We were wary but hopeful as we turned into The Malt Shop. The quirky interior was fun to look at, and we were quickly seated in a smallish dining room. We were greeted by the intermittent squall of a baby at a nearby table, but otherwise there was only the gentle hum of conversation.
The washroom was interesting: there was a shared sink in a sort of little anteroom, and then there was a men’s room and a ladies’ room.
The food was excellent. Chris ordered a Reuben, hoping to cleanse his palate from the earlier one. Katherine had a very cheesy spinach-and-mushroom lasagna. The waitress was quick with refills and checked in often. While she wasn’t overly-smily, she was very polite.
The whole Malt Shop exuded a semi-granola feel and seemed like it would have been right at home in Oregon.
Of course, we ordered malts (billed as being made with real malt powder). Katherine had a caramel-apple pie malt, while Chris ordered orange. The boys had ice cream cones that had been included with their dinners.
The malts were HUGE. Chris made some noise about how—had he known the malts would be so big—he would have ordered one to split, whereupon Katherine looked at him in confusion. “What is this ‘splitting’ thing you speak of?” her face seemed to say.
The Malt Shop was like a little piece of culinary heaven.