In less than an hour I’m going for dinner with The Electrician, his sister and his mom. His sister is visiting from England, where she lives with her hubby and adorable one-year-old son. The Electrician was so excited to be an uncle, and when the little dude made his grand entrance, my sweetie made an almost immediate trip out to buy teeny Carhartt overalls and child-size tools: he definitely digs this nephew business.
Anyway, I haven’t seen Sparky’s sister since Easter, so I’m pretty pumped to chat over supper tonight. She and I are the same age, and I’ve wanted a sister all my life so I’m grateful we get along.
The best part about this meal, in my after school famine, is what I’m planning to order. We’re going to a snazzy little dinner a few minutes from the dollhouse, and I already know what I’m going to order: the meatloaf sandwich. Picture this. Wait. Don’t picture it. Imagine biting into it.
The bread is warm, very lightly toasted marble rye, and it’s so fresh that you have to pick it up gently so it doesn’t tear and make a mess of your shirt or pants or shoes (or all three). The swirls in the bread remind me of a van Gogh painting. Nestled inside the slices of bread is a slab of hot beefy meatloaf, beautifully seasoned with thyme, garlic, and other spices that make it wonderfully flavourful. On one side of the meatloaf is a schmear of zippy garlic mayo. On the other side, a generous layer of fresh cranberry chutney, adjacent to robust slices of chilled tomato and a fresh lettuce leaf. The whole shebang is snuggled up to a heap of hand-cut fresh fries tossed in homemade lemon pepper. They are tangy and incredible and exactly what every potato aspires to be.
eaten enjoyed rejoiced in the meatloaf sandwich three times since The Electrician and I discovered this fabulous little diner. If you live around here, drop me a line and we’ll make plans to go together. If you don’t live around here, read the previous paragraph and feel very, very jealous of the folks who do.
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