As I gazed at the darkening sky, I reassured myself tomorrow, the reserves would be restored, and I’d be ready to press forward once more. After an exhausting day at the University of Western Ontario’s dental clinic and an intense gym session, my roommate Dave Jasey, close friend Dan Ceccacci, and I sought refuge in the familiar warmth of Prince Albert’s Diner. Its vibrant, cheery colours promised an escape, a haven where no cognitive effort was required just good food, good company, and the comfort of routine.
At Prince Albert’s, we never strayed from our usual order, a fact made evident by the clarity with which I recall it even now, years later. The diner’s vegetarian burrito wasn’t just a meal it was an event. As we reclined, savouring the anticipation, conversation drifted to lighter, more pleasant topics, a welcome diversion from our gruelling day. Then, the moment arrived. A large brown wicker basket lined with newspaper landed before each of us, brimming with an endless sea of golden, crispy skin-on fries, their heat radiating, their aroma stirring our appetites into overdrive. Nestled atop was the legendary burrito, stretching out like a culinary monument. Its contents?
