Such excellent food! And it seems the verdict is unanimous whenever Acadia is mentioned. The new little place on Clinton Street, a few paces north of College, has caused a justifiable stir. The owners, Scott and Lindsay Selland (he used to be general manager of Colborne Lane) are still in their twenties. So is chef Matt Blondin who worked for the Rubino Brothers at Rain and Luce before moving to Claudio Aprile’s Senses and then Colborne Lane, rising through the ranks to become Aprile’s chef de cuisine there. I first tasted his food in July 2009 when he cooked one of Charlie Burger’s mystery dinners – the dishes were complex, inventive, used lots of elaborate techniques and tasted delicious. Blondin left Colborne Lane a year later, worked in a fishmonger’s store in Kelowna for a short while then ended up at Bearfoot Bistro in Whistler in Melissa Craig’s kitchen. So Acadia is really his first restaurant as chef – and it’s a dazzling debut.
From a customer’s point of view, the place is almost too successful. The space is divided into a small dining room and an even smaller bar area that morphs into the open kitchen. There are a few stools at the bar itself where lucky punters can watch Selland make stellar cocktails like the Defensio, a silky version of a Negroni with a dash of Cointreau nudging the Campari, gin and vermouth. The cocktail list – and the array of beers – is more interesting than the 16 or so wines on offer.
Décor is not Acadia’s strong point, though the room doesn’t look or feel shabby – just plain as a pikestaff. The problem is noise. Always packed with people who are having a very good time, the decibel level around 8:00pm is painful. It’s quieter right next to the kitchen.
But the food really does forgive all. Apparently it was Selland’s idea to give Toronto something we’ve never had before – a menu that draws on the culinary traditions of the Acadian diaspora, from the Maritimes down to the Bayou with lingering nods to the Lowcountry cooking of Georgia and South Carolina. Blondin had never cooked that way – had never even visited that part of the continent – but he was intrigued by the challenge. My own memories of Louisiana cooking are vivid – heavy, crude textures, lots of sweetness, swampy sauces, overcooked fish and meat… Blondin’s version is infinitely better than the original.
Dinner starts with a long dish of pickles in lieu of bread –big white celery pieces, cauliflower, green beans, okra (best of all) pea shoots, sea asparagus, breakfast radish… each one individualized with its own degrees of saltiness, sweetness and acidity.
Scallops are perfectly timed, no longer raw but not yet fully opaque in their heart of hearts, sweet and fresh-tasting. Blondin serves them with strips of pickled watermelon rind that have a texture slightly firmer than daikon, with pieces of crunchy fried chicken skin like crackling and with parmesan melted into crisp little yellow nets. A squiggle of arugula purée and dots of celeriac purée are the more-than-decorative sauces, basil leaves bring their own perfume into play.
Grits are a revelation – better than polenta, soft but with a subtle texture enriched with pimento cheese. Hiding beneath the surface are very fresh, juicy shrimp, as plump as they are tender, and chopped oyster mushrooms that provide another slippery lurking presence. A clear ham-hock broth surrounds the grits – you could stir it in, I suppose, but it’s so profoundly tasty on its own – and fried parsley is the garnish.
Mains are just as terrific. I loved the pork ribs Blondin braises slowly in a stock sweetened with sarsaparilla root, vegetable mirepoix “and other good stuff”. It’s sweet, sticky, rich, fabulous and the kitchen kindly takes the ribs off the bone so there’s no work to be done. The starch is puffed amaranth seeds, like a dark version of Israeli couscous, and the dish is crowned with a tangle of fried “tobacco leeks,” so called because they look like shreds of tobacco.
A thick, very juicy fillet of red grouper is rolled up and smothered by an étouffée of sweet shrimp chopped up and stirred with Sea Island red peas in a creamy tomato sauce. Stealing the show are thick slices of Blondin’s own hickory-smoked andouille sausage, like firm, peppery, fine-grained chorizo, that works marvelously well with the fish. Vegetables are turned into a thick “chlorophyl purée” of parsley, chives, chervil, spinach and a little parsnip for texture. Raw green Euclid Street oxalis leaves are strewn over the top. A side dish of collard greens is so good I want to eat it every day for ever – the forthright, slightly bitter flavour sweetened by a milky herbsaint dressing and unexpected slices of soft pancetta hidden among the leaves.
There are only two desserts to choose from. “70% chocolate” is a fantasy landscape on a wooden board with tiny mountains of almond milk ice cream, squares of sugared sponge cake, pipings of soft chocolate ganache and tart, wild Carolina scuppernog grapes preserved in brandy.
Ear plugs might be in order, but it’s worth putting up with the ambient din for the super food and for the rare opportunity to be able to say, “Ate in Acadia, ego.” Acadia is at 50C Clinton Street, a few doors north of College Street. 416 792 6002. www.acadiarestaurant.com