Pizza, Wine and a Man Named Tony

Friday night following the play (see the previous entry), I walked up Ossington Ave. in the rain, in search of dinner.

My friend suggested Pizzeria Libretto, where she’d gone for a meal earlier that evening.

Entering the front door, I was immediately hit with bright lights and noisy chatter. The place was close to packed.

It took me several minutes to get the attention of one of the wait-staff  to ask about seating. Luckily for me, there was one left – right up at the bar.

So there I was, sandwiched between this borderline-hipster couple to my left and this older man at the end of the bar, to my right.

Somewhere between placing my order and getting my Margherita pizza and fruity spring wine, the older guy strikes up a conversation.

By the end of my meal, I found out more about this newly-minted regular, named Tony …

How he came to become one of the pizzeria’s patrons in the first place. (His friend was being a jerk, so he sent him on his way.) 

What he does for a living. (Works at a hair salon in Yorkville.)

Where he’s originally from (Sicily), and where he used to live in Toronto (near me! near ME!) before living downtown.

And even though I was stuffed, he insisted I try the panna cotta for dessert which – having never eaten it before – I didn’t expect to be so light, or tasty. He even paid, which I didn’t want him to do, but he insisted upon anyway.

I left the restaurant with a full belly and a smile on my face.

Unless I take him up on his offer to one day drop in at his hair salon for some cappuccino and a chat, I probably will never see Tony again.

But for that small period of time, it was nice to meet another good, kind stranger in this busy, sometimes frustrating city … just out for dinner, with no weird turns in conversation signs of craziness.

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