[b]"How goes the battle for Preston? Managed to get Brady yet? Really? You're doing well you old codger, tell mother that the Torontonians are decent people, they're no Sandgrounders or Liverpudlians but they're nice, and barely any of them are Frenchmen who like stealing belts.... Best I call you later dad, cafe's opening so good luck with trying to be MP, I have faith you'll do well. Goodbye for now!"[/b] An awake John converses over the phone to his father in the toasty kitchen before the doors of the Toronto Tankard open to a small crowd of popsicles who were once Torontonians, the crowd takes their seats, and the business begins conviniently as John puts his phone away.

[b]"I feel sorry for them you know John, they have to go out there into the deathly grasp of the cold... We needn't worry about overdoing the meals too.[/b] A nearby cook comments, his pity turning to enterprise once he sees how cold the first customers are. Soon afterwards the orders of warm meals wade over to the staff, the first meals being hearty and starchy. 

The meals in the Toronto Tankard were always said to be good enough to die for then come back to life to eat again... Which did happen when one of the restaurant owner's friends supposedly died, and just before being buried woke up and scared a Vicar so much they fainted into another grave pit. However it isn't going to just be a local gimmick over a local paramedic's incompetence.