Lee rocks out in a pair of equally short clips:
Part I is featured above.
Not only does she dance, she also writes … about a couple of days in Ottawa.
The weather forecast was for rain this past weekend, so on Saturday, when Jerry impulsively said that we should maybe drive to Ottawa and have a rainy weekend there as it would be more interesting, we decided to do just that.
We reserved what turned out to be a pretty nice suite online and off we went.
While on the road, I reminded Jerry that his lawyer-nephew was starting a new job working for a federal court judge at the base of Parliament Hill and we ended up getting together with him after our 2:30 arrival and easy check-in at the Ottawa hotel. When all was said and done, our hotel ended up being just about around the corner from Jerry’s nephew’s apartment.
The only negative of the entire week-end was the food. Unfortunately we did not know which restaurants were good and neither, as it turned out, did Jerry’s nephew, who himself had only just moved from his permanent apartment home in TBO (Toronto) to the Capital Region for a year’s stint working for the above-mentioned federal court justice.
We thought Dunn’s just around the corner from the hotel would be good for breakfast, I mean how could any one screw up breakfast, right? Wrong!
Right off, as the hostess was bringing us to our seats, I noticed garbage on the floor underneath the table. Not a good start. We asked to be seated elsewhere and were shown to a table beside the one with the garbage. Maybe we should have left then and there which we actually threatened to do if they did not seat us in a more appropriate place.
Finally, we were seated and was the food awful. The eggs were runny and tasteless, the bacon was a disgusting texture and the sausages were lousy. Even the orange juice, advertised as fresh Florida and selling for around $3.50 a glass, was watery and tasted far from fresh.
Breakfast is usually one of my favourite meals but not this time. As we were leaving, the owner made the mistake of asking us how we liked the food** and I answered that we hadn’t liked it. Nope. Not at all. I gave a short summary of what we had found wrong with this sordid excuse for a breakfast about which he didn’t much seem to care, muttering an answer like “oh, really … ”
**Jerry comment: I felt like throwing up on his shoes as my response to his question regarding how we found the food.
Supper Saturday night at a Scottish pub had been another non-culinary experience. Before eating there, I had remarked on the consistently decent quality of pub food but not this time. I ordered an Indian chicken dish supposedly a specialty of their Indian chef and also supposedly spicy but it was neither tasty nor spicy. I’d hate to have to sample a dish that was not this guy’s specialty.
The best food I had all week-end was from Pizza Pizza, also just around the corner from the hotel, and some really good Chinese food at a restaurant that Jerry used to get food from in the Sixties and to which he hadn’t been back since – the famous and famously expensive – dinner for three including tip was $104 – the Golden Palace on Carling Avenue.
We did enjoy everything else in and around Ottawa including the quaint, thriving Byward Market where we bought some sharp-looking rings for me and a beautiful pocket watch for my man.
Now we know where not to eat next trip.