Archive for the ‘Reviews’ Category

What Shall We Eat For Dinner?

The Gastronomy Of Marriage

I’ve often wondered if those 6 words might just be one of the most uttered phrases in any relationship.

Having caught up on some (long overdue) reading lately, I’ve had my nose stuck into The Gastronomy Of Marriage by Michelle Maisto for the better part of the past week, a tale which attempts to answer that exact question.

I’d first heard about the book back in December, while combing through one of many ‘makes a great gift for a foodie’ guides that tend to present themselves right before the holidays.  The summary made the story sound interesting enough, so I’d earmarked it on my Chapters wish list and then forgotten all about it.  While at the bookstore returning a duplicate gift after Christmas, I’d spied the bright veg on its cover and was inspired to take it home.

I’m not entirely certain what it is about the photo, but there’s something romantic, sensual, yet poignantly sad about those 2 crooked gourds wrapped around each other.  Perhaps I’m just full of silly sentimentality, but to me it evokes an us-against-the-world feel which doggedly tugs upon my heartstrings.

Throughout the story, Maisto explores the link between family and food and how they influence our personal opinions of what makes a suitable meal (or comfortable life), all against the backdrop of her impending marriage.  Combining the single households of Italian American Maisto and her Chinese American husband prior to their nuptials often produces comical results.

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Burger Wars

Not A Slider, Actually

There’s been quite the battle being waged for burger supremacy in Toronto lately.

Specifically, it seems like every time I turn around, there’s a new fancy burger joint (complete with a list of premium organic meats and toppings) opening up.

I’ve sampled most of the “gourmet” burgers in town, being an above-average fan of burgers in general, and also a lover of a man who absolutely adores all things bacon cheeseburger-esque.

During the last few weeks I’ve sampled 2 of the newer offerings, so I’ll be ranking them in the context of some of the other boutique burger shops I’ve tried thus far.

Shortly after it opened in early November, the Everyman and I hightailed it to Oh Boy Burger Market to see what all the fuss was about.  We’d been anticipating its opening for quite some time; likely ever since I first saw their papered over window during the summer, if memory serves.  While the service was a bit spotty, the room completely packed and several items were sold out on our visit (can you blame them when they had only just opened and had already been written up in The Star?) the burgers themselves were tasty and exhibited that lovely, lacy crust that I crave on the outside.  I opted to have the Oh Little Boy combo which came with 2 mini burgers, while the Everyman had a regular size.  Both were skillfully cooked, and it’s important to note that even with the size differential both were flavourful, juicy, and not the least bit dried out.  They also got bonus points for offering a really pungent blue cheese for topping the burgers; on top of the 2 minis it was like tiny bites of heaven.

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What I Learned From Splendido

Cerignola

To commemorate 4 years spent not killing each other, the Everyman and I visited Splendido for our anniversary on Monday night.

It was a blustery night, full of fierce winds and drifting snow, but once we entered the dining room the outside world was forgotten, until the table next to us (a mother and son) began kvetching about all manner of nonsense at a fairly audible level.  We were lucky that they left before we were halfway through dinner, because they certainly made quite the racket and distraction to our romantic intentions.

To keep things interesting, shortly after we arrived Conviction chef Marc Thuet and his wife sat down at the table behind us, ushered in on a cloud of stale cigarette smoke and dour French arrogance.  They seemed to enjoy the food but every time I glanced over, they certainly looked miserable.  Such is the life of a minor celebrity, I guess…

At our table, the lovely meal began with a proffering of bread, grissini and hummus, as well as a finger bowl of olives.  The Everyman enthusiastically consumed the hummus, while I tentatively nibbled an olive.

Now normally I don’t care for olives at all, but I always make a point of trying them when they are presented to me because as I’ve learned many times before, you just never know when your tastes are bound to change.  As it happens, my aversion to olives took a flying leap that evening as I greedily sucked on the briny, meaty flesh.  Even the small black olives that accompanied the massive egg-shaped green ones were appealing to me and before I knew it, the tiny teaser plate of house-cured beauties was gone.

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Battle Of The Bird

As anyone who has read my Taste T.O. wing comparison would be able to gather, I have a bit of a soft spot for the venerable chicken wing.

The hiatus that I’ve taken from consuming them since I wrote that piece was abruptly brought to an end last week, after I pointed out one of the latest in the crop of wing joints to open in Toronto (The Wing Company) to the Everyman.  You see, the Everyman is also quite a fan of the chicken wing, and once he took a gander at the menu, his eyes glazed over with that barely concealed lust that he reserves for daydreaming about his junk food of choice.

Inevitably, it wasn’t long before he was trying to cajole me into ordering delivery, but as fate would have it, The Wing Company (thankfully) only delivers 3 days a week (Thursday through Saturday).  Which meant that he had to wait until Thursday to take them for a test drive, dovetailing nicely (for him) into our weekly “survive the Everyman’s cooking” night of the week, when he is supposed to provide (read: cook) our dinner.

Without having tried them, it seemed that the main appeal of a place like The Wing Company is the customization aspect.  Wings are their metier, thus their focus is on little other than the coatings of said wings and the sides that’ll go with them.  As of this writing, the count of sauces/coatings tops out at 40, which is impressive to say the least.  On the first occasion, I ordered the hot buffalo blue flavour, whilst the Everyman selected the smoked lime tequila sauce, with a side of poutine.  The buffalo blue was tangy and slurpable, but hardly what I would consider hot (probably for the best) and the Everyman’s smoked lime tequila had a well balanced spiciness, but gave off the faintest whiff of curry (another flavour option) leaving me to wonder whether the toss bowls were properly cleansed between uses.  Overall though, the wings themselves were crispy, fat and juicy, and not at all the disappointing nubbins that hardly have any meat to them at all.  The poutine was remarkable for something that arrived by delivery, and while the Everyman adored it, I found the gravy a touch too salty.

On Sunday afternoon, the Everyman had a hankering for poutine in the worst way and wanted to order from The Wing Company again, but a call placed to them shortly after opening confirmed that they do not deliver on Sundays.  Recalling that another wings-only company had opened in the area recently, I set about finding a menu for Wing Shop 366, which is available through Grub Canada.  They sported a remarkably similar concept t0 the one at The Wing Company, though they also dabble in burgers and salads, with a sauce/coating count sitting at a respectable 52 options.  Noting the numerous overlaps between the two, the Everyman was game and hoped for the best.  His wings of choice were a half pound of jalapeno pepper sauced with the balance of the pound done in traditional BBQ, while I opted for a half order of dry parmesan and a mini 2 ounce burger.  To be fair, the burger was well charred and probably would have been more palatable if I’d enjoyed it piping hot, but I found it reminiscent of the way McDonald’s used to taste when I was a wee foodie whose parents threw her 3rd, 4th and 5th birthdays in their party room (i.e. made of something resembling real food, but still mediocre).  The wings were exceptionally crispy but repellent, tasting only of the aged oily sludge they were probably fried in.  The parmesan tasted of funky sawdust that likely came from a green cardboard can, while both of the Everyman’s selections were so unappetizing that he didn’t finish either of them.  Their version of poutine was a soggy hodgepodge; the experience on a whole guaranteeing that we’d never order from them again.

As if those weren’t enough wings for one week, last night the Everyman and I ordered in from The Wing Company again, this time opting for traditional BBQ for him, BBQ blue for me, and a sampler of the dry salt and malt vinegar.  Both BBQ’s walked the fine line between sweet, savoury and heat, with the blue cheese adding the appropriate amount of zest, but the salt and malt vinegar stymied us both.  The salt flakes were visible, but no aroma or zing could be detected.  No matter.  After consuming that many wings in the past 7 days, it didn’t hurt either of us to stop well before finishing the combined 3 pound order.  The one curiosity I’ve noticed about The Wing Company is their propensity to send only celery sticks with their meals, which leads me to believe that they must not like carrots.  Not that the tiny bags of veg in any way balance out the excess that is a typical wing dinner, but it’s funny to wonder why, nonetheless.

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I Came, I Saw, I Drank A Boatload: The Gourmet Food And Wine Expo 2009

To The Victor Go The Spoils

Over the weekend, the Everyman and I visited the annual Gourmet Food & Wine Expo here in Toronto.

This year I was fortunate enough to have free admission courtesy of my editor Sheryl, so all that stood between us and deliciousness were those pesky strips of sample tickets.

And even though every year we leave the Expo lamenting how there is way more booze than food, every year without fail we also go in with many more sample tickets than we’ll possibly need.  This year, we went in with 100 tickets between the 2 of us, which I could tell was probably too much, but we were both looking forward to hitting up the fancy wine room and trying a few expensive wines like we did last year.

I’d also wanted to see Grant’s presentation on the Food Network Stage which happened to be the first of the day, so we ended up getting there just as the show opened.  The unfortunate thing about arriving so early is that most booths aren’t quite ready for service yet, and since we’d decided not to have breakfast beforehand, we were absolutely famished and starving for options.

In order to push back the lightheadedness, we stopped at the first booth that was open, which in this case happened to be Sassafraz.  The Everyman helped himself to a pulled meat mini sandwich, while I grabbed what they were hyping as the world’s best brownie.  The sandwich was decently textured, but super bland without a generous helping of the various condiments that were available.  The brownie was tasty too, but much too sweet to be considered the best of the best.

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Outstanding In The Field, Out Sitting Under Stars

Before Sunset

It was a night to remember, as close to 100 guests descended on Dennis and Denise Harrison’s Dingo Farms in Bradford West Gwillimbury yesterday evening.

Though the rain initially sought to dampen the spirits of all those who’d come together, after a short burst of showers it was smooth sailing ahead, for what promised to be one magical night.

Pretty Roosters

Under the shade and shelter of a stand of trees overlooking the family’s garden, sparkling wine from Fielding Estates was passed around, a bubbly accompaniment to chef Cutrara’s beef and beet salami, mortadella, chorizo, farinata triangles and pates topped with cornichons and radishes, respectively.  After an hour of dribbles and passed hor d’oeuvres, the farm tour ensued, including a trip to see cows (a personal highlight and favourite of mine) a massive 3 year old Berkshire pig, some very contented and beautiful roosters, concluded with a horse-drawn cart ride around the perimeter of the farm with one of Dennis’ sons and his mother. After the sights were seen and the stories told, it was time to head out to the middle of the field so that everyone might begin the journey towards dinner.

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Summertime, And The Eating Is Easy

There are an awful lot of naysayers out there still, but despite all of them, the Everyman and I continue to enjoy the Summerlicious/Winterlicious promotions.

As I’ve said in the past, in order to maximize the experience, you just have to go into it with the right mindset.  Don’t expect that you are going to have the greatest meal of your whole life, take it for what it is; a cheap way to test out potentially delicious establishments.  Plus, there’s a lot to be said about the customer service one experiences during the ‘liciouses.  If a restaurant still manages to provide outstanding service during such a stressful time, you know that you’ve found a good one.

For the summer version this year, we picked 4 new restaurants to visit, all of which I’d heard good things about and had been wanting to sample for some time.

First off, there was opening Friday at Senses at the Soho Met.

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Hot Damn

I went to the doctor yesterday and found out I now have to arm myself with an epi pen.  Boooooooooo!!!!

But, let me back up a second.  For several years now I’ve been having increasingly severe reactions to various types of shellfish.  Something as innocuous as crab, which I used to catch and eat frequently as a child in British Columbia now causes my throat to swell closed and is completely off limits.  A few years later, lobster came to the party and shouted out an enthusiastic allergic ditto.  While I can still eat shrimp and scallops (for now) without any ill effects, for the most part I try to avoid shellfish altogether, because I just don’t feel like taking the risk.  Plus, the one I really loved was crab, and ironically that’s the one I react to the most.

I was doing a pretty good job of avoiding shellfish too, until an intriguing note from Grant over at The Black Hoof coaxed us into returning.  It’d been almost 5 months since our last visit; since the Everyman accuses the place of giving him protein poisoning pretty much every time we go there, we’ve kind of been avoiding it for the last little bit.  That note this week changed all of that…

You see, months ago when I was in the midst of my ‘nduja experimentation, the first person I went to for advice was Grant.  Unfortunately, he didn’t seem to know anything about it, other than the Len Poli resource I’d already been studying.  In fact, I think I may have been responsible for turning him on to the ‘nduja trend (I’ve never asked; perhaps he also admires Chris Cosentino as I do, and heard of it that way).  At any rate, we both ended up making some, and his email this week was to let me know that he’d finally taken it out of the curing room and was ready to start serving it.  I decided to be a little more hardcore with mine, and instead am curing it for at least 6 months, but possibly as long as 12 depending on its consistency at the halfway point.  Regardless, I stll had a foodie’s interest in testing out Grant’s version, so away to The Hoof we’d go.

When we sat down for dinner, the first thing we both noticed was that the ‘nduja dish on the chalkboard was marked as $1.  We both spent some time speculating over whether it was such a risky dish that they were trying to give it away, or whether he just wanted to get people to order it (incidentally, it turned out to be neither – the 3 just happened to rub off beside it)  After consuming a deluxe-sized platter covered in all of our favourite meats between us (guanciale, cheek rilettes, duck mousse, chorizo, lonzino, clove sausage and more) plus a massive bowl of bread, my ‘nduja arrived in the form of a quenelle, sided by smoked spot prawns, (this is where we connect back to my shellfish allergy) halved cherry tomatoes, olive oil and some nice crusty bread.  When I’d seen that it was served with spot prawns on the menu, I spent a good few minutes debating with the Everyman the likelihood of said prawns sending me into anaphylactic shock; I’d eaten them before, but it had been years.  Obviously the lust for ‘nduja won (and luckily no shock was had).  The prawns were heavenly, lusciously smoky, but not overly so, and provided a cooling burst to combat the ‘nduja’s heat.  The strange thing about ‘nduja is that the first bite (which was tiny) was literally so hot I felt like I couldn’t breathe, but the more I ate it, the more addicted I became to it, because it wasn’t a lingering heat.  It flared up fast, but dissipated quickly.  Captivating.  By the end I was wantonly slathering toasted bread with it and mounding prawns and tomatoes on board.  There’s only one word for food this good; stupendous.

Let’s just say I’m looking forward to throwing open my ‘nduja all the more now.  October just can’t come fast enough over here.

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Nibbles, Noshes And Bites

This weekend the Everyman and I converged on Harbourfront for a little-known Luminato event called 1000 Tastes 0f Toronto.

Chances are good that you might not have heard about it because they didn’t seem to do much PR around the event, again.   Even my attempts to procure the participating vendors list via my neighbour (who conveniently works for Luminato) by way of their PR firm was still sort of an exercise in futility.  I suppose it’s par for the course, though.  I didn’t even hear about last year’s event until it was already over, at which point I cursed their marketing department for not informing me of such potential deliciousness.

I unequivocally love street food festivals, if you remove one thing; the people.  I’m not claustrophobic, but I hate being in large crowds for the slow, lazy, meandering nature of the mob.  I suppose I could just secede and admit that it all boils down to my rampant impatience.  I like being able to get where I need to go in a quick and orderly fashion, that’s all.  At any rate, after a bit of good-natured jostling, we managed to find ourselves with nothing but food stands in front of us and time on our hands; in other words, it was chow time!

First off, I have to say that all the food I tried was first rate, especially given the limitations inherent in cooking in the middle of the street (with the exception of one caterer who I will get to later).  Toronto city council could really learn a thing or two for their A La Cart program from an event like this (coincidentally, a few of them were on hand, though who would bother with them with all the other food around, I’m not certain).

The first complaint I have though, is regarding the setup.  Perhaps in an effort to tie it all into the “brand”, every station had the name of the vendor emblazoned onto a white dinner plate… in tiny, nearly impossible to read font.  While I definitely eat with my eyes first, I still want to know who is feeding me, and with the volume of people on the strip there were moments that you’re wandering from booth to booth and are five people thick from the actual vendor’s stand.  It’d be nice to be able to make a decision without having to elbow your way to the front to see who they are is all.  This is especially annoying for me, because I am so short I can’t usually see over the heads of the crowd to gauge anything, anyway.

Secondly, and somewhat tied into the first, the vendors had no consistent manner of presenting their menu options.  Again, with such large crowds it doesn’t help if I can’t tell what you’re serving unless I jockey for position.  Some stalls employed large chalkboard menus with great success (good idea) while others pasted a piece of paper to the top of their table, ensuring that you had to get to the front of the line first to find out what they were serving (bad idea).  I think the event sponsor could have done a lot to prevent this just by providing each booth with proper signage (like a chalkboard) that they could hang off their sponsor logo-covered patio umbrellas.

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Growing Pains

I’ve had hellacious sinus/allergy issues during the past few days that have sidelined me from accomplishing anything productive.

Since pretty much everything tastes like cardboard to me and I haven’t had the wherewithal to cook, the Everyman’s been ordering in a lot of junk food and takeout this week.  On Thursday night I finally had enough and decided I wanted some comfort food, Italian style.

After wrapping up a short interview I was doing, we chose to meet at Negroni and see how they were dealing with the challenges of running their still-young restaurant this week.

I happened to arrive earlier than the Everyman, so I placed our order and requested a glass of red wine to quietly ponder over.  The wine was wonderful as usual, but I think that either the glassware or bottle were too close to the panini press, because my first glass arrived quite noticeably warm.  A subsequent glass ordered later in the meal was the correct temperature though, so it’s entirely possible that the glass may have just come from the dishwasher.  While it happened, it wasn’t a big enough deal to mention to my host, and within a few minutes of sitting on the patio the warmth had subsided and wasn’t even perceptible anymore.

Moments after the Everyman sat down, our charcuterie platter was placed before us, with no difference in ingredients from the last time (bresaola, prosciutto and cacciatore) save for the pickled eggplant replacing the pickles.  The dish, (as it had last time) satisfied with their fantastically crusty bread and subtly spiced cured meats.  I even enjoyed the eggplant pickle, which is typically not a vegetable that I get along with, too.

Next up were the paninis, and while I opted to try something different, the Everyman stuck with his old standby; the prosciutto, bufala and roasted tomato sammie.  The quality of the paninis was just as good as we remembered, though the salad had much more fennel this time than the last.  My panini of pureed artichoke, roasted garlic and asiago was outstandingly pungent and fragrant, but I wished for a bit more textural contrast; these ingredients had the mouth feel of mush on toast.  Perhaps keeping the artichokes whole instead of pureeing them might help, or adding shards of asiago rather than gratings.  I don’t know.  It’s such a small complaint I would hardly consider it one at all.  The Everyman, who is even easier to please bolted his whole panini in record time, then looked up at me hungrily, like he might order another.  Let it not go unsaid that the man loves his prosciutto.

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Will You Still Need Me, Will You Still Feed Me, When I’m 64?

If you’ve been reading this blog for any length of time then you’re probably already well aware that the Everyman and I are huge proponents of Mark Cutrara and the magical meat he puts out over at his charming Parkdale bôite, Cowbell.

Every time we go for dinner, we invariably end up mentioning to the Everyman’s parents afterwards how amazing the food is and how much they would enjoy it, and generally encouraging them to go.  Being freshly minted Torontonians, they’ve been slightly overwhelmed by all of the variety available at their doorstep now, and have only slowly been taking the city’s eateries by storm.

After months spent growing jokingly (but increasingly) impatient, we finally gave up trying to get them to check it out on their own, and invited them to come out to dinner with us.  Thus begins the tale of my latest dinner with my “outlaws”…

Upon our arrival, we proceeded to walk them through the menu like it was old hand, which I suppose it was.  While his mom found the chalkboard menu quaint, I could tell his dad was getting frustrated by his poor line of sight to the menu, and having to squint in order to read it.  Luckily our waitress stopped by just in time, and gave a long, drawn-out tutorial on each component of the menu, for the benefit of our parental newbs.  Lulled into submission by the numerous descriptors, we requested a moment to take it all in.

During that time I gently nudged my mother in law, (who is gluten intolerant) towards the Cowbell hot pot, which I’d sampled on our previous visit and had been quite taken by.  This week however, it happened to be the one dish on the menu that contained bread (in a Jesus sausage) so with a quick substitution she was placated and thick as thieves with our smiley, happy server.  She opted not to have an appetizer, while the Everyman chose a boar broth with belly meat and ramp pistou, and the Mr. Everyman and I both decided on the house charcuterie.

When the appy plates came out, it didn’t take long before Mrs. Everyman began to regret her decision.  Mr. Everyman and I both shared our platters, but in the end it was not enough and she sheepishly called our server over to ask if it was too late to add a third platter to the mix.  Luckily for her it wasn’t, so in mere minutes she was happily nibbling on a veritable meatavore’s paradise.  The platter consisted of 8 selections, plus some mustard and house pickles.  That day it ranged from finocchio, cotechino, two kinds of chorizo, chocolate elk salami, venison with meritage, plus 2 others I no longer remember.  It was awesome and we were all more than pleased, none moreso than the Everyman, who I was slipping slices to throughout the meal.  Overall winners included the venison with meritage and the chocolate elk salami, to be certain.  The Everyman quite enjoyed his soup with ramp pistou, exuberantly extolling it’s garlicky virtues to his parents, while distributing spoonfuls across the table.  The bite I had was a wonderfully spring-like blend of some of my most favourite flavours; yum!

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La Dolce Vita

The Everyman and I are always on the lookout for new and delicious places to clink a fork and knife in our neck of the woods.  In some ways the search becomes so serious that one might almost consider it a sport.  But don’t worry, no foodies were harmed in the writing of this post!

Recently I noticed a little spot called Negroni going in downwind from Gamelle, but hadn’t any indication of what type of fare would be served, other than my assumptions based on their name.  Since I’m usually pretty open to foodie experimentation, I filed it away in the to-inquire-about later section of my brain and went on with my day.

Over the course of the last few days I found out that Negroni happens to be a casual little panini bar/cafe, operated by the owners of another College St. resto, Sidecar.  This would be right up the Everyman’s alley.  Having spent several of his formative years living in Italy, he’s rather fond of most Italian dishes, prosciutto-laced ones especially.  I’d initially planned to mention it to him as a weekend lunch spot, but while driving home from work on Friday night and discussing what to have for dinner, it just sort of fit.  Knowing that they were only open until 9, we dropped our gear at home, quickly changed and headed down the street for a little pressed bread action.

Negroni is a beautifully small space.  It’s bright, airy and hums with it’s cheerful café-ish, open-door persona.  At 7 pm on a Friday night the room was less than half full but an inviting and comfortable atmosphere still prevailed.  The staff are friendly and overly attentive, though not annoyingly so.  The gentleman serving us noticed I had their card (which I’d grabbed on my way in the door) and asked whether we’d come over from their sister spot.  I just like to collect business cards, but he promised to take good care of us anyways.

After ordering a beer and a glass of wine, we set to work perusing the food carte.  The menu’s not large, but includes a handful of temptation-inducing appetizers, as well as a dozen paninos (which based on their contents I’m hazarding a guess and saying are seasonal).  Being meatavores, we ordered a cured platter to split between us, and were not disappointed.  The quantity was spot on, with only a few delicate slivers of each meat dispensed, plus a small dish of house-cured sweet pickles and onion slices.  The trio of meats included a silky prosciutto, a tangy bresaola, and a sumptuous wild boar cacciatore (reminiscent of the Pingue Abbruzese, actually).  All served with a small stack of their achingly crisp and aromatic ciabatta.  The bread alone is worth coming for, with it’s yeasty, malty, savoury smell emanating from the many irregular crevices.  Eating that appetizer makes me think that the people behind Negroni really get what they’re doing, because it did everything an appetizer should.  By the time we were done we were yearning for more, sated but still possessing a discernable appetite.

When our paninos arrived several moments later, we knew we’d made an excellent decision.  The Everyman’s was a lesson in simplicity, melding prosciutto, bufala mozzarella and oven-dried tomatoes.  My own was a delectable spring-like combination of prosciutto, asparagus spears and taleggio (one of my favorite Italian cheeses ever).  If there’s any problem with their menu, it’s that too many of the options sound amazingly palatable, which is why it took me almost 10 minutes to order.  When I lamented that sentiment to our server, he suggested that we should try them in order, that way when we come back we always know where we are and where we want to be.  This is not a bad idea, and when we go back that’s exactly what I’m going to do, because I just mentally threw a dart at the menu to make my selection this time.  The sammies were served with a superfluous salad of parmagiano, fennel and arugula that was tasty, but I was more interested in concentrating on my sandwich.

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Lamentably So

Barbecue in Toronto.

For as long as I can recall, it has been my own personal Everest.  To say that the landscape is lacking in decent options would be an understatement.

Having received several recommendations for Lou Dawg’s Southern Sandwiches recently, I was cautiously optimistic that this one might finally be the place to change all of that.  On our drive home Friday night, the Everyman and I decided we would visit on the weekend, and the ideal time ended up being before we went to a Sunday matinee.

Crossing their subterranean threshold, my senses were immediately assaulted by a wave of intensely smoky vapor.  The meat-cave smelled the way I imagine a whole roasted porker might from the inside.  It was enticing as you first walked in, but after a few minutes underground it started to become slightly disorienting and bordered on nauseating.

I enjoy meatfests with the best of them, but Lou Dawg’s portion sizes are a hair’s width away from overkill.  The Everyman and I wanted to sample as much of the menu as possible, so we split an order of their smoked wings, a half rack of ribs, a pulled pork sandwich, meaty bbq beans and a couple jalapeno cornbreads, all washed down with Stewart’s old fashioned soda.  It sounds like a ton of food, and by all rights it is, but just to be clear, we only sampled a little of everything, and managed to finish nothing.  And for the record, vegetarians need not apply; though the side dishes are mostly vegetarian, everything in the place seems to absorb the odor of meat, something I’m sure no self-respecting saladhead would love.

The server informed us that the wings are somewhat of a specialty, but after trying a few bites I’m not sure I know why.  The rub on the outside is distastefully dry and powdery, and after more than a bite and a half it’s annoyingly sweet.  The wings themselves are gigantic though, and awfully meaty, so they’ve got that going for them; they just need to tone down the quantity of spice rub a little.  The smoked wing novelty wears off quickly and we jettison the order without even getting halfway through; we’ve got bigger fish to fry.

Next up we both sample a few forkfuls of their meaty bbq beans.  My first impression is that they reek of beer, to the point where it’s almost all I can taste.  Being that I don’t drink or even like beer, that puts them at a bit of a disadvantage.  The Everyman loves beer but even he thinks it’s too much.  They’re also disproportionately meaty for the amount of beans we’re given, which sounds like an odd complaint, but do you really need ten to fifteen 1.5 inch chunks of pork in a tiny 6-8 oz container?  The sauce they’re simmered in is also a little too saccharine for my liking, and causes me to gulp down mouthfuls of pop (bad idea) to try and combat the problem.  We give up on the beans soon after and move on to our respective mains.

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  • Book Review of Earth To Table
  • Review of 73 Stirs
  • Toronto Cannoli Comparison
  • Book Review of Kitchen Scraps
  • Profile of Sweet Flour Bake Shop
  • Toronto Mincemeat Comparison
  • Book Review of Good Food For All
  • Book Review of The Edible City
  • Visual Victuals

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