Following several delightful games of backgammon and an illuminating discussion of post-modern Japanese metaphysics a number of the chums, myself included needless to say (ha,ha,ha!), sought out a fermented nightcap and flavorsome sustenance to bring a fitting end to our day of reconnoitering this fine city. As Fortuna would have it we stumbled across a Queen Street West gem known as Michael’s Deli. Oh what a time!

We were promptly seated beside a window so that we could gaze at the colourful denizens of the “Fashion District” of Toronto as they passed us by. And gaze we did. It was as though we were on a moderately paced trollycar maundering around the city though never leaving the comfortable atmosphere of Michael’s motherly sanctuary.

When we finally did return from our ethereal voyage across the city we were pleased to find that the internal surroundings of the establishment were a cheerful mixture of a nineteenth-century San Francisco opium den and Heaven as described in the book of Revelation (7:16 to be precise). The artistic milieu of the Queen Street West neighbourhood permeates itself through Michael’s decor; through osmosis perhaps? The restrooms in particular display the poetic yearnings of the tavern’s clientele triggering memories of Wordsworth and Keats. Intellectual challenges abound in this fascinating establishment as the fellows attempted to decipher the precise meanings behind these compositions. Who were they written for?

The service is rapid and consistently comes with an extra helping of contagious smiles from the servers, no request necessary. My beef patty for instance took no longer than 90 seconds from freezer to charming blue-on-white plate. If patience is a virtue dining at Michael’s will undoubtedly bring you closer to eudaimonia! And if the speed of the service were not enough the patty itself was the perfect blending of warm seasoned middle within its golden crusty exterior. I might pithy a guess that Mutabaruka would smile knowingly at Michael’s masterful translation of a Jamaican delicacy.

But let us not forget why we came in the first place afterall: the bountiful jugs of cold ale. Ah the brew! Clearly it was crafted from the finest malted barley, hops and yeast this great land has to offer. And my was it fresh! We playfully joshed the proprietor as to where he hid his lauter tun within such an intimate atmosphere.

After a gaggle of laughs, melodies, and not a few too many lagers my party called it a night retiring to our temporary residences, doubtless we would all dream about the impeccable time we had at Michael’s Deli.