Squeezed in between leaving the Sox's thrashing of the Jays and retrieving the family from a showing of The Lion King in time for a three hour drive home, I walked around the block near Adelaide and John only to come across Smokeless Joe. I stepped through the door at the tiny dark bar, balanced whether gunning a great Belgian ale would add to or detract from the tasks ahead, and took a pass. Troy has way more detail than I picked up in the 37 seconds I had inside. I will be there another time. Oh yes, I will.