Sometimes you just want a burger. A plain and tasty, old fashioned kind of burger – nothing fancy, no exotic condiments – that begins with a well-seasoned patty of ground beef, grilled over a gas flame to pale pink. It gets tucked into a white bun and plumped with grilled onion, a slice of October tomato, some lettuce, a length or two of thick, crisp bacon, and mustard that oozes out and makes a mess. The burgers at the quirky little Wellington Sandwiches shop remind me of my mum’s, circa 1974. There’s something retro tasting about them.
You may be waiting a while for it, especially when the lone, no-nonsense woman is busy making sandwiches for the noon hour queue. But there are newspapers and magazines and the sun during my wait was pouring in the front window — and I had a cup of carrot soup for company. (A pretty lousy carrot soup, as it turns out, but there you go.) The burger was considerably better, and worth the wait.
“Call ahead next time,” she tells me. And I may just do that.
What I didn’t do was have a butter tart for dessert. Line was too long. But I’ve been told by palates I trust, that they’re really something. Next time…
Wellington Sandwiches, 1129 Wellington Street West.