Tango and the Butcher

Eating dinner at the Tango Coffee Bistro in Stratford. I’m in town because of a long-delayed dentist appointment. He gave me a good going-over tonight, after 3 scheduling changes. R keeps jazzing me about going to the dentist alone, because up until today, I’ve gone to the dentist with K (my Ex). Hey, we both have the same dentist, and he’s way the hell out in Stratford. Figured we’d save on gas by continuing to go at the same time, even though we’re no longer a couple. It’s no big deal. Anyway, R jokes that it’s because I’m afraid of my dentist, and can’t go alone. Heh. What nonsense… I mean, I may have referred to him as “the Butcher” in the past, but it’s not that bad.
The Tango Bistro looks like it’s trying too hard to be kitschy. There’s wacky designs all over the place, and instructional dancing footprints going up the wall and onto the ceiling. By contrast, most Starbucks coffee houses seem like mortuaries. Also, they don’t know how to make a panini sandwich here. I don’t know who told them to put raw carrot slices (thick ones too) into a panini sandwich, but I think I hurt my teeth — just after coming from “the Butcher”. The panini came with a bowl of creamy potato soup. It’s salty and delicious, but there’s no texture to it … it’s a little too creamy. I was expecting big (or even little) chunks of potato in it. It came with a nice couple of bread pieces. They’re too small to call “slices”, and are little more than crusts, really, but they’re also tasty. I’m drinking a Creemore Springs. It seems to go with the meal. Some kind of upbeat “new country” tune is playing. I was thinking it was more like what you’d call bluegrass, but it’s bordering on the kind of jazzy fluff you’d hear introducing a cooking show on the Food Network. It’s really bugging me.
I was hoping to get in to Balzac’s for a coffee, and may yet. There’s nothing there for eating, save sweet desserts. I might get something to go with a nice strong Balzac’s espresso cup — best coffee ever. Really.

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