The Club

This week ate at the GeekStreet Hotel, the newish posh hotel which tries to make people from Kanata think they live in a real city and not an uptight overbuilt suburb where you go to jail for clothes lines and non-earthtone paint colours on your street-prominent 3 car garage.

It is there to serve the nerd community who are sick and tired of having their cool American colleagues stay 20 KM away because of the innate suckholage of Ottawa's west end suburbs (my best pals who live there already know how much I love them so just chill out you know I don't mean you).

Sheena loves interesting foodie experiences but there is a certain line that which upon crossed is just well, stupid. How many of my readers here would eat a unagi retention? I mean seriously. Does that not sound like some seriously infected intestinal disorder? Something protruding and swollen? No thanks.

I'll have the Club please. It looked very nice. First thing was to try a fry. Volumes is said about the quality of a place based on that first bite of french fry. It was lukewarm and soggy. I tried a second bite dipped into some kind of chile mayo. Nope. Disappointing.

The sandwich looked plentiful and it was. But the toasted bread was too crisp and because it was a triple layer, was too big to take a demure bite, so the corners of my mouth felt like it was sliced to bits by yeasty knife points. The roast chicken was real, which was a nice treat, but was cut in too small pieces so it kept falling out of the bread. The ones that fell on the newspaper I was reading I ate, but the ones on the floor I left for someone else.

Most pleasant part of the meal was one of my favourite Niagara rosés - the Malivoire Ladybug - yum and so pretty in the sunshine.