July 12, 2015

Picnic Too, Downtown Victoria

My first comment to Andrea on Picnic Too was:

"better than Tim Hortons"

This was not acceptable, she said via her Twitter account:

"Saying picnic is better than Timmy's is like saying it's better than dogs*** #obvious #nocomparison"

I followed up on Twitter with:

"For the record, it was MUCH better than Timmies.  Flavour, fresh veggies, proper smooth Americano "

This passed the Andrea test. Or at least she didn't come around my apartment, knock on my door and leave a paper bag of turds on fire on the carpet outside my door.  And that is acceptance if you ask me.

I went back with my brunch crew this morning to go a for second round.   I got there early and hooked up to the WiFi, on the wooden table in the window. The inside space is small and comfortable, with a variety of low and high seating, and walls covered in a maze of wooden slats. The staff are all super pleasant.

I ordered my 'better than Timmies' breakfast of an Americano and Breakfast sandwich again.  Guess what?  It's just as good as last time.  For $8, this a bargain. The Sour Pickle may give you more for your dollar, but nothing I know is this level of quality for under $10. Tasty crisp sandwich with all the right textures and colours melting together.  The pro-tip if that you can double it for a lunch meal.

But even after that, I had buyer's envy.  The plates of full breakfast that came out smelled like home. A home where hot buttered toast and rosemary and eggs and bacon are on the breakfast table. A home where you have awoken from a deep sleep on crisp cotton sheets, and the thickest, most comfortable pillows imaginable.  Breakfast is ready, and you are just refreshed enough to function within twenty seconds of opening your eyes.  You walk to the sunny kitchen table, where everything is ready for you.

It smelled like that.  It looked like it smelled.  I assume it tasted that way as well.  The breakfast burrito was a tightly rolled mass of eggs and meat.  The red potatoes on the side of the platters had been squashed gently, spilling out their white insides into the buttery covering.  The bacon was crisp.  The yolks golden.  The congee was full of greens and 

The Empire doughnuts they sell are stuffed to the gunnels with fillings. They are not a sorry sad affair, with a squirt of fake jam into a defrosted sugary lump that has been made two thousand miles east. 

I need to go for a run again down Fort Street soon, and then go and eat at Picnic Too again.  The next time I will go beyond the sandwich.

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