I’m tired of  figuring out what to eat and when to eat it.  I’m also tired of this daily yoga crap.  Today is Day 26 of the 30 Day Beaches Bikram Yoga Challenge and guess what I did?  I skipped it!  So send me to the bowels of Hell,  I will double up on Tuesday and go at 6am and then at 5:30pm, just  watch, I’ll do it.  The thing that makes me crazy is scheduling feeding times.  An empty stomach and yoga are best friends, once you have something in there, even a fig newton, things go awry.  Today I just want to stay home and not move.  The G-20 has all Torontonians in a state of submission.  And who doesn’t love a diversion?  A medium-sized earthquake, a gathering of world leaders blocking off the downtown core, and a new burger joint in the hood and I’m a happy camper.  The latest hamburger stand in question is called The Burger’s Priest and it is causing much controversy around these parts, ie. my house.  It’s a tiny place with a few stools located east of Coxwell on Queen.  Like Burger Shoppe and  Great Burger Kitchen, the priest burger uses organic meat (ground an hour ago!), but unlike the other two, The Burger’s Priest doesn’t have a whole lot of excess theme toppings other than onions and ketchup.  The default burger is a cheese burger and there is a thing called The Option.  You can put The Option on your burger or you can have The Option if you are a *vegetarian*.  I want to keep The Option a secret so you can be as surprised as I was.  Spoiler Alert:  It’s a Portobello mushroom stuffed with cheese and deep-fried in batter.  When I first found out, I had a culinary boner.  I know from past experience, cheese and mushrooms are visually foode porn.  And I also know anything can be deep fried.  But when I actually ate it, I was spooked…maybe these two should hang out elsewhere.  The Olive Garden, perhaps. The burgers are delish, absolutely, but they are petite.  In their petiteness, they are probably the correct portion which is the size of a deck of cards or the palm of your hand…NOT giant Tarot Cards, or Godzilla’s mitts.  Get used to it, Fatty.  My Jugheaded son, Freddy, will have to order two or three to be satiated but it is the perfect size for my daughter, Evangeline, who is waffling on being a *vegetarian.*    And when I frame a word with **, I am curling my hair and brushing my teeth.  Me, I am happy eating anything with fries, ie. the devil’s starchy fingers.  These ones are the skinny delicate “frites”, the kind that come without guilt because you barely need to chew them.  Also, you can park at the Liquor Store, pick up some Devil’s Pale Ale to wash it down and go to *Confession* the next day.