor. There was that slight tang from the usual stock pizza sauce. You know? The kind you taste at every pizza place? With that kind of spectral pepperiness. And what could I say about the cured meats? Pepperoni, bacon: the meatiest combination of dopamine inhibitors in culinary medication. Salty, savoury, smoky. I couldn’t help but lather the entire thing in ketchup. Joey refused to bastardize anything though. To each his own. And when it comes to Boston Pizza’s pizzaburger, I can’t think of a more poignant phrase to use in this situation. 

BOSTON PIZZA 
597 King Street North 
Waterloo, ON, 
N2V 2N3 

(519) 880-1828 

Sundays: 11:00 AM - 12:00 AM 
Mon - Thu: 11:00 AM - 1:00 AM 
Fri - Sat: 11:00 AM - 2:00 AM 

ANY PAYMENT

Tweet

Oh, Hey, More Poutine

If the food adventures of hyper happy Italian John Cattuci haven’t already acquainted you with Stratford’s poutine palisade, Boomer’s Gourmet Fries, then you’re likely living under a rock, or likely me, who doesn’t give a flying fuck and rolling doughnut about any food tourism show the Food Network hashes out because you got enough of that sad shit in graduate school. So was it any wonder why I was publically shamed asking who the hell the dude in all the photos was? The answer is a resounding: no. Was I impressed? Only because I never thought television paid any mind to the backwoods of Southern Ontario. When Cambridge is on national TV though, I’ll be really blown away. Was I ashamed of myself? Not in the slightest. I was there to eat. Maybe a little against my will. But Joey wanted poutine, as per usual, and so did my future ex-girlfriend (or wife, Universe willing). So I couldn’t not oblige. Contrary to popular belief, I am a gentleman. Besides, our last trip to Stratford, the home base of Boomer’s, and Joey’s mystery poutine in a Styrofoam cup had me wondering where the hell the thing came from and why he paid near 7 dollars for it. This was one more gastronomic dog I could at least put to rest.

And of course Boomer’s name precedes it, thanks to television; but there’s a reason it was on television, and that’s because it makes fantastically creative poutines, or ‘gourmet fries.’ The joint’s aesthetic may communicate otherwise, but the bougie sentiment of gourmet certainly sticks to some, if not all, options like, well, cheesy curds on poutine (yeah, I went there). There are burgers too, among other things. I’m sure they’re just as fantastic, but my stinginess requires me, in my heart of hearts- until I’m a real person, making real money- to stick to eating as little as possible without feeling the belly-ache of portions I hate to pay for. Hey, we’d always like a little more for a little less, but this isn’t America. Boomer’s isn’t America. It’s a place that makes some of the best poutines around though; some that look like martinis topped with onion rings, toothpicks, and olives, others like strange bowls of spaghetti and meatballs. All tasty, all interesting. Joey and I bought poutine topped with goat cheese and basil oil (a kind of quick pesto); but Joey, having discovered we made the same choice, immediately changed his mind for a black bean and chili fries concoction.

So there they were in front of us all: my stacked fries, bottomed out with gravy and dolloped with a cool ball of lush, tart goat cheese, drizzled with an elixir of potent oil that easily flavoured the entire dish. I wanted more, thinking the golf ball of cheese and the tincture of oil couldn’t cover the whole mix. Joey showed me otherwise, swapping mine with his and turning it all to prove that a little went a long way. The oil was vibrant, almost visceral, peppery and hot, made savoury by the gravy and cheese. If I didn’t like the idea of gravy with it before, I did then. A landslide of refried black beans deluged every fry. The more I ate it, the more its spice warmed the back of my throat, the more the cumin lingered on my breath, creamy but paradoxically gritty, absolutely reminiscent of all those strong, familiar South American flavours. I couldn’t have liked it anymore. But Boomer’s is far from perfect. My piety for coleslaw had the place losing a little points. It was briny, but a little too lime like for my liking. So much so, it had the bizarre quality of lemon soda about it. It was crude, a little too fresh, not as stewed as I would have liked. Clearly, fresh crunchy coleslaw isn’t my thing, but hey, what can you do? John Cattuci might have something else to say, but his isn’t my mouth, and lucky for me, I don’t have to worry about pandering to avoid being fired. That’s already happened anyway, and I survived. Obviously, after this review, Boomer’s will too.

Boomer’s Gourmet Fries

26 Erie St  

Stratford, ON

N5A 1B2

(519) 275-3147

Tue-Thurs: 11:30 am- 6pm

Fri: 11:30 am- 7pm

Sat: 12 pm- 6pm

CASH ONLY

Tweet

A Little Less Ubiquity, A Little More Feed Me

The need for a quick bite led a fellow cook and I to the abstrusely windowed Grill House. Located in another ubiquitous strip mall, its windows were pasted with the clinical close-ups of the hardy salt-of-the-earth cuisine that inspired its name. Inside, its composition appeared as a compilation of the fast food place. More panels of the clinical close-ups of the Grill House’s fare, hardy but clean wooden tables and chairs with a shine, deep amorous reds and foamy browns, a fridge stocked with soft drinks, a counter, a grill- all just out of view- and a glowing signboard showing each and every more than affordable option. Options that share roots in popular Americana and great Mediterranean medley. Hamburgers are certainly a choice, and yes fries too; soups and salads also. But it’s Grill House’s great grilled meat entrees that make it worth visiting. From Souvlaki to Gyros, Schnitzel, and sausage. Heck, there’s even strip loin steak. Maybe a little ambitious for a midday meal, but still very compelling, provided you have a hankering for anything Paleolithic.

And being the big boy that I am, the gyro was the choice on my agenda. Lamb and beef were served in a pita with onions, tomatoes, and a very very mild tzatziki sauced I likened more to sour cream than the tangy herby dressing we’re commonly used to. No matter though, because it didn’t stop me from ordering a second. And if two gyros didn’t seem filling enough, I made my sandwiches into an even bigger meal. Paying homage to the place’s fast food roots, I added a side of fries, and absolved any gluttonous guilt by adding what I assumed was the soup of the day. A supposed unique daily option prepared with fresh ingredients (so the menu says). When it came, however, it seemed nothing more than an unfortunate canned appetizer, loaded with carrots, celery, attenuate chunks of chicken, and those broad, flat slippery noodles we are all very familiar with. I was a little disappointed, but I soldiered on.

My gyros arrived in considerate kitchenware for otherwise humbling proletariat cuisine. Still, I appreciated the effort of large, clean, white, fancy plates. It was professional enough. But when am I ever after that? Tumbled against two wrapped sandwiches was a small pile of golden fries, crisp on the outside, white, fluffy on the inside. I was a little crushed that the portion wasn’t larger; I even felt cheated, but then remembered the meal’s small expense.

The pitas were warm and chewy, smattered with fresh vegetables that cooled the senses, especially against thin salty slices of indiscernible beef and lamb. Each piece resembled a strange bacon; there was, unfortunately, nothing shaved off of a spit. It was all only a mere processed facsimile of meat. I couldn’t complain too much, however; convenience seemed to be a necessary leitmotif of Grill House. I novelized the whole thing by treating my fellow cook and I to a piece of Krempita. One of two desserts offered on the menu. A sturdy, vanilla custard sandwiched between two gram crackers and dressed with a fruity coulis made for a well balanced finish to our lunch. If anything sweet killed us, it was our choice of beverage.

I could appreciate Grill House, if only because it offered diners something other than burgers and fries, although those are all still there.

Grill House

1-825 Weber St. E.,

Kitchener, ON

N2H 1H5

(519) 744-7455

ANY PAYMENT

   

Tweet