Dear Henry House,We first met in the dead of winter. I was a newly-landed Haligonian adjusting to the breezy winter and you were a warm refuge from the storm(s) with multiple brews on tap.
A few friends tipped me off to your charming ways and when I entered your history-filled manor, the attraction was instant. When I sank my teeth into your steak and mushroom pie, I knew it was the beginning of something real–something lasting.
And indeed it has been. I've tried many others, but I always come back to you. In a city saturated with pubs, you stand out in the crowd. It doesn't matter what I order—meat, fish or fowl, the hearty gems that come out of your kitchen never disappoint.
Wait...there was one time you let me down...just a little. It was after Labour Day weekend. I'd been away, you'd been busy, and your kitchen had been depleted, rendering your menu a barren wasteland. There were no pies of any variety, but you encouraged me to branch out and try something new. You gave me sausages, and like many times before, I left wholly satisfied.
So Henry House, thank you, for being reliable and for being that place you always end up when you just want something you know will be good.
You're a diamond in the ruff and I'm glad we met.
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