Lil' Bit O' Heaven?

I’ve shared a neighbourhood with Homestyle Diner my entire life. If I payed it any mind at all, it was at the discretion of knowing friends of friends who worked there. And it wasn’t, in fact, until Joey told me that a friend of a friend of ours was currently running the place, when we both decided, much to our facetious enthusiasm, to hurry and give it a try. Yes, to me the place always seemed a dying animal; a routine place with little appeal except to the regular crew that came in and out over and over again. But my culinary travels in our gastropolis have given perspective and patience to my once young and arrogant palate. Homestyle Diner is a strangely romantic place. Its décor may scream grandma kitsch, what with its sponged turquoise rose coloured walls, plastic plants, and wall art for sale. Joey described it as a showroom for old ladies that don’t know it’s a showroom; but I assure you, the space is part of the charm. In regards to what Homestyle Diner offers to eat, it’s trivial. Because what it does offer to eat is some of the most affordable and well to do fare I’ve had in a good while. From breakfast, lunch, to dinner, you can have it all, focused with the food of Americana. I did notice a shrimp stir-fry option on the menu though, which I dare anyone to eat; but breakfast was what I was after. I advise all of you reading to look for the same. And if you’re a little short for breakfast, don’t worry, Homestyle Diner has an absurdly affordable deal for 3.95. Unfortunately, Joey and I missed the special by a half hour (8am – 11am), so if we wanted to, we had to pay an extra dollar for a load of fixings like eggs, bacon, hash browns, pancakes, you name it. Still, don’t worry too much, because breakfast lasts until 4, if you really have a hankering for it.

I was resolved to stay a little more ambitious; and though all the hollandaise options were tempting, I decided on an omelet packed with bacon, sausage, and ham, accompanied with toast and 3 of the most satisfying pancakes I’ve had at a breakfast place. Does that speak to my experience? I don’t think so. They were fantastic, crispy on the outside, airy and light in the middle. None of that gluey, saturated batter that sweats by the time it gets to your plate.

My omelet was an interesting assembly too. Beaten eggs were cooked to a crepe like thickness, and wrapped around a medley of meat combined with melted, I’m afraid to say, processed cheddar. Still, it was kind of a guilty pleasure.

It was a strange decision to me, and I would have liked the inner workings mixed together with the egg, but nothing chanced nothing earned, I suppose. In retrospect, I’ve no complaints- breakfast is a very forgiving thing, after all. And if that wasn’t reckless enough, I did myself the good deed of having dessert in the morning; one of the many pies made in house at Homestyle Diner. A more than affordable 3.95 had me awaiting a choice custard blueberry strawberry coulis slice with a dollop of pillowy whipped cream. A balmy, buttery sweetness maintained the base of the pie with an even sweeter topping of confit fruit. And the serving was more than generous; so much so, I still catch myself fantasizing about it. Sure enough, Homestyle Diner is a little bit of serendipity. It’ll be a sad day when I’m forced to leave it. But, until then, I’ve a lot of spare change, and a lot of pie to eat.

Homestyle Diner

504 Albert St  

Waterloo, ON

N2L 6J8
(519) 725-5048

EVERYDAY 8am – 8pm

ANY PAYMENT

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Liminoid

I’ve been saddled on and off with the label of hipster, or ‘original hipster,’ as my compatriots like to shamefully call me. It happens everywhere I go actually: parties, work, bedroom mirror. I guess it’s been a long time coming. I’m underemployed, thrifty, prodigal, polemical. I don’t have a funny moustache though, or any knowledge of folk music, or owls, or old furniture. I actually don’t have any furniture. I do have a couple Cosby sweaters though that I bought for a couple bucks. And I look good in them. I am a fan of Nick Wooster too. I’m not entirely sure that counts though. I also have a thing against Authenticity, as you all probably already know. Anyway, what I’m getting at is, if you gaze long enough into the abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you. So, I guess I’m finally paying for my mistake. And I have the Yeti café to thank for finally helping me to realize this. It was there, a space riddled with kitsch, a mess of retro furniture, folksy photos, novel paintings of Sasquatch in the wilderness, amenable recycled glass bottles full of water, vegan bacon, where I realized, while attempting to help Joey find love, that I probably am some weird, liminal, ultimate, self-shaming hipster. The fact that I’m calling myself one speaks even more to the fact. Terrible. But Joey and I love the Yeti café. We do. It’s weird. We’ve avoided it for so long. It wasn’t until our out-of-town friend, urban and beautiful, yearned for a place that jeered the whole neighbourhood of Williamsburg. So we went. Intending to shame it. But then we went back, and back again, enjoying the novel coffee options, the strange in glass presentations of espressos with foam, the rose water marshmallows, the affable counter attendee. Ironically, at the Yeti, Joey and I can just be. And get fed if we so please. Sandwiches, salads, quiche, even breakfast: eggs, bacon, pancakes, all doable in a small, manageable space. I’m absolutely thoughtless if I’m not mentioning the place’s baked goods either. All outsourced, but it’s not my prerogative to talk anymore about them. The Yeti knows where to get a good interesting thing, like protein breakfast bars, nutrition riddled cookies: spicy in aroma, light, and airy with puffed sesame seeds.  There’s fresh squeezed juice, homemade lemonade in mason jars, ready for anyone curious enough to crack them open. I certainly couldn’t resist the stirring infusion of mint and thyme. Unfortunately, mine was a jar of tart, chalky drink, semi sweet, devoid of what flavor the place said was in it. The sprigs of thyme were in the brew, but the flavor wasn’t, and nothing minty either. Still, it could be a good idea, provided it works.

Joey bought his usual cortado, this time charmed with a bagel topped with avocado, cheddar, bacon, tomato, and a garlic aioli that made the entire thing buzz. Without it, as far as we were concerned, it would have just been a sandwich, but that strange aioli made it a phenomenon.

Something a little more ambitious and liminoid called to me: the Vegan BLT. A good ol’ 7 grain sandwich bundled with a mix of lettuces- cabbage included- tomato, and avocado with vegan mayo: a thick, heavy spread, headier than non-vegan mayo. I can’t say I minded it. For something so meatless, it was pretty substantial. My only real qualm was the limp micro greens used to garnish the thing. Like I wasn’t good enough for fresh? Or maybe I’m too hip to care about it? Anyway, the vegan bacon was what really called me into a world of culinary performance and pretend. Flaked coconut was pan-fried, I assume with things like tamari, liquid smoke, or whatever else, to make a perfectly sweet simulacrum of what we all remember as the cooked backs of beasts. My sandwich had a generous serving of it too. And Joey and I were generously served, allowed to be as liminoid as we pleased, until, of course, we had to enter the real world and leave.

The Yeti

(519) 744-4643

14 Eby St North Kitchener, ON

N2H2V5
 

Tue - Fri: 9:30 am - 5:00 pm

Sat: 7:00 am - 4:00 pm

Sun: 10:00 am - 3:00 pm

ANY PAYMENT

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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

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