Stores that close on Sundays strike me as quite an anachronism. I know some people have religious beliefs about it and such, but I suspect that for many businesses, it’s simply the way it’s always been done and they haven’t seen a particular reason to change their hours, which is their perfect right to do, but unfortunate 9 to 5 wage slaves such as myself generally get two days to bustle around and do stuff at such places, which, really, is one because so many places in this city are closed on Sundays.

Sigh.

On the other hand, a period of enforced rest might not actually be a bad thing. Now that I reflect on it, it’s kind of nice that our little societal rules say, in addition to “Work!” most of the time, at least one day of “Chill!” The point is that here we were on the Danforth, the other side of the city for us, looking for fixtures and such for our continually incomplete home, but of course, being frustrated most of the way by dimmed lights and locked doors. What choice had we, I ask you, what choice but to go to Allen’s?

We settled in at the back of the justly famous backyard patio. It’s a huge space interspersed with and shaded by some magnificent trees. We each ordered a Creemore from a draught beer list that doesn’t reach far beyond the basic “Irish pub” fare, though the choices of bottled beer and whiskies each number well into the hundreds.

I decided to test the menu’s claim that their hamburgers are considered (by whom, they don’t say) to be the city’s best. I decided to get mine with saut&#eacute;ed onions and peameal bacon (you can also get them with regular bacon, a variety of cheeses, mushrooms, and probably some other stuff I can’t remember. Kim ordered an open-faced salmon sandwich with vinaigretted greens.

Now, I have to qualify this entire experience by saying that sitting on a patio with a good draught beer in the summertime is pretty close to my idea of a perfect day. So maybe I would have had a good time even if the burger had come from Harvey’s or something. Nah, that’s overstating it. Doesn’t matter, though, for Allen’s did not subject me to such torture. The burger that came was a thick wad of ground steak, ordered medium and cooked so, dripping with juices and laden with fresh veggies. My only two caveats would be that the sautéed onions were overly oily and the lettuce was kind of old. But, I loaded everything on (removing the lettuce) and dug in. Not the least messy burger I’ve ever had, I thought as a thick, mustard-and-grease-slicked tomato came out in my teeth, but certainly one of the tastiest!

Kim laughed at me as she piled capers (or “salt bombs” as she calls them) onto her salmon.