The Strumpet Of The Swan

Yet another reason to hate Toronto, all my jealous and self-loathing non-Centre of the World readers: Sheena presents The Swan on Queen St. W. Come on, even The Economist finds this place charming.

A spur of the moment dinner decision. Thank God my dining companion and I have no standards because the tiny dining room was jam-packed, so we grabbed two empty stools at the bar. Gave us a better view of the retro-diner heritage fixtures. Twirled around on the seats to see what everyone was eating and it all looked great. I started with a McManis Viognier, and El Chaperone had a Wellington Ale (in a bottle). Normally Sheena prefers an Aussie Viognier, only recently developing a weakness for those from California's Healdsburg district. She was somewhat red-faced not to have ever heard of "Ripon" or the "San Joaquin" valley wine district. Thank you Google Maps.

Skipped appetizers and went straight for the main courses. We both chose well, but he won. Sheena had the roasted capon; companion had the braised beef short ribs. Both dishes served on top of a big plop of buttermilk mashed potatoes. The capon had a yummy bourbon and vanilla sauce that had a distinct kick to it. The beef fell apart if you looked at it the wrong way, completely melt-in-mouth. I have to order it for myself next time.

We don't often order dessert, but were enjoying the evening, liked the atmosphere and didn't feel like rushing through our wine, so we got the Maple Creme Brulee and a Peach-Rhubarb Cobbler. Must have exceeded the recommended daily caloric intake level by a 1000, but who gives a shit, really. Life is a precious gift intended to be savoured. Just like that little piece of crispy blow-torched sugar that even this morning is still stuck in my teeth.