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Archive for the ‘Toronto’ Category

Allen’s Steak Festival 2012

16 Feb

I have always imagined John Maxwell, proprietor of Allen’s, as the most urban of men, a boulevardier very much at his ease in Manhattan, London’s West End or deepest Toronto. Perhaps he might occasionally be found in a wide-open space but only if it were the location of a rally of vintage Jaguar motor cars. How wrong I was. We can see from the photograph he kindly sent me that Mr. Maxwell is just as much at home in a cow pasture, especially when visiting his own herd of Dexter cattle. He acquired them last year, he tells me, and visits them, often, at their home on Wyatt Farm organics, Flamborough Centre, Ont. Dexters are one of Europe’s oldest domesticated breeds and they produce fabulously good steak, lean as venison when finished on grass and hay.

But don’t take my word for it. You can taste Dexter carpaccio, striploin, ribeye and bone-in rib from Maxwell’s own herd as part of the Steak Festival at Allen’s on the Danforth. It runs until February 25, so there is still time to indulge in the most fascinating forensic exploration of steak you will ever encounter. Maxwell assembles meat from animals personally chosen by himself from a number of different farms – many different breeds of cow, the creatures raised and then finished on many different feeds, the meat aged for many different lengths of time. Most are raised in Ontario but there is also an example of Angus from Prince Edward Island’s increasingly popular and delectable beef program, as well as bison from Quebec, USDA Prime Hereford from Nebraska and “Kobe” Wagyu-Angus from Alberta. Comparisons are encouraged.

Alongside this majestic menagerie is a dazzling wine list comprised of rare and old vintages of Ontario VQA wine. Here are bottlings you won’t find anywhere else – Reif’s Tesoro from 1995, the best vintage of the last century, Cave Spring’s superb 2005 La Penna, Hidden Bench’s 2007 La Brunante, Chateau des Charmes Equuleus going back to 2001, even a 2002 Zweigelt Reserve from Pelee Island Winery, a wine I have never tasted.

Anyone who claims to know about steak and wine has a moral obligation to participate in this amazing event. Allen’s is at 143 Danforth Avenue (as if you didn’t already know) and reservations are strongly recommended. 416 463 3086. www.allens.to/.

 
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Posted in Drink, Events, Extravaganzas, Life in General, Restaurants, Toronto, Wine

 

Pachuco

15 Feb

Three sisters, each called Margarita

Oh dear, it has been hard to find really good, authentic Mexican food in Toronto since Chris McDonald closed Zocalo and Desmond Poon retired from Duppy’s Original Diner and then Iguana. Pachuco doesn’t scale those heights but it debuts pretty high in the city’s charts, especially for people who like modmex food – the cooking of modern Mexico rather than the creaky northern and Tex-Mex canon.

Pachuco used to be called Café Madrid, a basement tapas bar owned by the three Fernandez sisters, Jais, Eren and Mali, who are also the proprietors (and front of house, marketer and chef, respectively) of the more conventional Spanish restaurant and dance bar on street level, Embrujo Flamenco. I’m not sure Café Madrid caused very much of a stir but Pachuco is more interesting. The space is tiny (32 seats) and dominated by a bar, behind which Jais mixes some really good cocktails. A sampler of three Margaritas is excellent value at $15 and the distinctiveness of the tart original version, the sweet strawberry and mint, and the yummy mango, chili and lime variations are remarkable. She also makes a long, addictively austere Mojito or there’s a range of imported Mexican soft drinks displayed, including Mexican Coca-Cola, made with cane sugar instead of the high-fructose corn syrup that, in this country, crouches at the heart of The Dark Master. Sit at the bar and you can see the cocktails being made or watch the silent black-and-white Mexican movies from the 1950s featuring real pachucos – small-time hoodlums in zoot suits. Not that you can’t see the screen from anywhere in the little room, seated at a tiny granite table in the dim candlelight.

Service at Pachuco is impressively attentive and knowledgeable. Our waiter was eager to explain the food and how best to order it. We started with a sampler of three of the five variations of guacamole on offer. Flavours were unexpectedly vague in one of them that featured smoked trout, bacon and poblano chili; a second, starring goat cheese, poblano and chewy sundried tomato was better but the best of the bunch was the blue-cheese-walnut-caramelized-shallot recipe – creamy, piquant and perfect with the excellent corn chips. Blue marlin ceviche felt a little like yet another guacamole, deconstructed this time, with slivers of the delicate fish served on a crisp round tortilla with tangy starfruit aioli and more avocado.

Bolobanes with mole sauce

Bolobanes de polo blew the marlin out of the water – a dish that reminded me of Argentinean empanadas – small soft pastry crescents stuffed with chicken and olives and served with the best mole sauce I’ve had in years, full of complex spicing, a nicely judged chili heat and just the barest hint of savoury chocolate amidst the other 25 ingredients.

Taquitos are the main event at Pachuco. Soft, moist, warm corn taquitos arrive in a prettily decorated basket that keeps them in peak condition. The filling is in a separate dish and at least two accompanying salsas make up the quorum of flavours. I ordered the huitlacoche filling – the rather slimy fungus that grows on corn and is known as “corn truffle” or, less attractively, “corn smut.” It has the texture of cooked black trumpet mushrooms and an interesting, slightly pungent corn flavour, and it makes a great filling for the taquitos. Add a trail of one creamy salsa made with requesón (like Mexican cottage cheese) and avocado, and another, much spicier one of smoked chipotle and honey, and you’re good to go, with ot without the black beans that come in a separate bowl in a dark broth with clouds of pressed cheese. Or try a different taquito  filling of beef braised with coffee and ancho… Splendid.

Taquitos with all the fixins

Desserts here look interesting, too. One of them comes in a glass with a layer of cake topped with thick lemon custard, as rich and yummy as a citrus tiramisu.

Pachuco is open Wednesday through Sunday evenings. 99 Danforth Avenue (at Broadview), 647 694 0303. www.pachuco.ca.

 
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Bestellen

26 Jan

Chef Rob Rossi and Front-of-house Ryan Sarfeld, co-owners of Bestellen

We had a fascinating preview of Rob Rossi’s new restaurant, Bestellen, last night when he and co-owner Ryan Sarfeld hosted a VISA Infinite dinner on the premises. It should open in early February but there have been some delays getting licenses from the City (Unheard-of! How astonishing!). Based on last night’s experience, I think Rossi is on to a sure thing for his first shot at chef-patron. The room is very long and narrow with a bar halfway down it and a big open kitchen at the rear. The décor is rustic but not rude with fine old barn boards on the ceiling and an arresting mural of animal parts on one of the walls. Meat will feature strongly on Bestellen’s menu (there’s a great big meat locker with a window for watching the beef dry ageing) and it was front and centre last night.

            Robert Rossi, in case you didn’t know, was one of the three finalists in last year’s Top Chef Canada television show. He looks too young but has actually been in the business for a decade, first at Café Brussel on the Danforth, then Canoe for a couple of years, then Habitat, when Scott Woods was chef there and amazing the city with his molecular cooking. In 2009, Rob went west to be sous chef at The Chef’s Table in Calgary, then came back to Toronto to take over as Executive Chef of the four Mercatto restaurants. I thought he did a great job there – the food was always fresh, original, delicious and far more accomplished than it needed to be.

            I had sort of assumed Bestellen might propose yet another domestic Italian menu, but no – it’s actually far more original. Last night Rossi showed he has an eye for the simple, rich, delicious dishes of pre-nouvelle French cooking. He also flaunted the charcuterie he has been working on since last summer, ably assisted by Grant Van Gameren, lately of Black Hoof. It’s all pork, dry-aged in house and I was struck by how moist and fresh it all tasted. We had a noce – a fairly coarse, fermented salami studded with crumbled walnuts that turn rather meaty when trapped inside a sausage for months (as who would not?). A fermented salami tastes tangier and more salami-like than your average charc. There was lonza (pork loin cured like prosciutto), a yummy chorizo, ruby-coloured copa and several others served with slices of fried house bread – basically a batard loaf made on the premises. As condiments he offered pickled ramps. Rossi goes fly fishing on the Grand River and when he has caught his limit he spends the rest of the day picking wild ramps from a large and double-secret patch.  

The wall of meat at Bestellen

There were other canapés – little one-bite brochettes of duck hearts speared with caramelized cippolini onion and smoked bacon cured with maple syrup and bourbon. The kitchen got the hearts just right – medium-rare rather than overcooked and grainy or undercooked and sticky. A simple tartare of albacore tuna, preserved lemon, green apple and basil served in a spoon was the best mjatch for our aperitif of very brut Champagne.

The first course dropped us into the deep end in terms of saturated fat. No fresh little salad to get us going. No. We had a cube of Ontario pork belly cooked sous-vide in duck fat and then deep-fried. The outside was delightfully crisp, the inside quiveringly unctuous. So delicious! Paired with some Brussels sprout petals, a little savoury chestnut purée and a sherry-caramel gastrique. A rich beginning, to be sure. The wine chosen for it, captivatingly introduced by my co MC, Jamie Drummond, was Pyramid Valley Vineyards Riverbrook Riesling 2008 from New Zealand, rich but clean, aglow with lime, petrol and honey aromas. Gorgeous on its own, it was a little put out by the gastrique, showing a sudden moment of bitterness. Not what one expects from a well-brought-up kiwivino.

Lobster beignet with Sauce Americaine; butter-poached lobster with salsify

The second course was an example of Rossi’s interest in retro sophistication – butter-poached lobster, courteously lifted out of its shell for us, the flesh impeccably tender. Beside it was a little lobster beignet that used up the knuckle meat from the creatures, stirred into a batter and quickly fried. There was salsify – as batons and as a purée. I love salsify – the pale but interesting, juicy but subtle love-child of an artichoke and an asparagus. But it’s not a vegetable you see much any more. The sauce was a classic Americaine made with the crushed lobster shells, vegetable mirepoix, tomato purée, wine and brandy, cayenne… One mopped it all up with the beignet. (I used to think Lobster à l’Americaine might conceivably be an American dish. Smack! comes the hand of Prosper Montagné and the Larousse Gastronomique. It was invented in Paris by Chef Pierre Fraisse of Peter’s Restaurant during the period of the Second Empire. He had to improvise a version of Lobster Provencale for some customers who were in a hurry and came up with what he called Homard a l’Americaine. Were the customers American tourists? Possibly. Fraisse himself had worked in Chicago for a while and according to Larousse, the chef was “still under the influence of his American sojourn.”) Either way, it was a smashing dish and the lobster itself was perfectly paired with Littoral Wines Charles Heintz Sonoma Chardonnay 2009. The wine and the sauce, however, wasn’t such a happy union.

Roast beef rib and marrowbones - not exactly short commons

On to the main event – roasted rib of 40-day dry-aged Wellington County beef, cooked on the bone sous-vide then finished in the oven. It came to the table on a platter for two to share, garnished with split marrowbones. Side dishes were button mushrooms with lemon beurre maître d’ and pommes aligot. Have you forgotten Pommes Aligot? It’s a dish from the Massif Central and the Pyrenees, basically mashed potato mixed with far too much butter and a little garlic, into which grated Appenzeller cheese is folded until it develops an almost elastic consistency, like a semi-solid fondue. The food of champions. It was an amazingly successful course and the wine match was absolutely first class – a big Californian Cab that had much more Bordeaux-style elegance than usual: Stonestreet Wines Monument Ridge Cabernet Sauvignon, Sonoma Valley 2007.

Following on, for those who might still be hungry, we moved to a trio of Canadian cheeses introduced by Angela Marsillio from the Dairy Farmers of Canada. Then dessert – a chomeur pudding. In French Canada, a chomeur is a poor man, a person on welfare, and this classic dish is a baked maple pudding, devised at a time when maple syrup was cheaper than sugar. Rossi’s version starts by coating the inside of a small Mason jar with cream and reduced maple syrup then filling the jar with layers of raw cakey-pancake batter and maple syrup. Bake it and serve it in the jar with a teaspoon and some crème fraîche – just an edge of lactic acidity to pretend to cut the sweetness… heaven in a jam jar, if entirely unrelated to the chosen wine, a stunning, heavy-duty Gewurztraminer from Alsace, Domaine Ostertag Selection des Grains Nobles 2007.

            I liked what I saw of Bestellen and I foresee a bright future for the place. It’s located at 972 College Street (close to Rusholme). Phone 647 341 6769. Check out the site at www.bestellen.ca.

 
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Smith

15 Jan

Smith's daily flatbread

We wanted dinner somewhere new; I picked up a two-week-old copy of the Star and found a gushing review of a restaurant called Smith that opened last fall on Church Street… Kismet. I reached for the phone.

If Fate governed our choice, perhaps it also determined the tenor of the experience. Everything about our evening seemed a tiny bit out of sync. It may have been our fault, booking at an hour that was so unfashionably early for that hard-partying part of town. Smith is in an old three-storey building but there was no one to be seen when we pushed open the door except the manager, sitting at a table looking at the evening’s reservations. The room looked pleasant – a fireplace, old mirrors, a Persian rug. But we only caught a glimpse before we were whisked upstairs to an equally empty but distinctly more dowdy room. We must have been judged and found wanting – too early, too old, too square or too straight… Who can say?

But this was to be our home for the next two hours so we might as well make the most of it. We looked around. Have we not, by now, seen more than enough Edison bulbs to light us (ever so dimly) to the grave? Commute Home’s shabby-chic design for Smith uses them liberally, along with a chandelier or two, lots of interesting, edgy artifacts on the black walls and plenty of exposed, distressed industrial moments. Of course the crockery and cutlery was mismatched vintage stuff. Left to ourselves, we crept up a narrow staircase to check out the third floor and found a bar and also a barre, cutely mounted against a wall of mirrors with dozens of pink ballet shoes hanging from the ceiling. On Saturday nights, apparently, the top two storeys become a wild and crazy happening.

Tonight was anything but. Smith’s short menu is printed on a huge, folded sheet of newsprint so even I could read it without my specs. The wine list is reasonable and well balanced; there are house cocktails, too, of course.

We started with the “olive plate.” Someone in the kitchen must have heard that Oliver Bonacini restaurants serve their olives warm: these ones were piping – not a plate but a bowl of sun-dried Moroccan olives, nuked (presumably) until they were too hot to put into one’s mouth.

The daily flatbread sounded yummy and indeed the toppings were excellent – tender duck confit, tangy salsa verde, arugula, pea shoots, dabs of creamy goat cheese, slices of pickled beet that threatened to take over the whole dish but then surrendered the field to a strewing of hazelnuts. It would have been lovely except the flatbread let down the side. It was stodgy and cold like yesterday’s paratha. Chef Taylor Quinn is a Jamie Kennedy alumnus and ought to know that flatbread needs to be grilled or toasted as it was on every Kennedy menu for 20 years.

The pearl barley "risotto"

We ordered the risotto which turned out not to be rice but pearl barley tossed with diced carrots, lots of cremini mushrooms, fennel and slices of chioggia beet, all surrounded by a halo of golden beet purée around the bowl. On top lay a feta croquette, lightly breaded and fried. As dishes go it was fine – tasty, wholesome, just short on finesse.

My main course was miso-glazed sable fish, a dish created in the 1990s and so often copied it became a cliché, here presented without a trace of retro irony. The fish itself was lovely, lightly crusted with red miso, parting into buttery petals at the touch of a fork, but I wasn’t so dotty about the accompaniments. Bok choy was as bland as crunchy water; shemiji mushrooms contributed nothing but slipperiness; a superfluity of mushroom-ginger broth was the weakest liquid imaginable. I thought my taste buds had malfunctioned but no, I could taste the bitter phenolics of a still-hot Moroccan olive.

Sable fish with miso glaze

Braised Moroccan chicken was much more successful – a huge portion of tender chicken thighs and breast, nicely spiced and set over a rowdy jumble of couscous (again misidentified as rice – the menu calls it “pilaf”), more mushrooms, olives, tomato, preserved lemon, onion and what I think must have been dates. Hearty and lots of fun.

We finished with a Riesling-poached pear that was becomingly fresh and aromatic, sharing the light poaching syrup with a couple of apricots, a star anise pod, a scutum of cinnamon and a sprig of fresh mint. On top was a scoop of gorgeous lavender mascarpone ice cream.

It was not yet nine as we left the establishment. By now the main floor was packed with merry men tucking in to chef’s fare, a most convivial scene.

Smith is open for dinner Tuesday through Saturday and serves brunch on Saturday and Sunday. 553 Church Street (at Gloucester Street), 416 926 2501. Check it out at smithrestaurant.com.  

 

 
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The County General

14 Dec

Awesome fried chicken two ways with an array of garnishes

As Scrabble games go, it was an embarrassing blow-out – a Leafs versus Bruins game with my wife as Boston, creaming me by well over 200 points. It was over so quickly we found ourselves drained (emotionally and linguistically) by 5:00 p.m. – and hungry, too, since we ran out of those spicy, anchovy-spiked cheese straws from The Harbord Bakery (best cheese straws in the city) just about the time Wendy put down “parvenus,” her fourth seven-letter word. So we went out to dinner, early enough to find two seats at the bar of The County General, the casual new place opened by Splendido’s owners, chef Victor Barry and manager Carlo Catallo. Neither of them were there (I suppose they were at Splendido) but we were beautifully looked after by the two women behind the bar – smart, friendly service really stands out sometimes. I didn’t realize that one of them is Aja Sax, whose cocktails I have read about but have yet to try. Last night we were in more of a white wine mood and found a lovely Fielding Estates Viognier on the small but proudly all-Niagara wine list. Aja also does the music, apparently, which was right up my boomer-box tin pan alley – drifting along through Leonard Cohen to U2, Chris Isaak, the Stones, Derek and the Dominoes… and all at a reasonable and highly civilized level.

            The County General is small – just 14 seats plus another 10 at the bar – but it’s nicely put together. The decorative theme involves a large number of 2-by-1 planks, lining the walls, creating a dropped ceiling and forming the bartop. They play on this barn-like feel with occasional sculptures of chicken – which makes perfect sense when you see how often chicken appears on chef Garth Legree’s short menu. He is working with a fairly narrow palette of flavours – sort of Thai meets American barbecue – but the results are absolutely delightful.

winging it

            We started with a hearty soup full of chunks of tender, pale-as-pork ham, white beans and hunky croutons of Marc Thuet bread. The thickish broth was tangy with mustard and lemon juice, thyme and rosemary – just the way to start a winter evening. I had the daily special of wings which were easily the best wings I’ve ever had (okay I’ve only ordered wings three times in my life, but these were the best). Legree cooks them sous-vide then flash-fries them so they’re unbreaded, relatively lightweight and glazed with a sticky and delectable bbbq sauce that avoids over-sweetness and gains depth from a hint of espresso coffee. The wings are strewn with sliced up raw red chilies and a mass of fresh cilantro. Three condiments are presented separately – a creamy, smooth blue cheese dressing, a herbed mayo, and a fresh, tangy apple slaw. Being almost a virgin where wings are concerned I don’t know the protocol of these extra sauces. They were too good to waste, but I was enjoying the wings’ own flavours so much I didn’t want to mask them. In the end, I used the bones as dippers and had the best of both worlds.

            Another star dish is the trio of miniature steamed buns each of which contains a small quivering block of lightly smoked pork belly. Again changes are rung by a variety of condiments. In one bun it’s a crunchy, not-too-garlicky kim chi; in another, that green apple slaw; in a third, a dollop of oniony avocado chutney with a mittful of fresh cilantro. A runny green chili sauce is delivered in a miniature squeeze bottle.

            The main event of our dinner, however, was the fried chicken – a dish intended for two. Served on a wooden board, two substantial chicken breasts have been cooked sous vide and then differently treated – like twin sisters who have grown up in different parts of the world. One has a tamari glaze of great complexity – spicy-sweet and altogether delicious. The other has had a brush with a spice rub featuring allspice and chili and has then been battered and fried. It’s pretty well perfect fried chicken, juicy and flavourful, and ends up being the one we mess with, wrapping thick slices up in lettuce leaves with various combinations of the accompanying garnishes. You can see them in the opicture in their teeny metal bowls – cilantro, green onion, radish, pickled red onion, kim chi, grated fresh ginger, Thai chilies, avocado chutney with plenty of kaffir lime, bbq sauce, a squeeze bottle of red chili sauce. Awesome.

            Other treats? Great frites, triple-fried to make them soft on the inside, crunchy on the outside, with a ramekin of smokey, house-made ketchup. A slice of classic apple pie dusted with cinnamon. A flight of 4 top rums, part of a fulsome and very sophisticated program of brown spirits (mostly rums and bourbons) that Aja Sax has put together. It all costs far less than  it could. The only drawback is that you have to get there pretty early or pretty late if you want to find a table. Me, I’d rather sit at the bar.

            The County General is at 936 Queen Street West (on the corner of Shaw). 416 531 4447.

 
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Le Kensington Bistro

23 Nov

Burger Bar's lamb burger (not available at Le Kensington Bistro)

This is a picture of a fabulous lamb burger from Burger Bar on Augusta in Kensington Market. That’s all I’m going to say about it since I’m writing about Burger Bar for Zoomer magazine, where I have the signal honour to be the new restaurant critic (I urge you to invest in a subscription).

Instead, we will cross the street to Le Kensington Bistro, the new venture by front-of-house guru and sommelier Sylvain Brissonet and chef Jean-Charles Dupoire, who are also co-owners and operators of Loire on Harbord Street. Certainly, Loire is still doing well, and the two Tourangeaux are devoted to their firstborn. But they also tell a tale of how Loire slipped away from their original intention for the place, becoming a tad too posh and educated. Le Kensington is deliberately more “of the market.” So we see Brissonet in jeans (which merits a ! when we remember how proper he was during his years as maitre d’ of Langdon Hall) and Dupoire cooking in a sport shirt instead of chef’s whites (he was much more formal as the wunderkind chef of Epic in the Royal York hotel, once the tallest building in the British Empire).

But casual is the mood in the market, cheri! Behind the yellow façade, La Palette’s old premises have been cleaned and repainted a warm terra cotta but the floor is linoleum tiles, the tables are plain wood and the lighting something less than atmospheric. There are some odd touches that don’t work (Ignore the – I say ignore the kitch Foghorn Leghorn chicken signage and logo, for example) but Brissonet smooths over any cracks in the experience with his welcome and his charm. He’s also responsible for the tiny wine list, literally 13 bottles long – but they are all good wines and available by the glass.

Le Kensington's menu

That chicken logo, incidentally, is to remind the world that this is also a Rotisserie, with Dupoire roasting whole chickens (from St. Andrew Poultry) for only $32 – a take-home bargain since they come with sauce of the day and a lightweight summer ratatouille or succotash or frites.

Another speciality is charcuterie – delicious salami; creamy, smooth-as-satin chicken liver parfait; pork rillettes of a correct and delectable fatty weight and density; salty but exceptionally tender duck breast prosciutto; a sweetish, well-seasoned, slightly gelatinous terrine made from slow-braised oxtail with a nice prickle of horseradish. Boudin noir is a starter in it’s own right – a soft, loose-textured version that isn’t as spicy as, say, David Lee’s version at Nota Bene, but has a beguiling richness that is nicely cut by slices of baked apple and salt crystals.

And how lovely to come across really good skate wing meuniere – a classic version that has just enough walnut butter to make the dish’s point without swamping everything in fat. The juicy fish comes with a scrumptious heap of diced root vegetables, baby red potatoes and wilted spinach.

Desserts didn’t wow me. Poire Belle Hélène (yes, this menu would have seemed perfectl à propos in the 1980s) had fine chocolate sauce and vanilla ice cream but the pear itself had a mealy texture. Crepes filled with apple compote and topped with caramel sauce needed more apple and caramel to be truly sinful.

Still – it’s a lovely addition to the Market and the street patio will be much in demand next summer. Prices are great ($22 for a striploin steak frites) and locals already love it.

Le Kensington Bistro and Rotisserie is at 246 Augusta Avenue (a short walk south from College Street), 416 792 9440. Open noon-10 pm, Wednesday to Sunday. www.lekensingtonbistro.com.

 

 
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Elle M’a Dit

08 Sep

Owner-chef Gregory Furstoss cooks a tarte flambee

 

I’m a big fan of Baldwin Street’s quaint restaurant block – the little strip that runs between Beverley and McCaul and boasts a couple of dozen little restaurants and a handful of shops left over from the influx of draft-dodging hippies in the 1960s. We live around the corner and my wife and I often nip down there for dinner when we don’t feel like cooking. There are six places that do a decent job and now there is one that takes everything up to another level. Elle M’a Dit opened in early June at number 35, premises once occupied by a deeply underwhelming Thai restaurant. They had a good summer thanks to the outdoor patio tables; now the business is moving inside and upstairs – which means, I suspect, they may have to think of new ways to attract attention. Baldwin Street is a charmed enclave on summer nights, full of casual, restaurant-hopping crowds; in the winter time it can feel totally forgotten.

Elle M’a Dit is owned by chef Gregory Furstoss and his wife, pastry chef Tory Yang. Furstoss comes from Alsace and paid his dues there and in paris before coming to Toronto in 2005 to work at Bistro Bakery Thuet. Marc Thuet was piling his ever-changing menu with fabulous Alsatian cooking at the time and Furstoss proved a very useful sous chef. It was there he met his wife but by 2006 he had moved on to Senses as sous chef to Patrick Lin, where he stayed five years. I can’t think of a more interesting mentor than Lin with his meticulous Asian-Western-fusion cuisine, and Lin was obviously keen on Furstoss. He brought him along as his sous when he competed in the Canadian Culinary Championship in 2009 and they both performed brilliantly.

This is Furstoss’s first restaurant and he is still wide-eyed with excitement at the idea. I asked him why Baldwin Street and he admitted that he had originally thought he’d end up on Ossington or Dundas West as part of that particular movement. But the landlord here offered him such a sweet deal he couldn’t turn it down. I like what they’ve done to the property. It’s very simple and austere upstairs with cream-coloured walls and ceilings and beautiful wooden tables, floor, chairs and benches, though the last could do with some kind of cushion. The menu is Alsatian and I would venture to say it is some of the best Alsatian food I’ve encountered this side of the Atlantic.

The tarte in question

There are eight styles of tarte flambée but for this, my first visit, I chose the traditional version – an incredibly delicate, crisp crust that can just bear the weight of finely minced bacon, almost invisible onion, fromage blanc, gooey gruyère and a sprinkling of chopped chives. The texture may be insubstantial but the flavours are rich and bold. It’s one of those dishes that can become addictive.

Alsatians are masters of foie gras – Marc Thuet always did the best terrine in the city – and there’s one sitting right here on the menu giving me the glad eye, lifting its skirt to show a glimpse of Chianti wine gelée and sautéed black cherries. Next time, ma chere, next time… Tonight I can’t resist a starter of surf clams and veal kidney, a fascinating combination that works rather well. The clams, like slightly chewy red triangles, are tougher than the kidneys which look like finely sliced button mushrooms and have a sweet innocence to their flavour. A tangy grain-mustard sauce links surf to turf and the garnish of baby turnips and Brussels sprout leaves threatens to steal the show.

My wife orders sweet corn soup which is a large bowl of thick, creamily rich sweetcorn purée, its subtle taste spiked by small pieces of sautéed potato and soft fried clams as well as dill yoghurt and sliced radishes. Wendy is a purist where soup is concerned and feels there are too many extraneous elements in the bowl – it’s like a reorchestrated chowder.

Smoked trout salad looks great – snips of supple, sweetly smoked, coral-coloured fish surrounding a heap of salad greens, avocado and radish in a yuzu dressing – but the textures don’t quite work. Too many soft textures and nothing to crunch with the radish sliced so thinly.

Pig's trotter patties - pourquoi pas?

Main courses promise much and I can’t help smiling at the thought of trying more and more of them as the weather cools down – braised beef tongue with crispy gnocchi; a baeckeoffe of beef, lamb and pork cooked in a casserole with potatoes; a bavette steak frites for $19; seared foie gras with duck crackling and sautéed plum… But the specials that the charming and thoroughly professional waitress announces sound irresistible. I opt for pigs trotter stuffed with a chicken and mushroom mousse then sliced and breaded into two thick, russet-coloured patties. It’s a great way to present trotter. All the various textures of flesh and jelly and rendered integument are pressed together with a pale vein of eggy mousse running through it. Beneath the patties is a whole nother dish of pulled pork and beans in a dark, sticky sauce, adding a superfluity of richness in the way that Alsatian chefs love to. A little top-knot of arugula and radish in a heavy vinaigrette is the most token of nods towards the notion of vegetables.

The other special is almost as intense – a superbly tender beef short rib in a black, goopy onion sauce paired with a perfectly seared scallop. An awesomely buttery cauliflower purée shares the plate with little slivers of sautéed cauliflower, fava beans and some ribbons of parsnip.

We barely have room for dessert after this but dulche de leche mousse with sautéed strawberries tips the scale into greed. It’s very sweet and comes topped with a sugared crumble like Captain Crunch cereal.

Furstoss advertizes that his cooking is a modern take on Alsatian cooking and it is, up to a point. But he has the wisdom to understand that weight and richness and marvellously big flavours are the heart and soul of the cuisine and he delivers them beautifully. The little wine list offers 20 wines, 19 of them French, including some super Alsatian bottles, all reasonably priced.

Elle M’a Dit is the new queen of Baldwin in terms of quality and a very welcome addition to my neighbourhood. It’s open for lunch Tuesday through Friday and for dinner every evening except Monday. The address is 35 Baldwin Street (right at the foot of Henry Street), 416 546 3448. www.ellemadit.com

 

 

 
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Cafe Fiorentina

06 Aug

Tina Leckie, owner-chef of Cafe Fiorentina, and her partner, Alex Chong

It was the pickled cherries that got me. There they are in the centre of the picture – black and juicy with a peppery, spicy, sweet-sour tang – a brilliant and unexpected condiment to a small collation of Café Fiorentina’s deli delights. The Café is a brand new arrival on the Danforth, taking over the old Dash Kitchen location roughly opposite Allen’s, and is a true labour of love for owner Tina Leckie, long-time sous chef at Célestin, and her partner, Alex Chong. Having two such good cooks in the kitchen takes the place well beyond the average café. The quality of soups, salads, pizza, quiches and panini – all made from scratch – soars. Tina has also been a pastry chef so the sweet side of things and the baking is also first class, from house-made breads served with the soup to miniature brioches. The espresso – espressed from a Faema E61 (a considerable investment for the new business) – is the Danforth nonpareil.

All in all, this is a great addition to the street and I wish the place very well indeed. Café Fiorentina is at 236 Danforth Avenue.

A delectable deli collation from the Cafe - pickled cherries in the centre

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
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Fishbar

24 Jul

Deep-fried smelt stuffed with olive tapenade - 40 are never enough

Fishbar, on Ossington, is open at last – the long-awaited new project from William Tavares (an original partner in Salt, a few doors north) and chef David Friedman (Vancouver-trained and most recently sous chef at Table 17). We took some friends there on Friday and had a very good time. It reminds me of Kitchen Galerie Poisson in Montreal (at 399 Rue Notre-Dame Ouest, to be precise), one of my favourite, merrily informal spots in that talented town,  only Fishbar lacks KGP’s kick-ass foie gras. What they do have in common is a cool but unpretentious décor of open brick walls and wooden tables, not to mention excellent oysters and a laid-back party atmosphere. Fishbar’s wooden benches are a bit hard on the bum and I’ve probably seen enough Edison light bulbs by now to last me a lifetime, but all such teeny issues evaporate once the food starts to arrive.

 The oysters come from Rodney’s and we tried three different kinds – some mild, sweet beauties from New Brunswick; briney, substantial, temptingly metallic Mystic Cocktails from Connecticut; and great big, full-flavoured Marina Top Drawer from B.C. They were accompanied by three sauces: a classic red cocktail, a decent ponzu and a tart, spicy “apple orchard” sauce like fruity mustard. Oysters are also served as pogos – in other words heavily breaded, stuck on the end of a stick and deep-fried to a mahogany colour. Moist, greaseless and delicious, they were even better when dipped into a loose tomatillo salsa that balanced the corn sweetness of the breading with a sharp, fresh tang.

 I love deep-fried smelt especially when they’re on the big side – but not so big that you have to clean them: then you can taste the funky, bitter flavour of their fishy innards. Friday’s smelt were bigger than that so Friedman did clean them but then had the brilliant idea of stuffing them with olive tapenade before fritting them in tempura batter. So I had my bittersweet fix anyway, crispy and piping hot.

 Thus we began to work our way through the menu of small plates, a piece of paper divided into “starters,” “cold,” “hot,” “sides” and “dessert.” Almost every dish showed the Ocean Wise symbol, reassuring us of the kitchen’s commitment to using sustainable, ocean-friendly seafood. Halibut ceviche is a case in point, the juices of the soft, tender fish seized but the flavours more to do with salt and coriander oil than citrus. There were lime wedges for a squeeze-your-own moment that perked the dish up considerably. Hair-thin sweet potato fries were too thin to offer much tuberous presence – more like a heap of frying.

Wild sockeye tartare with apple instead of onion

 Salmon tartare was a champion – the wild sockeye cut into large pieces and tossed with shiso, soy and chopped apple – a great idea and undeniable proof that a tartare doesn’t always need onion. The kitchen pairs it with ethereally thin fried wonton wrappers which are much too delicate and brittle to bear the weight of the fish. I guess we’re supposed to take a forkful of salmon and then a bite of crunchy crunch. As a system, it works admirably.

 Chef Friedman does hearty as well as refined – witness a mound of PEI mussels smothered in big chunks of juicy grilled tomato with lumps of chorizo lurking in the tomato sauce. Many slices of baguette were needed to make sure every drop of the sauce was accounted for.

 Battered Pacific cod from the Queen Charlottes lies at the heart of his fish and chips – surprisingly the weakest dish of the evening. The chips were fine – unpeeled, slender, crisp where they should be and tender inside – but the flavour of the fish was missing in action, smothered by the taste of the batter. A side dish of fresh bright green peas with flecks of bacon and the wicked sheen of bacon fat totally stole that particular scene.

PEI mussels with a robust sauce of tomato and chorizo

 Dessert restored smiles to faces. They make their own ice creams here and serve a trio of chocolate, honey and goat cheese ice creams, the latter undeniably cheesy and brilliantly framed by the more conventional treats. A giant, crusty chocolate brownie covered in cherry jam and vanilla ice cream ended up as a sort of blue-collar homage to Black Forest cake, swiftly eaten and enjoyed.

 Veteran sommelier Jamie Duran is in charge of the wines at Fishbar and has put together an attractive little list that includes a dry Muscat from Terre di Orazio in Basilicata ($44), a crisp, aromatic white that smells like a bunch of lilies, a lovely match for many things on the menu.

 Early signs are that Fishbar will be a hit for the team behind it – original, affordable and above all blessed with a chef who understands how to cook seafood and have a little fun while he’s doing it.

 Fishbar is open for dinner only, closed on Mondays. 217 Ossington Avenue (a few doors south of Dundas). 647 340 0227. www.fishbar.ca.

 
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Campagnolo

22 Jul

Zucchini carpaccio - fresher than a summer's day

 

I’ve been looking forward to going to Campagnolo ever since Joanne Kates gushed so enthusiastically about chef Craig Harding’s “dreamworld pasta” last March. I called often during the spring but there was never a table available, then I forgot about it for a couple of months. This week I called again and while the place was still fantastically busy I was finally able to get a reservation, but only if our group of four arrived promptly at 6:30. Not 7:00… 6:30. Ever obedient, we did as we were bidden, though the scorching sun was a little high in the sky for anyone to be thinking much about dinner. Perhaps the restaurant sensed that, because we had to wait 40 minutes for our repeatedly requested plate of bread and gougères and bowl of warm olives in orange-scented oil.

I don’t do outrage – I’m really too easy-going to get flustered by that sort of thing – but it was odd. Campagnolo has an open kitchen and we could see the four cooks standing and talking, could see our waiter explaining our needs. We could also see a basket of loaves of bread on the counter. It was obvious that they were baking new bread and cooking new gougères – which is just silly when you make customers come at 6:30. No one offered an explanation or thought to send out something else to take the edge off our hunger. Oh well. Hey ho.

At least we had plenty of time to study our surroundings. The corner spot was once a Coffee Time and you can still see the old lines in the shape of the space. There’s a new bar with a fancy light fixture above it that looks like a miniature Dale Chihuly zoomorphic glass sculpture. Big caramel-coloured plush curtains soften the angles of the walls and help control the sound of merry voices that bounces up and down between the tiled floor and low ceiling. Little brass candelabra and blue-and-white china water jugs add a quaint charm.

But no one is here for the décor. It’s Craig Harding’s food that has caused such a fluttering of fans amongst the critical community. And I do see why. It’s very good food – thoughtful, balanced, beautifully executed – rooted in Italian traditions but with a contemporary refinement.

A little dish of zucchini carpaccio, for example, was a simple but brilliant little hymn to summer – crunchy ribbons of fennel sliced so thinly they were almost translucent set over broader strips of raw zucchini, strewn with shaved parmiggiano reggiano and peppery baby nasturtium leaves, all refreshed by a deftly harmonious tomato vinaigrette.

Scrumptious marrowbone with oxtail and nectarine marmalade

Testina was a very different proposition but equally well achieved. Testina is head cheese but instead of slicing the jellied brawn as a terrine, Harding turns it into a patty, breaded and pan-fried, which warms up the various pieces of pigface and turns the matrix of jelly into rich juice. Flavours are released and the unusually large size of the bits of meat lets you experience their different textures. A good, tart gribiche sauce around the plate cut the fat when required while the frisée topknot looked pretty.

An even richer treat for carnivores used half a vertically sawn marrowbone as a vessel of pleasure. The marrow was still in the bone but hidden by morsels of tender braised oxtail and traces of nectarine marmalade adding a lovely fruity sweetness. A close look revealed chopped herbs and tiny gratings of lemon zest – a sly gremolata that was as scrumptious as it always is with oxtail. A spoon was provided to scoop out bonemarrow, oxtail and fruit together to be spread onto crunchy toasts. Though it sounds like a heavy dish for the hottest day in Canadian history, it wasn’t. Sumptuous, yes, but so nicely balanced it almost seemed dainty.

Having heard so much about Harding’s pasta, I had to try the agnolotti that headed up the list of main courses. Yes, they were superb. The pasta itself was perfectly textured, soft little pouches that held a fresh pea purée. Whole peas, pea leaves and shoots nestled in amongst them while awesomely tender lobster meat lolled about on top. A mild fennel purée and a sort of bisque-like sauce lurked in the bottom of the bowl, bringing all the flavours together.

If peas and lobster is a classic combination, so is chorizo and octopus. There is no nonsense about the relationship on Harding’s dish – you get a big juicy, spicily seasoned fresh chorizo sausage hot off the grill and a single tender octopus limb that has also been finished on the grill (just a moment too long, I felt, because the diminishing curl of the tentacle was over-charred). Between the two principals is a soft, deliciously tangy peperonata while a puck of firm polenta represents the world of starch.

Saddle of lamb, perfectly pink

A subtler textural game is played on another main course – perfectly seared scallops, moist and creamy at heart, share the plate with smoked steelhead trout the colour of a carola rose, not sliced but cut into juicy chunks. Little new potatoes, a lively caper aioli and some shavings of radish complete the moment.

Roast lamb saddle represents a more conventional aesthetic, the succulent meat paired with cannelini beans but then perked up with a dark cherry balsamic and some shaved parm regg. The cheese was great with the beans but I’m not sure it sat so happily with the lamb, but that’s because the flavour of the meat was so good, especially when enhanced by some shavings of black summer truffle, that I would have resented any extraneous interference.

Two desserts were offered. One was a flaky canoli filled with chocolate-flecked, amaretto-spiked ricotta and served with a spoonful of gentle orange marmalade. The other was a slab of “chocolate paté” with the gelatinous texture of pudding – yummy in a childish sort of way – topped with crumbled macaroon and some boozy figs that had ended their lives poached in red wine – a great match for the chocolate.

Campagnolo’s wine list is rather clever – about 50 wines in total with four sparklers and lots of interesting, aromatic whites. Reds are a more serious gathering – only two under $50, seven in three figures. I was glad to see some decent representation from Ontario but the big guns were mostly Italian – which suits an Italianate menu, to be sure.

Craig Harding is clearly the real deal and success has allowed him to build a large brigade in the kitchen and front-of-house. I hate the fascism of a reservation policy so obviously built around turning the tables but the temptation is irresistible, I guess, when you have less than 40 seats. Still, that sort of “screw the customer” attitude can bite you back in the long run. And there’s one other element missing from the evening – any sense of verbal connection between the kitchen and the table. I would have loved to have had a brief word with someone about any of the dishes – some little tidbit about where an ingredient came from, why the chef had done this or that, even a standard enquiry about whether we were enjoying the food. So many other, less interesting restaurants do this as a matter of course, but there seems to be an endemic lack of gastronomic communication between the staff and the customers. It comes across as arrogance and, no matter how good the cooking, that always leaves a bitter taste in one’s mouth.

Campagnolo is at 832 Dundas Street West (just at Euclid Avenue). 416 364 4785.

 
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