Niagara Weekend Getaway | DAY 2: (Pt. 1) Inn on the Twenty

​The next morning, I awoke to haziness. A thick layer of cloud cover hovered about, foreshadowing the dreary weather that was to befall on southern Ontario.

I reluctantly pulled above the covers; having engaged in sporadic periods of sleep the previous night, I was less than excited to enter a new day while partially recharged. The inconsistent room temperature had resulted in a fitful night. My legs burned, then my neck, until I ultimately rearranged the blankets to expose my fuzzy pajama pants only.​

​To combat sluggishness, the sleepy polar bear acquired an Americano for my caffeination needs. My eventual trip down to the lobby was met with a Blueberry Muffin. Despite its depressing visuals, the voluminous, oil-based profile was surprisingly decent.

Hustling between my various carrying cases, I was simultaneously folding clothes, charging electronics, and checking to make sure any personal items has been safely stowed away. Removing my camera from the foot of the bed, I was utterly appalled to discover questionable diarrhea-hued stains on the sheets. Revolting was this revelation. We added this observation to the hairy pillow concerns from the previous night.

Few establishments were open on Sunday, leading us to eliminate the planned detour through Saint Catharines.

The main agenda  event was hiking Ball's Falls, yet there was but one McDonald's within the five-kilometre radius. RPM Bakehouse emerged as a reasonable brunch/lunch destination within proximity to the falls, thus I punched in the address without hesitation.​

​Our path would be lined with a multitude of local wineries, including the infamous Inniskillin.

​After securing a spot in the expansive asphalt lot, we proceed to explore an art retailer, jeweller, hat shop, and independent clothing store. Destinations of interest were few along Main Street, for me at least. The sleepy polar bear grew somewhat intrigued by the checked scarves in one shop, but I found the snow-covered installations along the elevated, cobblestone walkway much more remarkable.

It wasn't until after our short-lived gander that we neared the doors of RPM and discovered a sign posted on the door: they would be closed for the day.

​​My first reaction was to retreat to the car and evaluate our alternatives. The nearest McDonald's would involve venturing further from the hiking POI, leading to an even more delayed start. I heaved a sigh of helplessness, then settled for the only other source of sustenance in the district.

Housing two dining rooms and a standalone wine shop, Inn on the Twenty would have assumed first choice on any winer lover's brunch list. I was quick to express woes over tardy service, and I was very much proven right.

The interior was constructed of an off-white wooden exterior, promoting a relaxing chalet aura. The view beyond the establishment's tall glass windows evoked further tranquility - a snowy perspective of the mountainous region beneath the BIA. Delicate snowflakes cascaded down over the course of our meal, nearly persuading us against hiking in the cold.

​​The two of us were outliers amongst the Sunday crowd. Clad in athletic gear and boots instead of dignified, flowy attire, it was clear that we would not be sampling the Inn's vast array of wines during our stay. A part of me billowed with regret, repetitively expressing that the circumstances and mood failed to align for the given day. Had my heart not been set on accomplishing hike, and had I been dressed in proper brunch-worthy attire, the experience would have been perfect.

​Our request for warm water was answered rapidly: a white ceramic teapot, matching cups and saucers, and four lemon wedges materialized in under fifteen minutes. A bread basket was supplied afterwards.

Comprising of cheese-topped sourdough slices and airy squares of focaccia, this small platter was easily one of the best elements of the meal. The sourdough boasted a tangy centre encased in a thin, savoury rind, while the focaccia was supple and plush. It resisted deformation, springing back to its original height after each bite of olive oil-topped goodness.
Unlike Buchanans, butter was served in a ramekin, though appearing roughly chopped from a block instead of being shaped meticulously.

​My choice of Frittata was a no-brainer. Having had eyes set on RPM's quiche, the twenty-two dollar plate was an easy transition. Presumably cooked in a miniature skillet, the crust-less creation adopted the shape of a disc - a three-CD stack, essentially. Layers of baby spinach and jiggly egg were found within, while three slabs of Brie were fitted onto its surface. The consistency was chewier than melty, and amusingly milder than most high-fat, high-moisture variations from Loblaws. Adjacent was a side salad of spring mix greens, baby spinach, cherry tomatoes, cucumbers, and sliced radish. The harmonious combination summoned an incredible degree of satisfaction, paling just slightly in the face of the Inn's phenomenal starter breads.

The sleepy polar bear's Beef Pot Pie, priced four dollars higher than my pick, was shockingly flavourful - "punchy", as the primary user declared. Its casing was fabulously flakey, bearing a golden brown surface and not even the slightest bit of dampness at its base.

​Potent in its beefy constituents, I was less keen on subsequent bites of the rich gravy than I was in regards to the colourful assortment of root vegetables. Charred Brussel sprouts (sliced lengthwise for increased surface area!), tender radish, and beautiful golden beets caressed the tongue with a gentle seasonings and impeccable texture.

​As complaints were overhead in regards to the palm-sized portion size, I defended the restaurant by drawing attention to my unexpectedly large Frittata.

Service was pleasant, albeit ungenuine. The meal spanned longer than desired, but within the expected time range. At the 1:30 PM mark, we would consolidate (my) leftovers, journey onto the tiled flooring of the fancy washroom facilities, and remove ourselves from the comforting setting of Inn on the Twenty.

​Our visit had been impromptu, yet pleasurable nonetheless. Any future visits shall likely be met with ice wine sampling and a comparatively leisurely state of mind. Maybe I'll even take to a purchase of housemade focaccia.

Read Part 2 HERE !