Pressed

The food at Pressed has its own unique personality. When Myers and Briggs popped in for a wild boar sandwich, onlookers say it was after exactly four bites that the ladies threw their psychometric questionnaire out the window, admitting that they are complete and utter frauds. 

 

  

The food is made with care. But the cynic in me has to ask, is Pressed trying to be different at the expense of being really truly deep-down good? Do I want to eat this pickled bean, or am I just doing it to be cool? Would the leathery sweet potato chips be more comforting as familiar shoestring fries? Am I a philistine for asking that out loud?

In my half-dozen visits, the service has ranged between delightfully personal (hello there!) to raggishly grumpy. And is my latte supposed to have gunk in the bottom? A lot has been said about Pressed already. Praise for the eclectic menu of waffle brunches, sandwiches, dinner plates, fancy coffees and other beverages. Words like hipster get thrown around rather freely.

And, yeah, the decor is a little value village hipster chic, but the church-pew and recycled school desk seating is not so uncomfortable that you can't crank through 10 pages of your novel before your butt goes numb.  And yet, despite my whiny musings, I think Pressed is terrific. It has that certain something, like when you meet a guy and he has a few quirks, like he lives with his mom and has adult-onset acne, but you know he's going to be your boyfriend anyway.

Dear readers, I leave you to judge. Here is what the rest of Ottawa has to say: