It's Friday night and you're feelin' a bit peckish. Y'wanna order something but you don't know what. Thai? Pizza? Chinese? Nah, all of those have been done to death.

How 'bout a little schadenfreude?

Is a morbid appetite piqued somewhere deep in that reptilian part of your brain at the chance to dine at the same table (in a metaphysical sense, natch) with Ted Bundy or Aileen Wuornos? Well for a paltry $20--the state allotted maximum for an inmate's last meal you can nosh death row and eat a replica of the final meal consumed by a death row prisoner courtesy Last Meals Delivery Service.

Eating pizza is a lot like having sex: great anytime of the day including first thing in the morning, even if it's bad it's still pretty good, and if it's great you want more immediately.

Anyone who's lived in this city for long enough has probably had more pizza partners than is usually healthy and has probably fallen for the odd one. I know I've had my share. Whether it was the local fave in undergrad or the trendy fling that comes with more discerning tastes, I've eaten my share of pie but never really found one I could commit to, never one that captured my heart--until now.

Read the full profile of Pizzeria Libretto in our Restaurants Section.

I'm an unabashed carnivore. As much as I like the idea of vegetarianism, it's just too darn impractical for someone who loves red meat as much as I do.

Luckily for those rare occasions I'm not in the mood for a big bowl of pho or the small plates that litter trendier cards across the city there are places like Steak around to sate my prehistoric hunger for huge, primal, juicy slabs of meat.

Read my full review of Steak Restaurant in our restaurants section.

Being an inveterate drunk you'd think writing this post would be easy. I spend a lot of time in pubs 'Keeping a shine on the bar with the sleeves of my coat' but I realized during the writing process that putting in your time at pubs can be counter productive since, by the time you're done, you're not really in any condition to be critical of such places. You always leave with a slight wobble and a warm fuzzy feeling as you walk out the door .

It's once you walk out the door, alone into midnight and our cold common darkness, pulling your collar up in the way you'd imagine Tom Waits does (ah, you're such a romantic) that it hits you.

Ah Tapas. Is there any single more over-heated trend on Toronto's dining landscape than the small plate? It attracts more buzz than molecular gastronomy and I think I understand the rationale behind it: most restos make their biggest profits on the booze and small plates can highlight a kitchen's creativity, allow people to keep eating while they drink, and share a whole bunch of flavour without tying themselves to one dish. Makes sense. Much like their penchant for fascist dictators, the Spanish were way ahead of the curve on this one.

Though it's easy to be cynical when even the humble tubesteak is falling victim to this rampant tapas-try there's still much to love about the ability to indulge culinary ADHD and enjoy a little bit of everything your tastebuds crave.

There's something undeniably romantic about a crepe. Though I can't quite put my finger on it, it may have something to do with its inherent Frenchness, or the fact that I've gone on so many dates that involved a crepe and a long walk/talk that the humble paper-thin Gallic pancake will forever be associated with that giddy excitement of nascent affection.

Whether or not that's the case for everyone you can probably agree that even a substandard, rubbery crepe can almost be forgiven if it's slathered with creamy chocolate-hazelnut spread and stuffed with bananas and strawberries or busting at the seams with black forest ham and gruyere cheese.

Crepes are an awesome portable food that reminds the eater that it's always rewarding to think outside the sandwich. And now with new street vending regulations in effect, it'd be nice to see a crepe stand pop up on a corner somewhere seducing folks with the scent of butter and the hiss of the crepe pan.