I go away for a few short weeks and a new restaurant opens. That's what I love about Toronto. A new place on Queen East near Logan is going to give Terroni a run for its money. It's called Lil' Baci and it's run by the folks of Kubo Radio.
Since I've mentioned Kubo, I must tell you that we ate there recently and no kidding - the food is better! I mentioned this to one of the owners, Leslie, and he did admit that their aim this year was to improve the kitchen. They've succeeded. And it looks like they will succeed with their new Italian-themed restaurant.
The atmosphere is casual chic. Mismatched chandeliers line the narrow room. A table for six with very comfortable looking chairs takes up the front space by the large window with original stained glass detailing. One of the owners family photographs dot the walls.
On the night we show up, all sorts of neighbors come in, including other chefs and restaurant owners. The menu is basic: antipasti that get changed up regularly; pizza; pasta; daily specials of fish, fowl and meat. We have spicy chickpeas with anchovies, marinated mushrooms and a fantastic caprese salad. The buffalo bocconcini is imported from Italy and it literally melts in your mouth. The Reluctant Chef's quattro formaggi pizza is equally good as Terroni's and my gnocchi are scrumptious. Light and airy from the ricotta, they are bathed in a slightly creamy but still tangy tomato sauce. Lots of Italian wines to choose from. The wait staff is knowledgeable and friendly, and the whole experience feels like going to a good friend's for dinner.
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
Saturday, June 23, 2007
In the Dark at (& About) O.Noir
Let’s be perfectly honest: many of us choose a restaurant to see and be seen. We work out our attire in advance, based on what we’ve heard of the atmosphere and our suspicions of the type of folks who will be dining amongst us. So what happens when one is invited to eat in pitch darkness?
The first thought that comes to mind when we accept an invitation to Montreal’s O.Noir restaurant is to wear machine washable black clothing. At O.Noir blind waiters staff a dining room so dark no one can see the table, the cutlery, wine or water glasses, or one’s dinner companions. We are dining with a very large group that has been divided into several tables of about eight. After having a drink at the bar, where the light is flatteringly dim and seeing bar staff expertly mix drinks, we are lined up at a door marked Entrée and told the name of our server. I am very bad with remembering names – I am much better with faces but of course, this skill is rendered useless -- and my deficiency plagues me later on. All in a line, we each put our left hand on the left shoulder of the person in front of us and follow the conga line into the dining room. We walk through the door and then through a set of heavy black curtains. After that, we see nothing.
At the table, we are told to feel for a chair somewhere in front of us, and sure enough I find one but I also find that the Reluctant Chef is trying to get into same. It’s like musical chairs and I’m the odd one out. I push him aside (hey, no one can see!) and tell him to move one over. We sit. We feel for our place setting: a place mat, a napkin, a knife and ….no fork! I panic. I cannot see the waiter. I cannot call him because of course, I can’t remember his name, but also I feel like an idiot yelling at the top of my feeble little lungs in front of all our dinner companions. Thankfully, he arrives and I am able to tell him that I don’t have the requisite cutlery. No problem. He brings it over to me. The waiter gently taps my shoulder and tells me he has a fork. He passes it very close to me – I can feel the movement of his arm – and I blindly (yes, literally) take it from him. It’s odd to take an object from someone when you cannot see it but the method becomes a familiar and comfortable routine. What remains disconcerting is the inability to call a waiter over to our table. One must wait patiently until he arrives at regular intervals.
The noise level is not just amplified by our senses; it truly is much louder than at a properly lit restaurant. I notice that people are practically yelling at each other. The darkness fools them into feeling invisible; they must raise their voices to be present. In fact, Reluctant Chef tells me later that he carried on a conversation with his right-hand dinner companion with their faces literally inches away from each other. He only realized this when someone at another table took a photo and the flash lit up the entire room. In fact, throughout dinner, the diner to my left is leaning in closer and closer to talk to me. He has moved so far from the center of his place setting that he is now drinking my wine. Oops! He gesticulates and there goes my water glass. It seems like a hassle to call the waiter and get a replacement.
It is not impossible to eat without seeing one’s plate, however we end up spearing our plates with complete abandon and coming up empty half the time. I recognize a full fork when the weight changes and each time, think “Aha! Success!”
Now for the food: in one word, unremarkable. I’m truly sorry to write this. The menu is simple enough: Portobello mushrooms, avocado salad, grilled vegetables with chèvre as appetizers; listed mains are filet, chicken breast, marinated shrimp with risotto, haloumi with roasted peppers. In my opinion, these dishes are not esoteric or tantalizing. The one interesting appetizer is octopus, which is very nicely prepared. One of our dinner companions reports the grilled veg is as expected. I order the “surprise” appetizer and surprise main. I hope that this will be some culinary tour de force, but it turns out to be smoked salmon that is a bit past its prime and lamb chops (overcooked) with very tasty green beans and potatoes diced in neat cubes but that are overcooked and fall apart and through my fork tines. Everyone, it seems, has the same sides. I am surprised because the filet, which is apparently grilled just fine according to my dinner companions, and served with a nice peppercorn sauce, is supposed to be served with asparagus. Chicken is to be served with zucchini. Did they run out? No explanations are forthcoming. I admit that serving a large group is difficult, but either everyone chooses à la carte or we get a ‘group menu’. (I would like to state here that some may think I am being unusually cruel about a restaurants ability to cater to large groups; in fact, I have had good meals with equally large groups, including the fabulous George in Toronto.)
Dessert is also unremarkable: the chocolate cake is disappointingly dry, the mousse with raspberry sauce is just passable and the lemon sorbet with pineapple chunks is as advertised but not exceptional. I once read a comment by the restaurant’s general manager that when the senses are heightened, simple food tastes divine. Perhaps this should be true; alas, neither I, nor any of my dinner companions feel any sort of zing or pop with the flavours of our meal.
Overall, we enjoy our time at O.Noir, mostly due to the company and the friendly wait staff. I am left ‘in the dark’ as to why anyone would return a second time, except perhaps to humble oneself when the character demands it. But the experience is unique. We learn what it must be like to be blind, and we learn how insidious prejudices develop against the blind. I hope that each of us walked out of O Noir with the understanding that yes, it truly is awful to be blind, but blind people are highly functioning. Sure, they do things a bit differently, but because of their heightened senses, they may perceive our foibles and character flaws much more effectively than others, who see the masks we all wear.
The first thought that comes to mind when we accept an invitation to Montreal’s O.Noir restaurant is to wear machine washable black clothing. At O.Noir blind waiters staff a dining room so dark no one can see the table, the cutlery, wine or water glasses, or one’s dinner companions. We are dining with a very large group that has been divided into several tables of about eight. After having a drink at the bar, where the light is flatteringly dim and seeing bar staff expertly mix drinks, we are lined up at a door marked Entrée and told the name of our server. I am very bad with remembering names – I am much better with faces but of course, this skill is rendered useless -- and my deficiency plagues me later on. All in a line, we each put our left hand on the left shoulder of the person in front of us and follow the conga line into the dining room. We walk through the door and then through a set of heavy black curtains. After that, we see nothing.
At the table, we are told to feel for a chair somewhere in front of us, and sure enough I find one but I also find that the Reluctant Chef is trying to get into same. It’s like musical chairs and I’m the odd one out. I push him aside (hey, no one can see!) and tell him to move one over. We sit. We feel for our place setting: a place mat, a napkin, a knife and ….no fork! I panic. I cannot see the waiter. I cannot call him because of course, I can’t remember his name, but also I feel like an idiot yelling at the top of my feeble little lungs in front of all our dinner companions. Thankfully, he arrives and I am able to tell him that I don’t have the requisite cutlery. No problem. He brings it over to me. The waiter gently taps my shoulder and tells me he has a fork. He passes it very close to me – I can feel the movement of his arm – and I blindly (yes, literally) take it from him. It’s odd to take an object from someone when you cannot see it but the method becomes a familiar and comfortable routine. What remains disconcerting is the inability to call a waiter over to our table. One must wait patiently until he arrives at regular intervals.
The noise level is not just amplified by our senses; it truly is much louder than at a properly lit restaurant. I notice that people are practically yelling at each other. The darkness fools them into feeling invisible; they must raise their voices to be present. In fact, Reluctant Chef tells me later that he carried on a conversation with his right-hand dinner companion with their faces literally inches away from each other. He only realized this when someone at another table took a photo and the flash lit up the entire room. In fact, throughout dinner, the diner to my left is leaning in closer and closer to talk to me. He has moved so far from the center of his place setting that he is now drinking my wine. Oops! He gesticulates and there goes my water glass. It seems like a hassle to call the waiter and get a replacement.
It is not impossible to eat without seeing one’s plate, however we end up spearing our plates with complete abandon and coming up empty half the time. I recognize a full fork when the weight changes and each time, think “Aha! Success!”
Now for the food: in one word, unremarkable. I’m truly sorry to write this. The menu is simple enough: Portobello mushrooms, avocado salad, grilled vegetables with chèvre as appetizers; listed mains are filet, chicken breast, marinated shrimp with risotto, haloumi with roasted peppers. In my opinion, these dishes are not esoteric or tantalizing. The one interesting appetizer is octopus, which is very nicely prepared. One of our dinner companions reports the grilled veg is as expected. I order the “surprise” appetizer and surprise main. I hope that this will be some culinary tour de force, but it turns out to be smoked salmon that is a bit past its prime and lamb chops (overcooked) with very tasty green beans and potatoes diced in neat cubes but that are overcooked and fall apart and through my fork tines. Everyone, it seems, has the same sides. I am surprised because the filet, which is apparently grilled just fine according to my dinner companions, and served with a nice peppercorn sauce, is supposed to be served with asparagus. Chicken is to be served with zucchini. Did they run out? No explanations are forthcoming. I admit that serving a large group is difficult, but either everyone chooses à la carte or we get a ‘group menu’. (I would like to state here that some may think I am being unusually cruel about a restaurants ability to cater to large groups; in fact, I have had good meals with equally large groups, including the fabulous George in Toronto.)
Dessert is also unremarkable: the chocolate cake is disappointingly dry, the mousse with raspberry sauce is just passable and the lemon sorbet with pineapple chunks is as advertised but not exceptional. I once read a comment by the restaurant’s general manager that when the senses are heightened, simple food tastes divine. Perhaps this should be true; alas, neither I, nor any of my dinner companions feel any sort of zing or pop with the flavours of our meal.
Overall, we enjoy our time at O.Noir, mostly due to the company and the friendly wait staff. I am left ‘in the dark’ as to why anyone would return a second time, except perhaps to humble oneself when the character demands it. But the experience is unique. We learn what it must be like to be blind, and we learn how insidious prejudices develop against the blind. I hope that each of us walked out of O Noir with the understanding that yes, it truly is awful to be blind, but blind people are highly functioning. Sure, they do things a bit differently, but because of their heightened senses, they may perceive our foibles and character flaws much more effectively than others, who see the masks we all wear.
Monday, June 18, 2007
Mistura
Our quandary one night is: where can we seat 6 people at 9pm at the last minute? In the Bloor-Avenue Road vicinity? Mistura is very forthcoming, accomodating and right from the get-go I feel that my reservation is not an imposition but a pleasure. However, it's always been a prejudice of mine to not eat at Ave & Dav locations. Now the question is, will Mistura prove me prejudiced without cause?
We arrive a trifle early and our gregarious group, including the Reluctant Chef, La Lawyer and Sir Fussy, gather around the small bar area and order martinis (perfect) and champagne. Gosset seems to be a a favorite label in Toronto these days. True to its reputation, Mistura keeps the bar stocked with its "famous" cheese sticks, which are more bread-like than the crackers I was expecting, as well as a variety of olives. Our table is ready promptly and we're whisked to a really wonderful area that seems almost set apart from other tables but not quite. Mistura sensitively uses screens and the geography of its space to create small havens for diners.
The menu is interesting and we all have some difficulty choosing. It's a good thing there are six of us... all the courses go around the table at least once. I start with fried artichokes -- it's one of those dishes that I never make at home so I doubly appreciate their succulence. Everyone agrees that this is one of the best appetizers. For the main, I order the rabbit. When it arrives I am overwhelmed; let's call it a healthy portion, one that can be generously sampled by the five other diners. The meat is tender and sweet and perfectly balanced with a side of rapini and olives. The Reluctant Chef has the grilled calamari to start; it is perfectly delicious and he can't stop talking about it. I can tell it will be the standard bearer from now on. Other dishes on this night include veal scallopini, lamb, sea bass, and beet risotto and all of them are executed very well. Despite our great love of beets, we feel the beet risotto is best as an appetizer and perhaps not as a main. We are all impressed, until one of our companion's squash ravioli turns into beet ravioli. No squash is left tonight; the waiter informs her, while serving everyone's mains, that the chef has made a substitution. She accepts this with a slightly disconcerted countenance. Of course, she has to accept the change otherwise she would have been eating her main long after we'd had coffee and dessert. This is not acceptable and we hope that kitchen staff don't normally embark on a substitution before advising wait staff and the customer. The waiter is perceptive enough to realize that beet ravioli is not going to make her happy so he suggests she choose something else. She decides on beet risotto, but surprisingly, it is not at all consistent with Sir Fussy's risotto. His is the epitome of perfectly balanced flavours; hers is too sweet.
The waiter helps us make a wine selection that satisfies all our palates. Overall, service is attentive and friendly. To their credit, wait staff do not hurry us out even as it becomes obvious that all the other patrons have cleared out. Perhaps our one friend won't come back, but we're game to try Mistura again.
We arrive a trifle early and our gregarious group, including the Reluctant Chef, La Lawyer and Sir Fussy, gather around the small bar area and order martinis (perfect) and champagne. Gosset seems to be a a favorite label in Toronto these days. True to its reputation, Mistura keeps the bar stocked with its "famous" cheese sticks, which are more bread-like than the crackers I was expecting, as well as a variety of olives. Our table is ready promptly and we're whisked to a really wonderful area that seems almost set apart from other tables but not quite. Mistura sensitively uses screens and the geography of its space to create small havens for diners.
The menu is interesting and we all have some difficulty choosing. It's a good thing there are six of us... all the courses go around the table at least once. I start with fried artichokes -- it's one of those dishes that I never make at home so I doubly appreciate their succulence. Everyone agrees that this is one of the best appetizers. For the main, I order the rabbit. When it arrives I am overwhelmed; let's call it a healthy portion, one that can be generously sampled by the five other diners. The meat is tender and sweet and perfectly balanced with a side of rapini and olives. The Reluctant Chef has the grilled calamari to start; it is perfectly delicious and he can't stop talking about it. I can tell it will be the standard bearer from now on. Other dishes on this night include veal scallopini, lamb, sea bass, and beet risotto and all of them are executed very well. Despite our great love of beets, we feel the beet risotto is best as an appetizer and perhaps not as a main. We are all impressed, until one of our companion's squash ravioli turns into beet ravioli. No squash is left tonight; the waiter informs her, while serving everyone's mains, that the chef has made a substitution. She accepts this with a slightly disconcerted countenance. Of course, she has to accept the change otherwise she would have been eating her main long after we'd had coffee and dessert. This is not acceptable and we hope that kitchen staff don't normally embark on a substitution before advising wait staff and the customer. The waiter is perceptive enough to realize that beet ravioli is not going to make her happy so he suggests she choose something else. She decides on beet risotto, but surprisingly, it is not at all consistent with Sir Fussy's risotto. His is the epitome of perfectly balanced flavours; hers is too sweet.
The waiter helps us make a wine selection that satisfies all our palates. Overall, service is attentive and friendly. To their credit, wait staff do not hurry us out even as it becomes obvious that all the other patrons have cleared out. Perhaps our one friend won't come back, but we're game to try Mistura again.
Julie's Cuban
It's Saturday night and we just want to get away from the club crowds. Cold beer, a nice cocktail, in an al fresco setting sounds right. Some Caribbbean-style food to go with the hot, humid night would be perfect. I ferret around a few of the Toronto sites and then I find it -- Julie's Cuban. It's on a narrow stretch of Dovercourt, a cozy eatery amidst a neighborhood that lives its life on the street. Grandmothers clad in the southern-European black uniform gossip on porches, children play in the immaculately kept fenced-in front yards, and a Portuguese festival amuses families in the local park. In fact, this feels a little bit like the Bronx. Julie's Cuban advertises its presence with strings of lights, hoards of flowering potted plants, and a steady stream of low laughter and conversation emanating from its sidewalk patio. It's a testament to the cuisine that all the tables inside the hot little restaurant are full. We only manage to snag an outdoor table because another couple is very, very late for their reservation. (Thank you to them!)
We start with the quintessential Cuban beer Cristal and a mojito. I intend to switch to wine later, but in fact, the mint is so fresh and fragrant that I stick with the cocktail. We take two tacks with the food: Reluctant Chef orders black bean soup to start, followed by Ropa Vieja. The soup is apparently meat-based - we have several pieces of pork in ours - and thick with beans and onions and just tangy enough. The beans don't overwhelm the palate, so I sneak a few more spoonfuls. Ropa Vieja is shredded beef cooked in a tomato sauce; it's served with peppers, plantains and rice and beans. Often I find rice and beans somewhat bland, but this version is saporous. The beef is tender and tangy. I am overly zealous with a variety of tapas. Avocado and mango salad is the thing to order this time of year: large juicy chunks of both fruits served with leafy greens, red peppers and cucumber. A lively ceviche follows, as well as shrimp richly cooked in butter and garlic. Two standout tapas are Frituras de Mais -- deep fried peppery corn fritters (crispy outside, soft inside) with sour cream, and Tostones Rellenos -- plantains stuffed with picadillo, a ground beef mixture sauteed with a sweet-spicy tomato sauce. I also order some chorizo cooked in red wine, which is pleasantly piquant but there just isn't enough room in my overstuffed belly so I opt to take it home. As we linger over our drinks, we observe many patrons leaving with little styrofoam containers. Julie, we'll be back!
We start with the quintessential Cuban beer Cristal and a mojito. I intend to switch to wine later, but in fact, the mint is so fresh and fragrant that I stick with the cocktail. We take two tacks with the food: Reluctant Chef orders black bean soup to start, followed by Ropa Vieja. The soup is apparently meat-based - we have several pieces of pork in ours - and thick with beans and onions and just tangy enough. The beans don't overwhelm the palate, so I sneak a few more spoonfuls. Ropa Vieja is shredded beef cooked in a tomato sauce; it's served with peppers, plantains and rice and beans. Often I find rice and beans somewhat bland, but this version is saporous. The beef is tender and tangy. I am overly zealous with a variety of tapas. Avocado and mango salad is the thing to order this time of year: large juicy chunks of both fruits served with leafy greens, red peppers and cucumber. A lively ceviche follows, as well as shrimp richly cooked in butter and garlic. Two standout tapas are Frituras de Mais -- deep fried peppery corn fritters (crispy outside, soft inside) with sour cream, and Tostones Rellenos -- plantains stuffed with picadillo, a ground beef mixture sauteed with a sweet-spicy tomato sauce. I also order some chorizo cooked in red wine, which is pleasantly piquant but there just isn't enough room in my overstuffed belly so I opt to take it home. As we linger over our drinks, we observe many patrons leaving with little styrofoam containers. Julie, we'll be back!
Monday, June 4, 2007
Splendido: Living up to the Name
If one is going to name one's restaurant Spendido, then it had better be darn splendid. Turns out that in its third incarnation, Splendido (Harbord at Spadina) is certainly living up to its name. The very first version of the resto was considered on par with other fine dining in Toronto, but the second saw the lovely dining room crowded with tables, serving pizza and pasta.
Upon entering the restaurant the first thing I notice is that the tables are very f-a-r a-p-a-r-t. Fabulous. Private conversations can be had. Second, the maitre d' doesn't wait a beat before greeting us and showing us to our table. A champagne cart is wheeled to my side, and it's evident this is going to be a wonderful -and expensive- evening.
Chef David Lee serves what I would term a modern French cuisine; not too rich. Fresh ingredients are at the core, whose source is clearly stated on the menu, and there is obviously a partnership with the Cumbrae brand. Our server expounds delightedly about Chef's philosphy (by the way, when did we start addressing chefs like doctors, without 'the'?), which is not to obscure ingredients with additions such as cream. This is why I'm saying that his technique is classical but his approach is modern.
We choose the table d'hote, although the tasting menu appears equally appealing (especially at $130pp; $98 for wines, but more on that later). In fact, I have a difficult time choosing. A triad of amuses bouches appears; the shot of gazpacho making an instant impression. My first course is Chesapeake Bay soft-shell crab, delicate and perfectly crisped, served on a puree of cauliflower. Any doubters as to cauliflower would be shushed. Reluctant Chef starts with the foie gras (Quebec of course), cooked sous-vide so it actually appears like a terrine. It is served on top of a brioche with duck proscuitto that I find just salty enough. I must admit, the poached white asparagus truly tempts me; I suppose I'll just have to return another time. Seconds are chilled organic pea soup with chervil and Parmesan croutons. The flavour is summer-sweet and the colour is so intensely green, the RC jokes it could be food colouring. (Thank goodness the tables are far enough apart that no one can hear.) RC has the seared Hokkaido sea scallop with boudin noir and pork belly. I have no idea why the latter is the ingredient du jour in Toronto but the RC loves it. The sausage is peppery enough to counterpoint the other ingredients. For mains, we have beef tenderloin (supplied by Cumbrae) that is truly succulent. We also have the lamb two ways: saddle and shoulder. This is a fantastically turned out dish, with both parts of the lamb prepared correctly and served with pancetta, truffles and rosemary garlic jus. RC orders sea salt and rosemary french fries, another mainstay on Toronto menus. Yes, they were yummy.
I wish we can have more than one dessert. Cheese would be nice, but I am too full. The RC orders the chocolate soufflé with butter and pecan ice cream. It's perfect: he eats the soufflé while I devour the ice cream! As I sit here writing this, I realize that I have never particularly liked butter-pecan ice cream; does this mean I'm a little bit of a gourmand, or was that ice cream remarkably delicious? Peanut butter truffles are brought out as well.
I should mention that equally delicious is the people gazing: bald lawyer with a Lamborghini and an Asian fetish; young man wooing potential wife material; business men toasting a deal; doctors and professors talking cutting-edge research (okay, I overheard one table!). I'm sure they come as much for the food as the service, which is formal, but friendly, professional and attentive. Apparently owners and staff discuss what it means to be the best restaurant in Toronto on a regular basis. Certainly the staff strive at every turn to make one's visit memorable and absolutely perfect.
One can't be the best restaurant without having the best price tag, I suppose. Our heavenly meal is $110 per person (4 courses; 3 courses is $98). This is perfectly reasonable, except remember to factor in the wines. On this visit, we choose to have various wines by the glass and they are kind enough to offer half-glasses, which is much appreciated by someone my size; I simply cannot have the same amount of liquor as my fellow diners! Our wines are upwards of $30 a glass and so our meal turns out to be the most expensive one in Toronto to date. Mmmmmm. But well worth it.
Upon entering the restaurant the first thing I notice is that the tables are very f-a-r a-p-a-r-t. Fabulous. Private conversations can be had. Second, the maitre d' doesn't wait a beat before greeting us and showing us to our table. A champagne cart is wheeled to my side, and it's evident this is going to be a wonderful -and expensive- evening.
Chef David Lee serves what I would term a modern French cuisine; not too rich. Fresh ingredients are at the core, whose source is clearly stated on the menu, and there is obviously a partnership with the Cumbrae brand. Our server expounds delightedly about Chef's philosphy (by the way, when did we start addressing chefs like doctors, without 'the'?), which is not to obscure ingredients with additions such as cream. This is why I'm saying that his technique is classical but his approach is modern.
We choose the table d'hote, although the tasting menu appears equally appealing (especially at $130pp; $98 for wines, but more on that later). In fact, I have a difficult time choosing. A triad of amuses bouches appears; the shot of gazpacho making an instant impression. My first course is Chesapeake Bay soft-shell crab, delicate and perfectly crisped, served on a puree of cauliflower. Any doubters as to cauliflower would be shushed. Reluctant Chef starts with the foie gras (Quebec of course), cooked sous-vide so it actually appears like a terrine. It is served on top of a brioche with duck proscuitto that I find just salty enough. I must admit, the poached white asparagus truly tempts me; I suppose I'll just have to return another time. Seconds are chilled organic pea soup with chervil and Parmesan croutons. The flavour is summer-sweet and the colour is so intensely green, the RC jokes it could be food colouring. (Thank goodness the tables are far enough apart that no one can hear.) RC has the seared Hokkaido sea scallop with boudin noir and pork belly. I have no idea why the latter is the ingredient du jour in Toronto but the RC loves it. The sausage is peppery enough to counterpoint the other ingredients. For mains, we have beef tenderloin (supplied by Cumbrae) that is truly succulent. We also have the lamb two ways: saddle and shoulder. This is a fantastically turned out dish, with both parts of the lamb prepared correctly and served with pancetta, truffles and rosemary garlic jus. RC orders sea salt and rosemary french fries, another mainstay on Toronto menus. Yes, they were yummy.
I wish we can have more than one dessert. Cheese would be nice, but I am too full. The RC orders the chocolate soufflé with butter and pecan ice cream. It's perfect: he eats the soufflé while I devour the ice cream! As I sit here writing this, I realize that I have never particularly liked butter-pecan ice cream; does this mean I'm a little bit of a gourmand, or was that ice cream remarkably delicious? Peanut butter truffles are brought out as well.
I should mention that equally delicious is the people gazing: bald lawyer with a Lamborghini and an Asian fetish; young man wooing potential wife material; business men toasting a deal; doctors and professors talking cutting-edge research (okay, I overheard one table!). I'm sure they come as much for the food as the service, which is formal, but friendly, professional and attentive. Apparently owners and staff discuss what it means to be the best restaurant in Toronto on a regular basis. Certainly the staff strive at every turn to make one's visit memorable and absolutely perfect.
One can't be the best restaurant without having the best price tag, I suppose. Our heavenly meal is $110 per person (4 courses; 3 courses is $98). This is perfectly reasonable, except remember to factor in the wines. On this visit, we choose to have various wines by the glass and they are kind enough to offer half-glasses, which is much appreciated by someone my size; I simply cannot have the same amount of liquor as my fellow diners! Our wines are upwards of $30 a glass and so our meal turns out to be the most expensive one in Toronto to date. Mmmmmm. But well worth it.
Sunday, May 27, 2007
Requiem for Lalot?
I could not believe my eyes when I drove by Lalot (n/e corner of Bathurst & Queen) and saw its windows papered over. I called their number but it's disconnected, so I am afraid it appears that one of the best - if not the best - Vietnamese restaurant has closed. It's a sad day for Toronto. The Reluctant Chef and I are in mourning. We always sent our friends and out-of-town guests there, and tried to eat there whenever we could. But despite their fantastic cuisine and the friendly service, the place never seemed full. Perhaps it's the location. Regardless, we will miss it and hope we'll see a reincarnation soon.
Monday, May 7, 2007
Weezie's
It’s come to my attention that I’ve dined at our local resto several times without writing about it! I think this is the epitome of what happens when one has a lovely local spot… it’s so perfectly blended into the community no one gives it a second thought. We think it was always there (not true; it’s new since last year) and that it always will be (possibly not true due to the low prices).
I’ve been there several times. The cottage pie – oxtail ragù served over garlicky potato mash – is the best comfort food in this neck of the woods. Fries are perfectly salted and despite my best intentions, I cannot stop eating them. Cornish hen and the burger are great, especially when you don’t have to spend much more than if you actually went to the butcher and prepped it yourself. Potato leek soup was light even though it had a bit of cream in it.
The chef often serves some of the dishes herself; service is slow because there is only one other employee. But it’s a cozy atmosphere and some wine and crusty bread helps with the wait. The best thing about this place is that it is simply a neighborhood place – inexpensive, serving comfort food – the kind of place to which one can stroll leisurely and have a nice, satisfying meal. Apparently Weezie’s will try to stick it out in the tough restaurant biz with its low prices as a foil to the Distillery District and the higher-end places further west on King. I hope the neighbours keep it in business.
I’ve been there several times. The cottage pie – oxtail ragù served over garlicky potato mash – is the best comfort food in this neck of the woods. Fries are perfectly salted and despite my best intentions, I cannot stop eating them. Cornish hen and the burger are great, especially when you don’t have to spend much more than if you actually went to the butcher and prepped it yourself. Potato leek soup was light even though it had a bit of cream in it.
The chef often serves some of the dishes herself; service is slow because there is only one other employee. But it’s a cozy atmosphere and some wine and crusty bread helps with the wait. The best thing about this place is that it is simply a neighborhood place – inexpensive, serving comfort food – the kind of place to which one can stroll leisurely and have a nice, satisfying meal. Apparently Weezie’s will try to stick it out in the tough restaurant biz with its low prices as a foil to the Distillery District and the higher-end places further west on King. I hope the neighbours keep it in business.
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