The last time I was in Toronto, I ate at a truly fancy steak house. We’re talking wood-paneled walls, two waiters to every table, and slabs of steak the size of your head—well, maybe my head. The ambiance, filled with the aromatic scent of Old World money, Powerful Canadian Money, gathered by men of questionable character and strong wills, land barons, industry tycoons and semi-civilized tyrants, was overwhelming. In reality, our table was probably just adjacent to some Toronto real estate agents, but the flavor of the place inspired me to once again draw a hat on an animal.
