Hey Albert here and half the things you heard about 50 Ways to Eat Your Breakfast aren’t even true. Especially about that college group.
We are still open for breakfast six days a week, brunch until 1:45 on Saturdays and Sundays so come on down.
P.S. The police tape was removed by the police the day of, despite what some food bloggers would make you believe,
O Nobly Born
Whose Followers Stretch To The Heavens
Whose Tweets Are Retweeted Until The Stars Above Shake Hands With Them
Peace Be With You
O Nobly Born
Ruler of the Twitosphere
Peace Be With You
O Nobly Born
Let Your Manifest Compassion Be Shown To The Universe
By Throwing Me a Retweet Once In a While
You Stuck-Up Snob
Who The Fuck Do You Think You Are
O Nobly Born
All Blessings To You
All right. Albert here.
Summerlicious application turned down. Foodie bloggers all being funny. Did’t get to see Bourdain.
50 Ways To Eat Your Breakfast will happen on the Sunday of the August long weekend.
Prepare to be rocked.
50 Ways To Eat Your Breakfast, AUGUST 5, 2012
THERE WILL BE LOTS OF FRESH-BREWED COFFEE — ALBERT’S MOM
Albert here. I must have gone to every bar and restaurant in town to try and find Bourdain. I didn’t.
Life has to go on, and so does breakfast. I am still the chef. I just wish I could have met one of my heroes.
Hop the Pop is closed tomorrow because Anthony Bourdain is in town.
“Albert, did you hear about that chicken and donut place in the east end?” was the first thing out of mom’s mouth this morning.
Followed shortly after by Marta and Greta. “Gary took me out to that new chicken and donut place this Sunday!” “No way!” “Yes!” “How was it?” “It was so good!” “Really? We should do it here!” and then the kitchen door shut behind them.
Connie just walked in and said “Mornin’” with her hat still on and her eyes lowered, which could be a warning sign, but at least she didn’t say anything about this chicken and donut place in the east end.
And then, just before the end of breakfast around 1:30, Tommy e-mails me a link to the place! “yo bro did u see this looks pretty sick we shoudl check it ourt sometime meabe <borrow> some ideas if u know what i mean LOL”
Chicken. And donuts. Really? THIS is what people in this city want when they are having lunch or dinner? How creative is that?
Ok, I looked at the link and they are doing some vaguely creative things, like sumac oregano salt and rose donuts. But not that hard! Anyone can do that! One, you get some sumac, some oregano, and some salt, and you mix them up in the correct ratios, and two, you get some rose water and sugar and other things and mix them up in the correct ratios, and bam! Simple.
And chicken? You get some chicken. You get some oil that is hot enough. Put chicken in oil. Bam! Fried chicken.
Steal? Tommy boy, I am Albert, and I am a trained chef with enough creativity to run three kitchens, as my menu here proves. Sure, we’ll go, just to prove to myself that I am right. Anyone can do what they are doing. Anyone.
I mean, really. They’re even doing the diner concept. http://www.paulettesoriginal.com/ OK, I gotta stop before my temper gets really out of hand here. Later.
Hi all FoodMeister2000 here posting to CHOWDAWG TORONTO GROUP as part of my public service for all my fellow chow dawgs and foodies out there.
Those of you who know me are saying to yourselves, “FoodMeister2000, why are you reviewing a dumpy little breakfast place in Little Portugal?”
Well, first off, the place is actually in Little Italy, naysayers to the contrary. Second of all…well, just read the rest of the review, FoodMeister Fans.
Ms. Meister and I were craving some brunch last Sunday, and we just happened to be in the area and saw the colorful sign for Hop the Pop. We looked at each other and said “Why not?”
Inside, the place was simply set with tables with checked plastic tablecloths and dark wooden captain chairs with armrests. However, the smell going out to the street was appealing, and the older woman who greeted us was very friendly.
Coffee appeared almost immediately, and the older woman made sure our mugs never went dry. Unfortunately, that was the best of our experience that afternoon.
After the older woman vanished, we were served by a shorter woman who squeaked. Like Betty Boop. Was she attentive? Yes, actually, but why do restaurants in a highly competitive environment like this city continue to hire staff like this? Ms. Meister also commented as I was watching Squeaky walk away, “She’s got quite the voice, eh?”
Breakfast included something called, and I am not kidding here, “The Treehugger” which was listed as being fruit and nuts served over gravel in an edible spruce bowl. Well, Ms. Meister and I had to see this, so we ordered it along with our more normal breakfast choices.
The Treehugger came out, as advertised, carried by a man in chef’s whites and one of those tall chef hats. “Hi, I’m Albert,” he said to my wife, putting it down on the table, “are you a professional chef?”
Well, Albert was looking at her, and I mean LOOKING, so I cleared my throat. He then turned and smiled at me. “Oh, of course, you’re the professional chef.”
FoodMeister Fans, you know I can make a mean sous-vide pork belly at home, but I’m really just a dedicated hobbyist. So I said back to Albert, “No, neither of us is a professional chef.”
“Really?” he said. “That’s surprising, every time this gets ordered, it’s always by a professional chef. Susur, Guy, Ken…you know. They love the playfulness and creativity it demonstrates. Anyhow,” and he looks back at my wife again, “that ‘edible’ spruce bowl? Only if you’re a termite! Remember, playful!” And he winks at her, then remembers I’m sitting there, and waves at both of us, then walks off.
Well! I was so mad, I could only finish half my plate. Which was good for what it was. Ms. Meister sensed I was getting PO’ed and suggested we leave. To show no hard feelings to Squeaky, I tipped the full 15%, although I felt like leaving a penny.
On the way out, the host looked at me, said “Come back soon,” and WINKED at me, I swear.
I don’t know what they are putting in the food there, but maybe if you are tired of Viagra, you should eat at Hop the Pop. Otherwise, avoid the place like the plague.
And we kept the spruce bowl as compensation for being treated the way we were.
Oh my God, it is dark out and I finally am getting out of here.
Albert tends to forget his family when he starts getting deep into his work. I think that’s why he got divorced, mom still blames his ex-wife for all of it, but the point is, Albert gets all caught up in himself, so he forgets how Greta and Marta get when they get pushed too far.
See, normally they fear and respect their older sister, but you push them too far and suddenly The Mice appear.
They’re like mice all the time, but quiet little mice who just go here and there and do what you tell them. But then, The Mice come out and all of a sudden you have two short little squeaking things telling you where to go and what to do. Nicely, I’m not saying they turn into truck drivers or something, but they band up together and even mom usually can’t get them to stop it.
And mom took their side this time! I don’t believe it. “Do you want your sisters to become snaggle-toothed spinster hags?” she said to Albert just after that front door was locked, and then it went downhill from there.
Long story short, no one is talking to each other, except for The Mice. This is always how they get their way, and I’m sick of it. I thought mom or I could be an alley cat, but no, she tells me to be the good girl and be nice to my sisters, and honestly? Mom doesn’t have that edge she did when we were all fifteen years younger.
The Mice. It will blow over, somehow, soon. If Albert backs down with his big cement head, that is.
I didn’t do any mutiny! All I asked was could I leave early Sunday so Gary could take me to the movies, he wants to go see that superhero one. All of a sudden Alby is yelling at me and Mom is going nuts, and in front we’re all nice to the customers. Am I not supposed to have a social life just because of Alby being a big time chef?
Hey Marta here, that was Greta, and we both agree. Alby is not being reasonable here, sure he gets dates every night because he picks up the ladies in the morning, but does that mean we have to die hideous spinsters?????
Alby always was the spoiled one.
Always.
And Connie. What a bit– well if mom reads this, I’d better not type it, but you probably can guess what she is.
She is so much that.
We’d better get back to work before we get caught. Bye.
Bye.
Hi all, Albert here after a busy Canada Day weekend. I want to thank all of you for coming in and keeping us so busy during breakfast and brunch. Some of you were even asking about “50 Ways to Eat Your Breakfast”, because all our promotional materials just say “Coming Soon!!” So I wanted to write this to talk about that.
I wanted to talk about the job of chef. Which comes from the same place in the English language that the word “chief” comes from. Which as we all know means boss. But so much more.
See the restaurant is like a ship. We have our passengers (you). We have our crew(all my family who are working really hard at washing dishes, floors, serving customers, making ads and social media promotions and such, and then the first mate (mom) who keeps the crew in order while the captain (ME) steers the ship and plots its course through the treacherous waters of the Toronto restaurant world.
The captain knows how to steer by the stars, knows where the best places to dock for good passengers, knows who is friends and who isn’t in the saloon full of other cutthroat captains. Because the waters here are small, friends, and full of hazards and pirates and sharks.
Heh. Just some background to what I’m going to say. 50 Ways to Eat Your Breakfast is coming soon. But I have to fight off a mutiny,