On the north side of the highway, beside the Shell gas station. Don’t confuse it with a place farther east. You’ll be sorry if you do.
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July 2007
It’s hot. It’s humid. It’s 600 miles to anywhere and Mr. Chinese, one of my favorites in this neighborhood. I do the 600 while standing on my head, and end up talking to Jennifer, my waitress. She’s a very striking Chinese girl who introduces herself to me by spilling the pepper all over my table. It’s a nice icebreaker.
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Thus I found myself in Walkerton, home to the worst E. coli contamination in Canada. Whereas it had been only a place name on a map, it’s now embedded in history forever. It’s a nice looking little place, where the pace is a little slower and nothing ever happens – until it does.
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We preferred the anonymity of the waiting room where we could come and go as we pleased, gorge ourselves on cafeteria food, and get mild cases of the runs four hours later.
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These are rather good, but don’t blame me if you require rehab after indulging.
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