Sargent & Victor & Me - A Play Review

One thing I enjoy about writing a blog dedicated to nothing but breakfast reviews, is that it affords me the opportunity to review plays.

Recently I attended a play called Sargent & Victor & Me, starring Debbie Patterson, who played all of the characters. It was a great experience.

I was shocked to learn the dialogue of all the characters were based on real interactions. Most characters seemed to be caricatures rather than realistic interpretations of the people. For example, the character Bob Fonda was so boisterous, loud, and nonchalant, even when telling horrible stories of police brutality. Of course I don't know this guy, so I can't really speak to whether it was real or not, but I just didn't buy it.

I feel that Patterson exaggerates most of the characters on her show, or at the least, selectively picks either offensive or extreme things they've said, and paints the picture like that's all they are. If I was one of the people that these characters were based off of, I'd probably be upset. Again, I don't know these people personally, but to me, they didn't seem as three-dimensional as they might be. 

The only character I thought was very realistic was Theresa, the 15 year old gang member. I thought her mannerisms and pattern of speech were very accurate, and her stories were very tragic. I liked how the stories that Theresa told were upsetting and tragic, but Patterson didn't make them any more dramatic. She told shocking, heartbreaking story after shocking, heartbreaking story and was fairly casual in her tone when doing so. I thought this was very well done. I'm glad that she didn't act like Theresa was crying or breaking down. I think that Theresa had seen enough in her lifetime, from her mom huffing gas to getting raped and pimped out, that she would be nonchalant in telling stories that anyone else would be repulsed by.

It was great that the story ended with Theresa helping Gillian off the ground and back into the food bank. I liked seeing that full loop, and seeing the ending actually turn into the beginning, where Gillian met Theresa. That being said, it was pretty depressing hearing all of these brutal stories that Theresa was telling, and not getting a bow on that package. That's life, I guess, but still, it would've been nice to see Theresa's story go forward somehow. 

I really enjoyed the parts where the main character, Gillian May Fonda, tells about her experience in Thunder Bay. The spot that really seemed to be her "happy place". The memories that she carves out there seem really positive, and while it's sad that her Multiple Sclerosis will prevent her from going back, I loved hearing her stories about the place, like taking acid for the first time, or just drinking beer there. On a technical side, I loved the lighting during these parts. The background was a blue sky with other colours mixed in. It was great. 

I've only been to one other play, and that was Richard III at the MTC Warehouse, featuring William Hurt. That play was an interesting modernized version of the Shakespearean classic and in addition to an Oscar-winning actor, it featured an elaborate and detailed set with the costumes to match. Sargent & Victor & Me was driven by its story, and on the budget she had, the props weren't important at all. I think one thing this play did really well, was the lighting. The different lighting cues and radio news stories really added to the play. Another difference was that this was a one-person play, where as Richard III featured many different actors, so my respect for Debbie Patterson is a little stronger than the respect I had for anyone on the set of Richard III. 

This play affected me in several ways. I lived on Langside near Sargent for a few months, and while I didn't directly see a lot of violence, I could always tell that it was different than living in East Kildonan. You always have to keep your guard a little up, and that does unseen things to the psyche of a person. So watching the play made me realize that beyond the violence, prostitutes, and gang members, there are people in houses that have broken hearts from looking out their windows and watching their community devolve. 

It also woke me up to the struggles of people with Multiple Sclerosis. I never really understood the disease or the effects it has on the people afflicted with it, but after watching the play, I won't just gloss over ads or fundraisers talking about the dangers of MS. It really is a killer, and plays like this do a great job raising awareness for it.

So, overall, it was a great experience, and if I didn't have a mountain of homework to do, I would've stayed for the Q&A, but alas, priorities. It was a great one person play, and I recommend it to all.

Nahlah Ayed - A Thousand Farewells

I recently read Nahlah Ayed's book A Thousand Farewells, and while it wasn't quite as good as a big plate of bacon, eggs, hashbrows, and a glass of milk, it turned out to be quite an informative and enjoyable book. 

A Thousand Farewells begins with Ayed's journey from St. Boniface, to Amman, Jordan, where her parents forced her to spend seven years of her childhood to teach her about her culture and people. It then speaks of her return to Osborne Village to work in a store with her family, before going to Ottawa for journalism school. The majority of the book however revolves around her experiences as a reporter as she covers the war in Iraq, unrest in Lebanon, and the revolution in Egypt. 

This book works great because of the subject matter and the way that it is presented by Ayed. Ayed is living a journalist's dream for the most part. She was one of the first reporters in Afghanistan after America invaded, as she was for the Iraq war. She also happened to be in Lebanon during the Israeli hostage crisis, and the more recent Egyptian revolution. I think the stories of mosque bombings, shoot-outs, and interviews with people describing incredible and usually horrible events make the book hard to put down.

What didn't work for me though was the bouncing back and forth between Ayed's personal experiences and the political and historical conflict that she was involved in. It was done as well as it could, but I was so struck with a witness's testimony about Iraqi torture houses, that I really wanted to hear more about it. But by that time, Ayed was talking about funerals, and after capturing that so well I naturally wanted to hear more about it, but by that time, she was writing about her time covering the mass exodus from Iraq to Syria. She's a reporter, so it's her job to just touch on things and give a three-minute news piece about it, but I would've loved more detail on some subjects and less details on others. 

One of the only things missing from A Thousand Farewells was a definite conclusion, and that's hardly Ayed's fault. It's hard to put a bow on a story about the Middle East, and I felt like her epilogue only raised a ton more questions. It was like her book ended on a question mark and that was pretty unsatisfying, but it's non-fiction, and I guess that's the way it is sometimes.

I think journalists can learn a lot about talking to people and how to get something when you know they don't want to give it to you. As a female reporter in the Middle East, it must have presented difficulties for Ayed that would have been tough to overcome, but she somehow gets interviews from a lot of people. One of my favourite parts in the book is when she's interviewing an Iraqi man who just got one of his relatives out of a mass grave made under the Saddam Hussein regime, and then man asks where she's from. After finding out she's a Sunni, he gives a disapproving look and people gather and start rabbling.  Then Ayed pushes back and says, "I've lived most of my life in Canada. I know what he did and it was wrong. Do you want to do this interview and tell the world what's happened to your family or not?" And the man relaxes and does the interview. Ayed says early on in her Jordanian refugee camp house how she felt angry when boys got preferential treatment over girls, and that shows today. She knows when to push back, and when to be kind, and this is information journalists could definitely use.

A few years ago, I read Faith at War by Yaroslav Trofimov and that was a terrific book. It also took a look at the Middle East and featured interviews with civilians affected by the war. I feel that book though, had a certain topic that it was focused on, while A Thousand Farewells, rather than focusing on war in the Middle East, focused on Ayed's experience while covering war in the Middle East. 

This book affected me in several different ways. My heart broke for her as a child, to be uprooted from her cozy Canadian life and cast into a Jordanian refugee camp is pretty heartbreaking. During her adult years though, I felt a mix of emotions. Heartbreak for the people of Iraq and Afghanistan, joy and sadness for Egypt, and all this with an underlying pride that Ayed was able to be there for it all. 

Plus, she's from Winnipeg, so that really seals the deal. 

Little Sister is Watching You

Little Sister Coffee Maker is a small, independent coffee shop on River Avenue. I used to think that it's sole customers were pretentious hipsters looking for anti-corporate biscotti's to Instagram. But after going there a few times, I think Little Sister delivers a truly great product that everyone can enjoy.

Or maybe I'm just a pretentious hipster... Oh, shit. My whole world just collapsed. Excuse me.

Nah, that can't be it. I keep it real on the regs, and that's a fact.

Here is the Pastry Bomb in question.
The croissant looks innocent enough, but take a bite, and
flaky pastry shrapnel flies everywhere. It doesn't harm
anyone, but you look like a maniac eating it.

Also a fact, Little Sister's chocolate croissants are such a delectable treat, that even Eckhart Tolle would get lost in the memory of it. Eating it felt so good. I haven't felt that good since I bought that old Fleetwood Mac bootlegged 7" and lost it while I was riding my unicycle home, but then found a copy of the Rumours LP when I was tending to my organic vegetable garden in Wolseley. It was THAT good.

That being said, it was pretty damn flaky. One bite in, and the thing exploded in my face like a pastry I.E.D. It was delicious, but I looked like a weirdo walking down the street eating it. The trail of crumbs I left behind me made me look like a pig, and I don't appreciate that Little Sister! I wish it was a little softer and chewier, like McDonald's or Starbucks.

I'd love to see them change up the designs
in the foam of these lattes. Looking at this
design 5 different times a day gets boring!

Little Sister's coffee tastes great, but their latte's are downright addictive. In fact, they're so good that it's kind of a piss-off that they don't have a larger size available. While the average person living in Osborne Village prefers to live a French lifestyle of keeping it small and treat-like, I, on the other hand, prefer to live an upsized-Arkansas lifestyle, and gorge on the great trough of extra-large sized gluttony. If the cup fits in the cupholder in my car, it's too small. So I'd love to see Little Sister come out with a bigger cup, like McDonald's or Starbucks does.

Sometimes I'll order two, as if I'm bringing one for a friend, but I'm not. I'm chugging one on the walk home, and then slowly sipping the second. It's a secret that I'm spilling like so much latte foam on my chin. I've taken your small, independent, socially and politically conscious espresso hole and turned it into a glutton hub, no better than a McDonald's or Starbucks.

Little Sister Coffee Maker is literally the little sister company of Parlour Coffee, but I'm not gonna go into the history of it. You should know this. You should also know that Winnipeg has a really high number of independent coffee shops, from Thom Bargen, to Urban Forest, among others, there's no shortage of places to Instagram your coffee. No one is gonna Instagram McDonald's or Starbucks, unless it's for ironic purposes.

But I recommend you check out Little Sister, mainly because you might run into me there, waiting for a latte and judging everyone that looks exactly like me.

As a special bonus for this post, I'd like to point out that popular rock n' roll band, Queens of the Stone Age actually wrote a song about Little Sister Coffee Maker and performed it on Letterman! Incredible publicity for such a small, independent coffee house. As a CreComm student, I'm impressed!

Stressed Breakfast Phones It In!

Last night I dreamt of breakfast reviews past,
eggs and bacon were put on blast. 

My thoughts were heavy with things to do, 

for without time, there's no review. 

Come back next week! I'll have some pics 

of eggs and bacon prepared by dicks, 

who don't know what the term 'over-easy' means!

I promise.

-Tyler Penner

Timmy's: Canada's Boring Sweetheart

I cringe when I think about all the times some Canadian patriot has played host to American acquaintances, and has said, "Well, geez buddy. You're in Canada, so we just gotta go to Timmy's and get a coffee. It's our national specialty, eh?" *shudder*

With Tim Hortons being the symbol of Canadian culture that it supposedly is, it's no wonder that Canada is seen as the vanilla sponge-cake of the world. Contrary to world belief (i.e. American belief), Canada is not bland or tasteless. It's people are not just satisfactory, yet ultimately unmemorable. Tim Hortons coffee, on the other hand, is all of these things.

The three friends who came to the party at 6 when it started
at 8. They each had a Mike's hard lemonade,
and left at 9 because they all had curfew.

I had a pretty good discussion with a buddy of mine the other day about the taste of Tim Hortons "coffee". While you (M.L.L.) are cringing at my misuse of quotation marks, let me explain. Tim Hortons has no right to call their "coffee" coffee. While it is hot, and liquid, that's where the similarities stop. Tim Hortons' hot breakfast beverage doesn't smell or taste like coffee, so why is everyone calling it coffee?

From now on, Tim Hortons "coffee" will be called "hot morning beverage" or "hot breakfast beverage". The debate is ongoing.

Unlike McDonalds' coffee, which is rich, bold, and generally resembles coffee, Tim's has somehow become Canada's darling coffee franchise all while pumping out a pretty inferior product. I guess that's how marketing works though: show kids playing hockey, show hockey mom in the stands cheering the Cornwall Whatever's, and then show the whole family going to Tim's afterwards for celebration hot-morning-beverages. That's all it takes in this country. *sigh... Oh, Canada.

Tim Hortons' food, while not as horribly overhyped as their coffee, is equally as boring. Their "Sausage Breakfast Sandwich on an English Muffin" (pfff, nice name), is about as interesting as Ben Stein voicing the Twilight audiobook. Also, they should really put a disclaimer on these sandwiches that say, "Assembly Required".  The egg is on the left, the unmelted slice of cheese is on the right, and the sausage could be anywhere.

This picture was taken after I reassembled it. The cheese is finally
melting, but that's just because I stored it in my pants until I ate it.

Unlike McDonalds' breakfast sandwich, which slaps you in the face with greasy, fatty flavour, Tim's is about half as greasy and about a quarter as tasty. I'd rather take the extra grams of fat in exchange for something that makes me go, "Oh God, I should get another one".

The hashbrown patty I ate today is the second version of the Tim Hortons hashbrowns. The original Timmy's hash was replaced a few months, maybe a year ago, because it sucked. Originally, Tim's tried to move in a different direction than McDonalds by offering a "homestyle, good ol' fashioned, just like your Canadian granny used to make 'em" hashbrown. Too bad that Granny sucks and so do her hashbrowns. A few months ago Tim's caved, and are now offering hashbrowns that are a DIRECT RIPOFF of the McDonalds' hash. They might even get them from the same company for all I know, and Tim's still manages to make them inferior to McDonalds'.

Overall, the breakfast sucked, but not as much as waiting 25 minutes in line, like you have to do every time you go to any Tim's, anywhere. I'm getting really tired of Tim's being the reigning champion in the Canadian made breakfast industry. I'm sick of their pathetic tear-jerker or downright unfunny commercials, but most of all, I'm sick of the equation that people make between being Canadian and loving Tim Hortons.

Robin's Donuts is just as Canadian as Tim's ever has or ever will be. I didn't grow up on TimBits, I grew up on Robin's eggs. Sure, Robin's coffee tastes like it's been brewed with burning paper, but it still TASTES LIKE SOMETHING, dammit! I'm really hoping for the industry to even itself out, and I'm looking forward to Robin's Donuts getting back in the game.

For now though, if I'm gonna go evil, I'm going for the evil I know. I'll stick with McDonalds until this country gets over it's infatuation, bordering on obsession, with Tim Horton's, and we realize that it's not a Canadian landmark, or a symbol of who we are as a nation.

We'll see it for what it is: a coffee place with crappy coffee.

Do you have milk on your person?

Got milk?

Yes, yes I do.

Due to delays in the Manitoba Student Aid payment system, I was unable to get my usual "doctor's nightmare" breakfast earlier in the week. Then, thanks to a faulty debit card, I was unable to spend the student aid that finally made it. It's been a hard week.

Front row: 2% white; Back row: Chocolate, and wet air.

But for a combined cost of only 3 dollars and change at the local RRC Mercantile, I bought three different types of milk, and now, I'm ready to complete my master experiment... comparing different milks.

Milk is a healthy part of any nutritional bowl of Chocolate Lucky Charms. I feel like a lot of people take milk for granted, and every time I try to convince people to enjoy Earth's white nectar of the gods (milk), they always start filling their diapers with the same old and tired complaints.

Wahhh, it's high in fat! 
Of course it is. That's why it's so delicious.


Wahhh, the cows they get it from are pumped full of steroids!
Well, just think of how strong your bones will be.

Wahhh, I'm lactose intolerant, and throwing up all over my new area rug!
Get a new area rug, it's worth it. I mean come on, it's 2014. Aren't we past intolerance of any kind?

Don't get me wrong, some milk is terrible. I bought one skim milk, one chocolate milk, and one 2% white milk, to see if I could find out which one would be worse than the others. I wanted to drink the crappiest milk first, so then afterwards, I could use the better milks to wash the taste of crappy milk out of my mouth.

Skim: It even sounds gross.

I went with my gut, and picked the skim milk first.

Whereas 1% milk is the Diet 7up of milks, skim milk is the decaffeinated, piss-warm, Diet Spritz Up of milks. Milk's unique taste only relies on one thing to be fantastic - texture. Milk is defined by its texture. 2% has a heavenly creamy texture that makes you want to swish the liquid cloud in your mouth like Listerine. Skim milk feels like someone took an old glass that had a little bit of old milk sitting on the bottom, and filled it with ice cold Brita-filtered water. Skim milk is what I'd imagine cotton balls tasting like. It was like kissing someone you don't like right after that person had a glass of 1% milk. 0% fat! Why? Maybe, if you're so desperate to watch your weight, stick to pouring water or Pepsi Max over your frosted flakes.

Right after taking a sip, I immediately spit it out all over the compusadrt I aws orwekin on. Ocne I nmaaged to clean that up, I reached for the chocolate milk as quick as possible. Chocolate milk should be drank with a straw. Even the dumbest milk novice knows this. Chocolate milk touches that thick texture I was talking about earlier, but then kicks it up a whole notch. In fact, I don't think it should even be called chocolate milk. They really need to invent a beverage that has the consistency of something between milk and milkshake, because this chocolate milk was so thick, it would be a stretch to classify this substance as a liquid.

Chocolate milk is great for
washing skim milk out.

Of course, the taste was spot on. Sweet, thicker-than-milky, and wholly refreshing. But for some reason, as good as it was, it still isn't on the top of the milky food chain.

The truth is, 2% white milk will always be king. The milky-white colour, the milky aftertaste, it's milky texture... it's all just so, milky. Milk. Milk. Milk. 2% milk. I think I'm having a milky breakdown. When you realize what milk has done for you in your life, you'll breakdown too.

Where you be without a trusted, delicious milk, huh? I'll tell you where: dead in a gutter, choking to death on a lump of hot brownie, unable to scream because of all the peanut butter in your mouth, and dying from internal bleeding because all those jagged shards of rock-hard, chocolate chip cookie just sliced a hole in your stomach lining. Thank milk you're not there, yet.

The holy grail of milks. Often overlooked, it
still causes moments of sheer ecstasy, which
can result in hideous facial paralysis (above).

Without milk, millions of our beloved senior citizens would be playing cribbage until all hours of the night until their withered old fingers broke off and rolled underneath their rocking chairs. But no, milk made their bones strong, it made their cribbage game better, and it warmed itself up to tuck Grandma and Grandpa into a beautiful, drooly, lactose-induced slumber. 

This is not some sort of advertorial. That is to say, I have not yet received funds for my efforts in directing the public to the greatness of milk. Please though, just to prove that I'm not some nutjob that is obsessed with milk, do me a favour: buy ingredients to make fresh, warm, ultra-rich, ultra-chocolatey double fudge brownies. After you've made them, baked them, and pulled them from the oven, let them cool just enough so that they won't burn you. Spread enough chocolate frosting on the brownies so that the frosting melts just a little bit, then sprinkle crushed walnuts. Then, put the brownie up to your mouth, and take a bite. A big bite. Let the chocolate swirl into every crevice of your mouth, and let the batter gather up inside your gums. Then, when you've finished the brownie, out of a nice tall glass, take a big sip of ice-cold, wonderfully refreshing... water.

See what I mean? Don't take milk for granted.

Mickey D's Artery-Clogging Classic

I've been a long-time McDonald's fan/fiend/addict. I remember living in the country as a boy, and weekly trips to the Superstore were always capped off with some Big Macs. Being an old country boy, the heavily coveted McDonald's breakfast only happened maybe 5 or 20 times in my childhood, which is why I told myself that when I became an adult living in the city, I was going end the fast food breakfast famine, and make sure that I had my fill.

Food on the go! And you'll have to go, if you eat
breakfast at McDonald's. You've been warned.

And here I am today: a heavy-set, heavy-breathing, heavy-consumer of McDonald's products and services, catching a bus to go twenty feet down the road to my local McDicks. I wouldn't change a thing... well, I might change the sporadic chest pains and constant nausea, but other than that, I wouldn't change a thing. Some things should never change.

That's why I was happy this morning to find out that McDonald's has done nothing to change anything about the Sausage n' Egg McMuffin. McGriddles and Breakfast Bagels are all well and good, but when it comes to the Sausage n' Egg McMuffin, McDonald's played it smart and left well-enough alone. A lot of people, myself included, don't want to get fat trying new stuff. We want to get fat on the classics.

McDonald's breakfast combo setup is as classic as it gets: McMuffin. Hashbrowns. Beverage.

Now THAT'S a breakfast, people: nary a veggie in sight, grease pooling at the bottom of wrappers and spilling onto shirts, and a rapidly increasing rapid heartbeat... O beautiful, for spacious skies, for amber waves of grain.

Anticipation is the best part.

Let's get down to business. McDonald's didn't become the unholy dark lord of the "good food, prepared quickly" industry because their food sucks. If you don't care about the insane calorie count or whether or not you're eating real food, the bottom line stands -- it tastes good. Yes, it does. If you disagree with me, fine. I reserve the right to respectfully think you're in denial. It tastes delicious.

I want to get serious here for a moment. The rest of this blogpost has been kind of facetious, but I'm dead serious when I say that McDonald's coffee is wonderful. There's a lot of fish in the breakfast/coffee industry barrel (weak metaphor, whatevs), but McDonald's has some of the best coffee out there. Unlike Starbucks' melted tire roast, or Tim Horton's burnt hair roast, or Burger King's... water, McDonald's actually has a rich, flavourful, full-body roast that is too good to not be at the expense of some exploited African nation. Then again, it's McDonald's. You should know what you're getting. I recommend it.

Chewing is for amateurs.

The hashbrowns are delicious as well. I was a little concerned when I didn't see the hashbrown patty glistening with grease, but then I flipped it over and saw that all the grease had sunk to the bottom... haha, phew! It was as mouth-wateringly fattening as it always is, and we all know the golden food rule: FAT = DELICIOUS. Burger King offers the breakfast potatoes (puh-lease), and Tim Horton's has a bastardized version of the McDonald's hashbrown, but nothing comes close. This menu item is a staple in the breakfast branch of the fast food industry, which is ironic too, because shortly after eating the hashbrowns, it felt as if I had swallowed some staples.

Pain is the dessert for every
McDonald's meal.

The Sausage n' Egg McMuffin is the real draw here. Perfectly toasted English muffin, melted cheese, what appears to be an egg, and that glorious solidified grease called a sausage patty. It truly is delicious, and for only 440 calories, it's a dieter's dream! A Sausage n' Egg McMuffin has 26g of fat, which is 40% of the recommended daily value! So by eating it, you're actually eating the equivalent of two meals, saving you valuable eating time! This breakfast is so handy!

The only drawback to this delicious meal was the crippling lethargy that sank in shortly after eating it. The day-long headache was also a minor con, but still not enough to keep me from going back again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again.

Elements, Schmelements

Hello again, and welcome to a new year that's sure to be packed full of breakfast-based debauchery. Most of my breakfasts over the Christmas holidays consisted of half-eaten Lindor Chocolates and boxed wine, but that's all going to change in 2014. It has to. My doctor says so.

We'll start off the year with a breakfast I had last year at Elements Restaurant on Portage Avenue.

Elements was referred to me by a friend. His exact words were: "Go to Elements. They have all-day breakfast."

"Is it good?" I asked.

"They have all-day breakfast," he replied.

This conversation both intrigued and worried me, and was enough to get my ass off the couch and into the restaurant.

Looks nice, right? The walk to the bathroom is a lot
more scenic then a lot of restaurants, true, but the fun
stops there. 

Elements looks great. It's a nice little place that's attached to some building that has something to do with the University of Winnipeg. The atmosphere was nice and inviting, and it was a welcome change from the hole-in-the-wall dives where I usually eat my breakfast.

The meal started off with coffees and waters. We got the coffees. It took several more requests and a lot of patience to get the waters. This really set the tone for the whole meal.

I ordered the eggs over-easy, but received the most over-medium eggs I've ever had. The yolk was about as solid as Osmium and had the flavour and texture of Rhodium. The eggs looked nice enough on arrival, but by the time I received them, they were lukewarm, bordering on lukecool.

The bacon itself glistened with grease and fat and looked to be fresh off the grill. Looked to be. As it turns out, they were fresh off the heating lamp, where they had rested comfortably for what I can only assume was the better part of 2013. Since we're talking elements n' shit, let me drop a little science on all y'all: bacon curls. This is natural. I don't trust a slice of bacon that sits rigid, flat as a plywood sheet. If your bacon doesn't curl, it's either because the bacon isn't real bacon, or you've got a new type of bacon that transcends all physical law. Either way, I didn't feel easy eating it. Of course, it did taste like bacon, so I guess I'd have to give it a passing grade. Still, it was dried out, boring, and eating it did cause some chipping of the teeth and lacerations to the larynx and colon.

Pictured: purple potato, well-poised bacon, and burnt toast. I thought I was
having brain surgery until I realized the toast really was that burnt.

The highlight of this meal, by far, was the refried beans. I'm not a big fan of the musical fruit, but these were done right. They were a little sweet, the texture was great, and I found myself curious about becoming a full-time bean... guy.

The "breakfast potatoes" were just baby potatoes. I was ready to complain to the manager about receiving a disgusting rotten tomato, until a friend pointed out that it was actually just a purple potato. I'm not sure what kind of hippie invented the purple potato, but I wasn't buying this "far-out" version of my favourite vegetable. I like my crew cuts sharp, my guns loud, and my potatoes potato-y coloured.

The toast was rye and burnt. Fail. Even the bathtub of imperial margarine that they soaked it in couldn't save it.

The service at Elements was also suspect. I got vibes from the staff that I was the asshole of the day for ordering breakfast at 4pm on a Friday. Coffee refills were way too few and far between, and while the the server always smiled at us while we ordered, time and time again I would catch a glimpse of her desires to charge through the plate glass windows and make a break for freedom. I sympathize with her, I do, but it did put a damper on the meal.

I wouldn't recommend going here unless you want to try something new. If you haven't been here before, sure, go ahead and try it. If you have, well, chances are you won't go here again. I know I won't. At least, not for breakfast.

Back From the Dead, and Hungry!

Two weeks ago, I was down in dumps. My blog idea was revealed to be anything but original, I was slightly reprimanded for my liberal use of French, and I hadn't had a decent breakfast in quite sometime.

Leave it to my girlfriend to come along and poop on the pity party. How did she poop on it, you ask? She took a giant dump all over my sulky self bitch-fest by dropping two beautiful, delicious, Eggs Benedict on my plate.

I'm not usually a huge Eggs Benedict fan.  Something about that hollandaise sauce just weirds me out. It always reminds me of a combination of brains and mayonnaise that coagulates with puss and old canker sores (Happy Halloween!). But it turned out to be one of the many highlights of this delicious, homemade breakfast.

The hashbrowns were called 'breakfast potatoes' and were really just a bastardized version of the Tater Tot. Well, they were somewhere between a hashbrown patty a la McDonalds, and the aforementioned Tater Tot. These hash-things were really good on their own, but with Sriracha Sauce... dear lord. My mouth was on fire, but a lovey dovey kind of fire. It was great.

The eggs were poached easy, which was great. When I cut into, yolk poured on to my plate like a freshly cut jugular vein (Happy Halloween!). The fried turkey didn't really stand out, which was terrific. With a meal like that, the last thing I would want to stand out would be the turkey. It was subtle enough though to add a little flavour that really contributed to the finality of the dish.

The cup of yogurt on the side had three almonds sprinkled on top. It was beautiful, and totally useless. I didn't touch it. I have it on good authority that it was good, but I wouldn't know. This is a breakfast blog, not some shitty useless yogurt blog.

The only downside to this breakfast, other than the aesthetically pleasing but stupidly boring yogurt, was the two cats crawling everywhere. These cats, who apparently carry the names Otis and Patrick, were all up in my grill the entire meal. I said, 'shoo' multiple times, but they were insistent. I thought I could distract them with the yogurt, but they weren't having that. They had their creepy green eyes set on that hollandaise sauce. After careful planning and strategizing, I managed to get my hands on a hoodie that had rather lengthy drawstrings attached, and the rest is history.

The meal itself was delicious, but for the future, I would hope that the owner of this establishment would get her goddamn cats under control. (P.S. They knocked over their water dish again. Fucking Patrick)

I would recommend this place to anyone that writes a breakfast blog, and is named Tyler Penner. Anyone else is not welcome. I like to sleep in, don't wake me.

Where there's a will, there's a Subway...

You know what? You try to come up with a clever title every week. No really, I'd like to see you try. You couldn't, could you? Ok then, my point exactly. Now if you don't mind, I'm trying to review Subway's tasteless breakfast flatbread thing they half-assedly throw together. May I continue? I know I'm being a bit of a prick, but- no, you shut up! No, you! Eat shit, pal. No, you eat it! Grow up. No, you grow up!

Wow. Sorry about that.

Anyway, back to the matter at hand, or should I say, in hand, because that's where the majority of Subway's Flatbread Breakfast Sandwich ends up. This would be understandable if it was a sloppy joe, but it's not. It'd also be fine if it was a sloppy sub, but it's not. Not once in their cute little picture on their overhead menu did they tell me that this sandwich was about as tidy as a pudding sandwich eaten by someone with hooks for hands.

But overall, it tasted pretty good. With a Nestea zero, it cost about $4.00, which seemed right.  The egg was tasteless, and the bacon was ok... SIGH.










SIGH.











SIGH.









Yes, now that you mention it, something is bothering me. Here I thought, that my breakfast blog was the most creative, original thing on the planet since sliced bread. Turns out though, a little googling would have revealed that someone's already done this idea, and done it way better.

I'm done with the breakfast blog game. Too many cooks in this kitchen, so fuck it. I'm out, I'm done. Go check out Breakfast Winnipeg if you want dining advice.  I'll be coming up with something new in the near future.  Stay tuned.

Thanks For Nothing, Perkins.

This entire review is going to sound like the ramblings of a spoiled first-world baby, who's crying that his golden egg isn't golden enough. And I realize that on this Thanksgiving Day weekend, I should be thankful that my breakfast isn't being delivered to me in a burlap sack with a red cross on the front of it. But as thankful as I am that I have the luxury of eating and writing about various breakfasts around the city, I have to think that even the poorest little boy from the slums of Mogadishu would recognize the price vs. quality discrepancies that can be found at your average Perkins. "At the least burlap sacks were free!" he'd say.

Perkins has a notorious reputation among my friends and me, and every human, as a place that overcharges their customers for runny and slimy eggs, limp and lifeless bacon, air-flavored hash browns, and either way too buttery or way too not-buttery toast. After spending an hour at the Perkins on Panet Road, I remembered why this reputation is so well deserved.

I'm going to start off the review with something that I absolutely love about Perkins. The way they give you coffee. The coffee itself was about as interesting as watching The View on a slow news day, but the delivery method is genius. THEY GIVE YOU YOUR OWN POT. Laziness breeds innovation as they or I say, and I'm so glad that Perkins' staff can't be bothered to come by and refill your cup every five minutes. I'm not being facetious. Instead of giving you the Aunty Darlene treatment ("drink that first, and then you can have some more"), they give you an entire pot. There you go customer. Here's your four or five cups that you're gonna drink over the course of your meal. Now shut up and leave me alone.  I love it!

It should be said that when I went into this Perkins, it was a graveyard. A ghost town. No one was there. The waitresses looked annoyed that I was interrupting their conversation, but their forced pleasantries were delivered quite convincingly. The food delivery was also pretty prompt. 10 minutes after I ordered, I had my meal in front of me. It was hot, and fresh.

OK, now. Let's get real here.

The toast looked completely dry on top, and I was starting to lose my shit just a little bit. Nothing worse than toast without butter. But when I picked up the piece, it almost fell apart. I picked up the first slice, and it sagged down like a really sad clown face. The butter was dripping on to my eggs. I'm not watching my weight or anything, but dear lord. It was like they had a tub of Imperial margarine with an abundance of toast crumbs in it and used an ice cream-scooper to mold four slices of what resembled toast. It was pretty good actually.

The bacon was also a disappointment. You should all be well aware by now of my "if it tastes like bacon, it's good bacon" rule. But like they so proudly advertised in the menu, this was SMOKED bacon. Ooo la la monsieur Perkins. What? A frying pan doesn't do it for you anymore? I didn't know you were so high and mighty that you felt regular fried bacon just wasn't cutting it anymore and needed altering. The nerve. It was still pretty good, but just not the same.

The eggs were also decent, but barely. I poked into one with a fork and yolk came shooting out like Egg Faithful. This would usually be a good sign, but it actually turned the rest of the barely cooked egg into a egg white/egg yolk soup. Normally I would've just used my toast to soak this up, but that was also a buttery soup, so I didn't know what to do. I started to look for a spoon. 

This is where the hash browns came in handy. They were just sitting there in the corner of the plate, not doing or saying anything. No real problems but no real personality either. I decided to turn the shredded pile of Plasticine into an egg flavoured stirfry/soup/something. This is not how I would have preferred to eat my breakfast, but it actually turned out to be pretty good. Like I said in an earlier post, breakfast is the hardest meal to screw up. Even when you do, it'll probably still taste good.

I should note that Perkins does have options. You can replace the shredded hash browns with the cubed breakfast potatoes (which I should have done), or fruit (HAHAHAHA). You can also replace the toast with pancakes (which I should have done). An old lady sitting behind me did exactly this, and specifically requested that her pancakes be brought out later, so that they would be fresh when she ate them. Take note youths, with age comes wisdom.

The price for this meal was a fucking atrocity. It cost me $13.63 for this meal, and after a really crappy tip that was completely deserved, the entire experience cost me $15 dollars. I'm not one to whine... well, I guess that's exactly what this blog is about, but still, I'm a student, dammit! One more Perkins meal and I'll be back to reviewing Aramark Tater Tots. 

All in all, it was a breakfast, and it was pretty good. But since this blog forces me to sit and think about what I just ate, I'm starting to realize the subtle differences between a Perkins and an Osborne Village Cafe, or The Don. Perkins has the mainstream appeal, but as they approach a broader market with multiple chains per city, quality eventually goes down... I don't wanna get into it.

Bottom line, if you have to have something to eat on a road trip or something, and you're on the outskirts of Moose Jaw or Medicine Hat, and there's nothing else around, try a Perkins. But in Winnipeg, you can do a lot better. Have some self respect and find yourself a decent breakfast that's worth what it costs. 

To Be, or Tot to Be... That, is the Title.

Tater Tots: the bite sized snack that forever changed the potato game. When the Tater Tot was released in the 50's, it broke all the rules. All conventional potato standards were shattered. People were shocked and offended at this brazen new shape that potatoes could assume. Potatoes would never be the same, and neither would the mindset of millions of well-to-do middle class families, their cookie cutter starch world brought down and shattered by the Tot.

So anyways, I'm super broke and couldn't afford to buy a decent breakfast to review this week. I don't see why you're so mad... this shouldn't be a big deal. Please stop throwing stuff and saying words like that. Listen, I'll get a super sized breakfast next week, ok? Please, just stop. Thank you.

When I went into the Red River College Aramark inside the Princess Street campus, a certain feeling of dread lowered itself onto my shoulders and started laughing at me and taunting me. It knew I hadn't the money to get anything good. This feeling knew that I would be eating something so substandard, so shitty, that no review, no matter how scathing, biting, or vomiting, would be able to encapsulate the complete crappiness of my breakfast. It was the menace of the Aramark Tater Tot.

Before I begin, a brief history of the Tater Tot is in order. The Tater Tot was invented to solve the problem of wasted potato slivers when potatoes were cut into cubes. One chef (read: a god among men) decided to press the slivers together, push the resulting string through a hole, and cut it off in sections. The resulting potato cylinders were then spiced and fried, resulting in the worldwide phenomenon known as the Tatermania.

I wasn't super optimistic when I saw the cardboard container filled with Tots sitting in the nearly empty food cart. They didn't look good in that Aramark lighting, or maybe it was the college lighting. Or maybe just light. These Tater Tots definitely would've been better eaten in a pitch black room. But I always loved Tater Tots when I was a kid.  What's not to love? It's a deep fried potato, in bite-sized form. It's like a french-fry, but it's a cube. It's like a hashbrown, but it's a Tot. These things are awesome.

Usually.

As I held my Tots, I joined Stephen Burns in pouring a cup of coffee.  I looked at Stephen and asked, "You ever have those days, where you wake up, and you just know that you're gonna have to eat some Tater Tots?"

"Yes. Yes I do." Stephen Burns knows what's up.

Eating a Tater Tot fresh off the fryer is one of the essential steps of human enlightenment and spiritual transcendence. Ok, maybe not, but they're pretty damn good. Soft steaming hot starchy goodness held together by a golden crusty, flaky shell glistening with deep fryer oil... now that's a goddamn Tater Tot.

How the Red River College Aramark managed to screw these Tots up is a mystery. A mystery on par with the location of Jimmy Hoffa's body, the Zodiac killer, and the existence of pet rocks.

Granted, these Tots may have been delicious right after they were fried, but by the time my crooked teeth sank into them, they were long past their prime. They just weren't good. They were stale, cold, and bland. They were soft, but not in a good way. They were gritty, but not in a good way. They were Tater Tots, but not in a good way. They were shit, but not in a good... well, you get the point.

The thing that saved this breakfast for me though, was the price. It cost me $3.80 for the Tots and a coffee. A coffee is $2.25, which means the Tots cost $1.65. I was given 18 Tots. This amounts to just over 9 cents per Tot. I couldn't find out what the average price of a single Tater Tot is these days, but to me, that seems really reasonable. These Tots sucked, but I'd definitely pay 9 cents a piece for them.

So if you're ever as broke as I was today, and you just need something in your stomach to prevent it from collapsing or self-cannibalizing, I recommend the Tots. Head to the smoker's pit, look under some benches and find some empties. Cash them in, get some dimes, head down to the Red River College Aramark, and stock up on Tater Tots.

You won't enjoy eating them, but you won't be hungry after you do, so munch away. After all, beggars can't be choosers.

The Don Delivers Great Breakfast to The Tyler

There's word around this city that some guy named Don has a pretty mean bacon 'n' eggs operation that he runs out of his place downtown.

I always thought of The Don as a hipster hub/yuppie depot, but after eating there, I realize that I was at least half wrong.  An eclectic mix of the old and rich, the old and poor, the young and poor, and the young and hipster congregated at the downtown restaurant on the promise of a delicious and affordable, and most importantly, all-day breakfast.

The Don truly is the cure to a hangover. Something about a Pancake House or a Smitty's or, God forbid, a Perkins, just doesn't seem to absorb booze and dispense dopamine quite like The Don is able to.

The Don has two entrances. This one was more attractive and had less
people in the windows gawking at me while I aimed my smartphone.

I sat down at a table for two, all by myself. But they pack 'em in pretty tight at The Don. As soon as I sat down, I realized that not more than half a foot from me was a table of four middle-aged women talking about some sensitive subject matter, or at least, I assumed it was by the way they all hushed each other when I sat down. After 15 agonizingly awkward seconds, I crawled through the escape hatch and made my way to another table for two on the other side of the dining room.

After catching my breath for a few seconds, and reassuring myself that I was a good guy, and that people like me, and that no, those four middle aged women hadn't been talking shit about me, I ordered a coffee and a water. I opened the menu and found what I was looking for. The Don's very own and totally original meal called the "Classic Breakfast."

Toast. Eggs. Bacon. Hashbrowns.  Ok.

The first thing that caught my attention about the meal was the time it took from me placing my order and awkwardly handing the waitress the menu, to the time I got my food. I would say it took a maximum of seven minutes. Maybe less. Usually, I'm ready and willing to bitch about not getting my food in a timely fashion even if they bring it to me in the timeliest fashion, but today was different. It was brought out so fast I didn't even have time to Instagram the cream swirling in my coffee. This cost me several precious internet points, but alas, just as Mick Jagger said 94 years ago, "You can't Instagram what you want." Or something like that. Who cares? The 'stones suck.

The meal was delivered hot, fresh, and lookin' tasty. It looked so good, that I ate half of it before it dawned on me that I needed a picture for this blog.

Toast never gets the spotlight... except on this blog!

The eggs are clearly labelled in the menu as "free run Omega 3" eggs. Not knowing what an Omega 3 is, I asked the waitress what this meant. I wanted to make sure that my eggs weren't being fried in some sort of energy drink. She told me that all the eggs served come from grain-fed free-range chickens. I have to say, the eggs tasted delicious, even without the oppression. It feels good to know that the chicken who laid this egg isn't locked up in some rural-Manitoba concenchicken camp. The chicken that laid this egg is running free and wild, pecking at grains of wheat and corn, and not forced to ingest a gelatinous paste composed of what the waitress put as, "it's brothers and sisters." I learned a lot this breakfast.

Another thing I learned is how great bacon tastes. Bacon's good. I'm surprised it's not more popular than it is, especially on the internet. This bacon was delicious. The grease that had pooled in one of the curls of a bacon slice was still sizzling when I got it. The Don makes things fresh, that much should be clear.

The hashbrowns were also really good. Not even close to as good as the hashbrowns you can find at the Osborne Village Cafe, but still pretty good. I think they usually serve shredded hashbrowns, but the shredded pieces all coagulate into what turns out to be a giant hashbrown patty. No complaints here though. One thing I love about The Don is that they give you an option to add fried onions, banana peppers, or even cornbeef to your hashbrowns. It's an extra charge of course, but whatever... anyway, this paragraph on hashbrowns has gone on way too long. I'd say sorry, but you're probably not even reading at this point anyway, so fuck you.

At the end of the day, The Don didn't disappoint. The breakfast was good, the service was fast, and at 11 dollars, the price was reasonable. Prepare yourself to eavesdrop and to be eavesdropped upon, because seating is tight. It's not as tight as say, a chicken that isn't free-run Omega 3, but it's still a little tighter than most places. But in the words of every real estate agent ever, "It's not cramped. It's cozy."

So the next time you're hungover and having nightmares about drowning inside Jim Beam's bile, go see my boy Don. He'll hook you up with some greasy good times that'll take your mind off the pain. Albeit, temporarily.

Osborne Village Cafe: Best Place to Get Hash...browns.

Another week, another blog post, another disgustingly delicious breakfast to review. On the advice of fellow CreComm rookie Jacob Marks, I decided to check out the Osborne Village Cafe and see if this place is worth Jacob's hype.

Known primarily for its drunken metalhead brawls and random biker-gang stabbings, the Osborne Motor Village Inn is home to about five or six different things: a motel, a bar called the Zoo, a bar called Ozzy's, a vendor in the back, several shithead security guards, and the subtle aroma of urine that really brings the whole building together. Located at the very front though is the Osborne Village Cafe, a hole in the wall that could be easily missed, but shouldn't be. It's fantastic.

Looking out the cafe window, it was grey, dreary, and miserable. But inside the cafe... well, it was grey, dreary, and miserable. Still though, it was right up my alley and I really enjoyed it. It might have been the sticky flytrap in the corner, or the classic flickering fluorescent lightbulb, but I could tell that this cafe had seen some shit and had stories to tell. This is the type of cafe that Thelma and Louise sat at before driving their convertible off a cliff, or where Meg Ryan pretended to cum in front of a stunned and squirrelly Billy Crystal. It's a cafe where drug deals have been negotiated, sex trade workers took a break, and where greasy hitmen had been contracted to wack a husband or wife or two.

Picture from Left to Right: Unidentified Man; Not Pictured: Unidentified
Man. 

And they did all this while eating a lovely meal of bacon, eggs, hashbrowns, and toast.  With fruit.

Osborne Village Cafe calls it the "Classic Breakfast". A classic name for a classic meal. I started off with a coffee and a water. Classic. The coffee was coffee. I'm not a great at telling the difference between good coffee and bad coffee, but I know awful coffee when I drink it. This wasn't awful coffee. Also, a small detail but it's big in my eyes, they gave me a steel cup (gauntlet?) for the cream. Again, it's not a deal breaker, but it's a nice touch. Those little individual creamers really piss me off sometimes, but I don't wanna get into that right now.

The food was delicious. I've been making sure to not go to these breakfasts starving. I'd give a five-star review to a hub-cap with icing on it if I was hungry enough. I wasn't desperate for food. So trust me when I say that Osborne Village Cafe makes a mean breakfast.

The eggs were delicious. Perfectly over-easy. The yolk was running like mascara on some freshly-dumped emo kid. They weren't slimy or watery though, which is an easy mistake to make when you're some freshly-dumped emo kid.

The bacon was intimidating. I got four massive slices, and it took up the majority of plate. It was a lot of bacon. I'm not kosher or anything, but even I have my limits. The bacon was not too crunchy, not too soft, blah blah blah... it's bacon. It was good.

If your mouth isn't watering looking at this picture, see a doctor. You
might be dead.

The hashbrowns though, really stole the show. This part of the meal nearly had me pulling a Meg Ryan right there in the cafe.  They were unreal. I don't know what spices they put in those potatoes, or if they have a special sauce they fry them in, or if it's just the flavour of a disgustingly dirty grill with 20 years worth of grease on it, but good lord... they were good. I put some Sriracha sauce on half of them. The sauce is a well known classic, but these hashbrowns didn't need it. I'm going to go back, and just order a giant plate of these hash-browns. And then, unlike Meg Ryan in that stupid movie, I'm actually gonna have an orgasm, and I'll be barred for life... and it'll all be worth it.

I also got fruit.

Overall, this breakfast really kicked me in the balls and had me squirming around like some freshly-dumped emo kid, i.e., I enjoyed it. I would go here again. I would recommend this to anyone that's thinking of renting Harry Met Sally. Don't rent it.

Eat a delicious meal at the Osborne Village Cafe, instead.

Try A&W. No, This Isn't a Trick.

When one says the word breakfast, one thinks of two things: food, and A&W. It's true. You might not be even aware that that's what you think, but you do. No, you do. Don't argue with me. Fine then, go start your own blog, and tell the world what you think when you hear the word breakfast... I'm waiting... alright then. May I continue? Thank you.

Anyway, A&W. Canada's favorite and most endeared grease-pit fast food joint actually serves up a pretty decent breakfast. No, I'm not talking about slimy hockey puck sausages slapped between two sides of a stale English muffin (stay tuned for glowing reviews of that in the future). A&W has actually put some thought into their approach to breakfast. While they still serve breakfast sandwiches like their giant fast food brothers, they've made the tactical business decision to keep something that hungover people and senior citizens simply can not resist: a traditional bacon and eggs with toast breakfast.  

I was hesitant, I won't lie.  Fast food place?  Bacon and eggs? So much can go wrong. Actually, no, not really. Bacon and eggs is literally the hardest thing to screw up. You'd have to be really drunk and/or stupid to make bacon and eggs taste bad, and a credit to A&W, they were neither that drunk nor stupid. 

Not bad for a place that makes half their revenue off of Onion Rings.

The breakfast tasted good. The eggs were good. Bacon was good too. Even the toast was good. It was good.  

And so concludes my first breakfast review. I hope you enjoyed, and stay tun- what? Oh... you want detail. Fine.

I ordered my eggs over-easy.  They were over-easy/medium, but I let it slide since there was still enough runny yolk to soak my toast in (get your mind out the gutter, perv). The bacon wasn't crunchy, but it wasn't too soft either. The best part about the bacon was that it tasted exactly like bacon, which is all I really expect of my bacon. The toast was thick sliced brown toast and was buttered to perfection.

This meal, with an orange juice ran me about $7.50, which is a little pricey for what I got. Still though, there are no greasy truck-stop diners around here, so I knew I'd have to pay a little more to get a greasy truck-stop diner breakfast.

A&W makes their own paper plates! Beat that, actual restaurants!

One thing I thought that A&W nailed when it came to this breakfast was the name of it. They call it the 'Bacon and Eggs' breakfast. Brilliant. The bacon wasn't named after a family member, the eggs weren't trying to be my buddies, and the toast wasn't made fun of for being chubby. Just, 'Bacon and Eggs'. Award the employee that talked the company out of naming the meal 'Two Twins, Your Nephews, With a Side of Your Cousin' a promotion.

Would I recommend it? Not to anyone who's got a decent diet going. But if you're like me and way past that point, it's definitely worth a shot. You might disagree with me, but then again, you're probably a really self-centered, pretentious, picky eater who wouldn't touch anything on a paper plate unless you were at a wine mixer. But I digress. Yes, I would recommend it. 

On a scale of one to ten, this really was a solid meal. I wouldn't serve this breakfast at my wedding or anything, but really, I would probably serve this breakfast at my wedding. I think you'd find that you would too if you'd just give it a chance.

Enjoy!