7 Numbers; a no go with food but...

7 Numbers. Rather inconspicuous corner spot on Danforth

The other night was another dining expedition into the trenches called Toronto dining.  With Toronto dining I feel its always a hit-and-miss if your looking to go at it lone wolf without the fortification of a good review.  This was no exception. I had the Arugola salad to start; nothing out of the ordinary but points for being more tasty than the simple asparagus my dining buddy had instead. The Linguine con Broccoli I had after was mediocre and not something I could not have replicated at home. The only saving grace was the reasonably priced (ahem compared to the standoffish price at the Drake) drinks list (range: $8-$12), unassuming interior, and the helpful service.  The Prosecco was a nice night cap and at $8 a glass I was happy to oblige.

Allens. Unassuming bar

Drunk from the horribly humble food we just had a few hours ago, I made the short walk over to Allens where I found an impressive selection of Scotch behind the bar and, if so unimpressed, a chalkboard full of beer on the wall opposite.  Perhaps because of the usual clientèle, the bar staff, I found, were approachable enough and aloof enough to give the place a chill and relaxed atmosphere.

Schlappen

This is painfully juxtaposed to the stuffy, overpriced chi chi ''newness'' that the Drake Hotel pushes. Neither was I impressed by the over glorified ''mac and cheese'' that went for $19 or the abysmal cocktail list.  After retreating from the overcrowded SkyYard, we settled into a corner spot (which later turned out to be the gate to line up for the aforementioned coveted upstairs patio) on the first floor. Barraged by the drunken squeals of chic ladies in dresses that looked plastered on with heels that could double for a night walkers fancy-night-on-the-town and guys too busy checking out the line or texting/shouting out their whereabouts, we couldn't find a better reason to quickly finish off our wallet-draining uber cool mac 'n cheese and running away.

Drake Hotel: Too Cool for School

And yet, I'm still hopeful that that laidback Toronto bar exists somewhere. Or maybe I just left my heart back in Germany where the beer is good and cheap and you don't have to fight to have good service.

My city, my Toronto; broken but still good

Not to mislead - what with my disgruntled rants about the absurdity that is our public transit system - but I am sincerely, if just a bit frustrated, in love with the city. And although, as with all cities, things are lacking ultimately Toronto never ceases to amuse me. From the blasé attitude I'm convinced comes with the territory of being a true, blue Torontonian to the funky smell that drifts up from some invisible sewer grate to the always wonderful spectacle that is called TTC riders.  Broken but still my Toronto.

I love the dull clack of mahjong tiles coming out of the local community hall at the dark of the night; I love the exuberant yells of the locals milling around the local park; I love the excited squeals coming from the public pool; I love even the eccentric individuals who prowl around the neighbourhood if a bit drunkenly; I love how I can sample so many different foods; I love the complexity that is just ekking out a living. I love swearing under my breathe even about those heavy set revolving doors that never seem to move without a hard shoulder shove. What I love the most is the emotion of the city that spells out onto the street. That to me, and not the manicured suburbs or the isolationism/alienation that is city living or the urban politics or the fugly architecture or waiting for the banging new metro that never comes or the disregard for anything that doesn't sound like ME. Broken but still my Toronto.