PuBlog - Heartattack and Frank(s)

Fieldwork at the Elgin Street Diner, by Aggie, Woodsy, 4th Dwarf, and Coyote.

Pluses (Concepts to Steal)

• Big booths with comfy seating!
• A congenial view of Elgin Street, centre of the known universe;
• Beer on tap;
• ALL! KINDS! OF! POUTINE! They even have a dedicated section in the menu.

Minuses (Things to Avoid)

• Not so much space under the booth for illicit doggie types who were smuggled into the diner in backpacks and didn't want big trouble with health inspectors. They got kicked. I don't think anybody did it on purpose. Well, maybe that Dwarf. But he's such a shortass, he couldn't really reach me.
• The view of Elgin Street was kind of lost on those of us hiding under the table. Although the others were kind enough to describe what I was missing, and suggest that it was too bad I couldn't stick my head out to look, because the cat parade was really something;
• The beer on tap was domestic. Not microbrew. Selection, according to the Dwarf, was in the tradition of Canadian major brewers: thin, and kinda undistinguished;
• Poutine may just be the single most lethal food known to humanity Or caninity.

Background:
Longtime ESI readers probably suspect (correctly) that by now we've left enough loose ends strewn in our narrative wake to stock a world-class hair extension factory. PuBlog research is one such thread. It's about touring city eateries, baldfacedly swiping their best ideas, pewpewing their worst, and using the intel thus gained to start our own pub best damn pub in the world.

We recorded our last true PuBlog post even before the Dwarf started cooking up his Revolutionary New Dating Paradigm. You'll notice, if ennui hasn't knocked you out yet, that he's been on it for nearly two years and 30 posts. It still ain't baked. Sadly, neither is the ESI pub. But we persevere. And I dogress.

Summary:
We who orbit Woodsy and Aggie know all too well that, despite deceptively delicate demeanours, either is at any moment fully capable of inducing heart attacks in the unsuspecting, for all sorts of risque reasons. But I have never before witnessed 'em scarfing heart attacks on plates...

Dog-tired and starved after a full, lunchless day of full-bore Hallowe'en costuming, Woodsy dove straight for the four-cheese poutine. Amid heated speculation about which four cheeses, exactly, were involved, Woodsy double-dog-dared Agatha to order the same thing. Aggie, her blood glucose levels not so deficient that she couldn't rouse a mild fit of oppositional defiance, ordered chili poutine instead. The Short Guy, pursuing the best of all possible worlds, had a brace of chili-cheese dogs with fries. Nobody heard me ask for catburger from under the table, but all three slipped me fries off their plates to make up for it. Well, okay, the Dwarf tried to pelt me with his. But I am talented. I caught 'em and ate 'em. Thank you, Short Guy!

Conclusion:
Puh-lease. Exhaustion? Mega calories? Empty stomachs? Instant snooze-out. Everybody sloped off for post-prandial naps. At 6:30 on a Saturday night. Jeez, we're dull! Aggie said something about feeling really full and a little ill. But she still gave me a ride home. And let me stick my head out the car window and hang my tongue in the wind on the way. She indulges me. And maybe over-indulged herself...