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
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