Bert’s

When you go to a place with a moniker like “Bert’s”, you can pretty much guarantee that you’re not going to find haute cuisine there. In fact, you can probably expect to find something more of the “greasy spoon” variety. While Bert’s does lean more to the latter, they make no pretensions about it and the menus proudly state that they have been “A Main Street Institution Since 1948”. We’re not talking about the new uber-trendy Main Street full of over-priced hipster comestibles, we’re talking about the blue collar Main Street where people still smile and say hello and meat and potatoes reign supreme.

I happen to be a huge fan of the greasy spoon and I’m always on the lookout for that which is cheap, tasty and within a reasonable distance from my hovel. I just love going and rubbing elbows with the rabble and trying to ingratiate myself into their strangely simple lives while I eat what they eat and drink what they drink. One of the main problems with this love of the herd is that I often find myself sick to the stomach from cheap food and plague-ridden utensils that, for some reason unbeknownst to me, doesn’t seem to affect their goat-like guts. That’s why Bert’s is now one of my default breakfast joints: they’re doing the same things that thousands of greasy-spoons across Canada are doing, but they’re doing it better (sans dyspepsia).

When you walk into Bert’s, you find yourself in a family style restaurant not unlike something that you’d find in pretty much every small town in North America. There’re a few booths occupied by local Mafioso wannabe’s, a counter for those lonely, single alcoholics, and a large section of tables accommodating parties of all shapes and sizes. Dirty Johnny and The Pancake Princess were in agreement that the décor was reminiscently “Best Western” in a gimmick-less, kitsch-free, yet down-home sort of way. It’s the kind of place you’re comfortable in regardless of how disgustingly hung-over you might be or what side of Main Street you’re from. 

You have to wait to be seated but there’s rarely a line up so it’s usually just a matter of waiting for a waitress to wait on you. We sat down and immediately our drink orders were taken and promptly served. Although we didn’t order waters, our Bert’s-t-shirt-wearing waitress brought some out anyway. I’ve got to make a note about how friendly our waitress was. Note: waitress=friendly. We all went for the coffee which was described as “somewhere between hot and tepid, smooth (but that might just be the cream), and not gourmet”. PP qualified this last statement saying “I wouldn’t want really good coffee at a breakfast restaurant, it shouldn’t stand out”. While I’m not wholly in agreement there, the coffee was palatable. Free flowing sugar and creamers were already on the table but milk and those carcinogenic sweeteners require special ordering. While the restaurant was full and bustling, there was no overpowering din that you had to talk over.

There are no surprises on the menu which consists of a range of breakfast favourites. There’s your classic bacon and eggs, pancakes, Bennys, omelets, French toasts and apparently they just added a few breakfast sandwiches into the mix. I highly recommend dining with PP because, apparently, “the power of Christ compels [her] to read everything on the menu”, and this saves you the bother of reading if you’re too hung-over. PP was giddy when she noticed that you can get French toast by the piece so that you’re not “tied to it”. They do boast a number of very reasonably priced sides for carnivore and herbivore alike. 

I went for the $5.75 Bert’s Classic that consists of two eggs, bacon, ham or sausage and pancakes. The classic doesn’t offer toast or hash browns so I ordered a $3.25 side of pan fries in lieu of the obvious hash brown choice. PP chose simplicity and went with two pancakes for $4.75 while DJ went out on a limb and got the $8.25 feta and tomato Zorba Benny with a pancake on the side. Notice people that we all ordered pancakes. This was no fluke. A trip to Bert’s is not complete without sampling their sumptuous pancakes.

Our food came out extremely quickly and it was probably due to the fact that I’m the most beautiful bearded midget that you’ll ever set eyes on and I must have charmed the busty waitress with my arbitrary yet witty repartee. There is something strange about the waitresses at Bert’s. They are all curvy and busty. Not that there’s anything wrong with that but I thought I should let you all know. Actually, we went to Bert’s last Halloween and our waitress (not the same one as today) was decked out in a cowgirl outfit that was impossibly holding in her explosive cleavage and you should have seen the way that… ahem, as I was saying, our food came out quickly.

When Dirty Johnny looked down at his Zorba Benny he blurted out “That’s a lot of feta on that. Holy Crap!” Yes ladies, he does actually talk like that. I usually avoid the Bennys at most places because it’s usually the best way to get food poisoning; DJ had thrown caution to the wind and I was curious to find out what the hollandaise was like. He must have loved it because he had it all over his face and between mouthfuls I managed to discern that it was not too runny, didn’t separate, and that there was a whole lot of it. The tomatoes thereon were very ripe and the lettuce garnish appeared good enough to eat! No recycled leaves or wilted foliage. Unsurprisingly, DJ rolled it up and ate it.

When PP’s pancakes came out her eyes lit up and a huge grin spread across her face. This is kind of crazy considering she orders pancakes every time we go out for breakfast and only at Bert’s does the actualization of her order have this effect. A large dollop of butter is all the garnish you get at Bert’s but it seems to explode in artery clogging insanity as it waits patiently to be spread across the near-perfect pancake canvass. “I don’t know what they put in them but it must be duck fat!” she squeaked between mouthfuls of orgasmic bliss. The pancakes are neither under- nor over-cooked and should satisfy even the most discerning pancake aficionado.

I really want to rant about something at Bert’s but I’m having trouble finding anything. My pancakes were glorious; my eggs adequately over-medium; bacon somewhere between crispy and limp but fully cooked and glistening with fat; pan fries fried in a pan and not hiding their origins. At the end of the meal I had the “full-yawns” and satisfaction infused my potbelly. The waitress was even right there with a pot of coffee whenever I started getting low. Hell, Spiro, the cook, even came around to ask about our meals. I guess if I had to complain about something it would be the mediocre bathrooms decorated in a public pool sort of tile job with an empty hand towel dispenser awaiting a refill. That and they only serve the most pedestrian of hot-sauces, Tabasco.

If you’ve made it this far in the review you’re probably going to guess that Dirty Johnny, The Pancake Princess and myself are Bert’s converts. I honestly have nothing scathing to say! They even let Dirty Johnny in there with a slurpee from the 7-11 across the street without batting an eye. What the hell is wrong with these people? If you’re on Main Street and in the mood for some good, cheap, greasy-spoon-esque fare that isn’t going to leave you huddled over in the fetal position and is mostly free of the requisite hipster-wannabes, give Bert’s a try.

Location

Crew

The Sick & Dirty

Post Comment