Saturday Mornings at Peter's

My Saturday mornings used to start at an old diner called Peter’s Restaurant at Annette and Jane streets in Toronto’s west end.

I’d scoop The Globe & Mail (known as the Moan & Wail by certain insiders) off my porch and walk the 800 metres to Peter’s. Oh, I could have driven and made Peter’s a stop-off on my way to the weekly grocery shopping. But I needed that walk as part of the weekend reset; walking meant that this outing was for me, and I was not in a rush.

Peter’s opened at 7 a.m. on Saturdays. Because I’m cursed with DNA that forbids me to be late, I’d be there on the dot – or, okay, earlier. For the longest time when anyone would invite me to dinner at, say, 7 p.m., I’d take the arrival time at face value. It made for some embarrassing moments being the first to show up, with the hosts not ready for guests. Same with Saturday mornings; I’d arrive at Peter’s at 6:55 a.m., five minutes before opening. Peter himself would open the door, looking surprised. Never mind, I’d figure, I’m paying and if he’s already there, why not. Before too long, by 6:55 a.m. every Saturday morning, he would have my place setting ready and waiting.

Peter is tall. Probably 6’2” or taller, he stooped over slightly, likely from working at grill and fryers designed for people of average height. He always wore a slightly dirty white apron tied around the waist. The arms of his glasses sat perched a bit above his ears, his short hair lay slicked back, and he spoke in a raspy voice.

Peter was one of the hundreds of Greek-Canadian entrepreneurs who owned restaurants in Toronto, with thousands more across North America. At one point virtually any coffee shop in Toronto was owned by a Greek-Canadian. As restaurant owner Tom Tsiplakos wrote in the Toronto Star in 2018: “[The Greeks] came to the restaurant industry because it was the easiest way to get into the labour force. They worked hard, starting out as dishwashers and cooks. When the restaurant owners were at the point of selling the place, they offered it to their hardest working employees before offering it to the public. That’s how (Greeks) became restaurant owners.”

Peter’s brother owned the Jane Bloor coffee shop just down the street from Peter’s. The pandemic took it down in 2021. Its sign, still up for now, features the Toronto Maple Leafs logo and colours. I remember a couple of autographed Leafs photos framed in the shop.

But back to Peter’s. Often, I’d arrive before Christine, the waitress, who grew up in the neighbourhood, right around the corner from where I live. Christine loved taking care of people -- and loved to know what was going on. Quick-witted, with a wicked sense of humour, she was always up for some snappy repartee at 7 a.m. Her movements were fast and she was constantly in motion: clearing dishes, wiping counters, pouring coffee, making change. Even when she was taking a break, with one hand on a hip, the other was usually in motion. After Peter’s closed, she found work at a shop around the corner that specialized in floral arrangements and British products. She told me they hired her because of her neat handwriting, needed for the little gift cards that went with the floral arrangements.

So why did I attach myself to Peter’s? I could have easily gone to the Dell, a similar breakfast place right across the street. Truth is, there was nothing special about Peter’s. It was worn, but clean. It could have used a paint job. The leatherette stools at the lunch counter were probably as old as I was. Linoleum tabletops and chairs looked long tattered. The obligatory autographed photo of some long-past Toronto Maple Leaf hockey player didn’t exactly spruce the place up.

So, the appeal certainly wasn’t about the décor. It was all about the breakfast. First off, it was affordable. Don’t get me wrong: I do like a higher end breakfast, like Huevos Divorciados at The Easy, on Queen Street West in Toronto’s Parkdale neighbourhood. Tortillas, eggs, avocado, salsa, beans, toasted baguette, salad and home fries. Freshly squeezed orange juice and top-notch coffee. But even in those days, some 20-odd years ago, that breakfast would set me back at least $25. Plus, The Easy was a popular spot, line-ups crowding the entranceway, so there was no lingering over the paper there. It didn’t help that getting there involved a 15-minute car ride and paying for parking.

At Peter’s the breakfast special -- before 11 a.m. -- cost $7 back then and always included a bottomless coffee cup. I usually went through three or four cups, which never left me jittery. Coffee-shop coffee is weaker, with less caffeine.

Breakfast is personal. If it isn’t cooked exactly the way I like it, you’re not going to get my repeat business. I like my toast cut on an angle, not square, perfect for dipping into a yolk. The eggs need to be sunny-side up and the whites cannot be runny! Not many places properly do sunny-side up. For a time, I used to go to Peter’s brother’s place but stopped because their sunny-side-ups’ egg whites ran clear. Might as well eat it raw.

The home fries at Peter’s were always crispy. For some reason chain restaurants can’t seem to get that right. Most times they are barely browned. Sometimes Peter would cheat and deep-fry them (then they’re no longer home fries, but chunky French fries), but usually he fully cooked them on the grill.

Other personal preferences come back to me, like no ketchup on the home fries. I would eat them plain. Ketchup before noon just didn’t seem right. No salt or pepper on the eggs either. I like to taste the eggs.

Peter’s was popular for lunch as well. A steady stream of high school students from Runnymede Collegiate up the road would show up for burgers and fries. A handful of local residents or retail employees might have their lunch there as well, many popping in for take-out.

When my daughter, Ariella, was little, sometimes I would swing by on a Saturday afternoon with her. We would sit at the counter so she could swivel on the stools and munch on freshly made french fries. She liked their crispiness. But mostly she loved the way the stools spun around, built-in entertainment for the under-six crowd. Christine and Peter were always happy to see Ariella and they would both chat with her. The first time Christine’s boyfriend met Ariella, he was so taken with her he rushed out to his car and got her a stuffed animal. He worked in a factory that handled plush toys and always seemed to have a gift in the trunk of his car.

But at breakfast, I came on my own. The first table, which seated four, on the right-hand side facing the door, was mine. I needed the big table to spread out The Globe and Mail and eat my breakfast at the same time. For a treat I’d start with the sports section, followed by the front section, then business and finally the arts. I’m not an in-depth newspaper reader. You won’t find me reading every word in every article. I like newspaper writing because the first paragraph, if done right, includes all the most pertinent facts. As an article progresses, the information becomes less important. That way, if an editor has to quickly shorten the article to fit the space, they lop off the bottom, and the reader still gets the most important facts. My favourite two pages in any publication are the political and business summary pages in the weekly Economist magazine. If you read those one-paragraph summaries, you get a great overview of what is going on in the world.

While reading, I would keep one ear cocked for local gossip. Christine, especially, always seemed to know what was going on at that corner of my neighbourhood.

After finishing the newspaper, I might chat with other early birds or with Peter and Christine. When the conversation wasn’t gossipy, it was about the news – but it always included how the Leafs were doing.

By the time 8 a.m. rolled around, I’d drain my cup, pay my bill, share a last word with Peter and Christine, and walk back home to tackle the grocery list, settling into the slower pace of a weekend and family time.