Terroni and the Apocalypse

For the past few months every time Allison and I walked down Queen West one of us would turn to the other and say, “You know we really should try this Terroni everyone’s talking about.” We’d seen the lines out the door on Friday nights; we’d read the glowing reviews; heck, we’d even heard Susur Lee’s kids love frequenting the place for lunch. Being the intrepid foodies that we are, we decided to round up the troops for an early dinner late last week. All the waiting, I am happy to report, had not been in vain.

Terroni is a bustling Italian joint with a décor that sometimes-Vanity Fare-contributor Wilson describes as “cute without being kitschy.” Cool Italian-language posters on the walls, nifty fresh parmesan-grating contraptions on the tables; the restaurant exceeds in the aesthetic department. Especially, I am sheepish to admit, if one takes into account the attractiveness of the staff. “Is everyone who works here hot?” someone at our table was heard to remark, eyes glued in particular to a staff member behind the bar. A debate ensued regarding the prudence of writing a phone number on the back of a TTC transfer. Caution won out, however, when the only thing left on the table at the end of our meal was the tip.

But I digress.

Now, it is the source of endless frustration for me when only one person at a table orders an appetizer. Clutching your growling stomach, you must watch helplessly as your thoughtless tablemate savours every bite of his apristomaco. Sure, you may make small talk and nibble on a few slices of bread but in your mind you are issuing ultimatums: “Finish that carpaccio in the next 5 seconds or my fork is making a new home in your eye socket.” Fortunately for our thoughtless tablemate (with the initials, as my middle school music teacher used to say, Wilson L.), the service at Terroni was exceptional. Before my fork could pierce eye jelly, the empty carpaccio plate was whisked away and our second courses materialized like edible angels. And what second courses they were! The farinata di ceci (a wonderful argula, tomato, and tuna salad served with a slice of chick pea pancake), bucatini all’amatriciana (long, pipe-cleaner shaped homemade pasta in a slightly spicy pancetta sauce), and mangiabbun pizza (with rapini and homemade sausage) delighted; the gnocchi alla simi and li picuri pizza were tasty, if uninspired.

The verdict? Rustic Italian done well. Unlike some restaurants who are jack of all cuisines and masters of none, Terroni knows its stuff.

Although we at Vanity Fare do enjoy food, it is not all we do. To prove this point, we hit up Kozyndan’s Tales of the Bunnyfish show to enjoy the couple’s whimsical work and, er, take advantage of the free cookies. Kozyndan’s print photos and paintings are hard not to like. This particular exhibit tracked a bunnyfish - half rabbit, half fish, hence the name - on its around-the-world adventures. I liked the two small paintings from “Bunnyfish and the Beach”: the bunnyfish appears nestled between breasts (with a bikini tan line) and resting against buttocks. The work is so intimate; you feel like you’re stealing glimpses of the couple’s private world. Which helps to explain the atmosphere of giggling reverence at The Magic Pony. I think just about everyone at the show, having followed the couple’s travels through their blog and flickr photos, had a crush on Kozyndan. And, really, who doesn’t want their lifestyle? Traveling around the work, making art, being in love; sounds pretty sweet to me.

Tales of the Bunnyfish reminded me of the garden gnome in Amélie or, closer to home, the set of photographs entitled “My European Adventures with David Miller” at the fantastic King West café, Morning Glory (the Toronto mayor’s face is superimposed onto photographs from European hotspots; go for David, stay for the scrumptious breakfast sandwiches). A tad gimmicky, you say? Perhaps. But isn’t it nice to know that in our crazy mixed-up world the exploits of a mythical creature can attract such a devout following?

Or it’s a sign of the apocalypse. I’ll let you be the judge.

- Andrea

Chock-full of tastelessness

Oh Baldwin. How we love thee. Such a village street - “reminds me of Ann Arbor,” one soon-to-be Vanity Fare contributor commented - smack in the middle of the city. I fear, however, that its eating establishments are spurning our affection. Although the many cafes and restaurants that line Baldwin’s leafy sidewalks have charming decors (and patios!), across the street (ha) the food is mediocre. Baldwin is the gifted kid in math class who’s failing because she can’t sit still. So much potential but without the proper tools - Ritalin for the student, chefs who can actually cook for Baldwin’s cafes - not worth the time. (Clearly, I should never be a teacher).

Vegetarian Haven, sadly, is one of these students. I suppose we should have known. Here’s a dining tip for any hungry Torontonians: avoid pan-Asian cuisine at all costs. If there’s one thing I despise - and I like to think I have a pretty receptive palate - it’s culinary indecision. Now Asia, as we all know, is a big place. Why chefs believe they can conquer Japan, China, Vietnam, Thailand, India (don’t even get me started), and Morocco (apparently part of Asia) simultaneously is beyond my comprehension. It demands, as you have witnessed, the overuse of italics. Yet, defying logic, pan-Asian eateries abound in our fair city. Pick a country! If you’re going to do one thing, as everyone’s mother has told her, do it well. Colonization is so last century (and the century before that and the century before… also, memo to the Bush administration); enough with the haphazard pilfering.

Unsurprisingly, Vegetarian Haven’s food was muddled. The tempeh in my salad was cut too thin and under-seasoned; a noodle soup dish was bland; a lentil soup special was flavourful but tepid. We wanted to like the place, we really did. We enjoyed the romantic décor and the friendly staff; other people’s food looked good. Maybe we just ordered the wrong thing (is mock meat what we’re supposed to be having? Is mock pastrami their specialty?).

It pains us to see Baldwin in such a state. I didn’t want it to come to this but tough love seems the only option. So here’s our ultimatum: either choke down the Ritalin, Baldwin, or we’re shipping you off to Gitmo.

- Andrea

Two for the Price of One

Since we at Vanity Fare are all about community and sharing - and are also lazy and sometimes do not feel like stirring from the couch - we like to offer our space to the occasional guest contributor. So today we present you with our very first party trick, Wilson. In the name of all things tasty, he roamed the fruit-peel littered streets of Kensington on a quest for doubles. Was the mission a success? Read on.

She pushed forward my doubles wrapped in wax paper and handed me my diet coke. I’ll readily admit my fascination with doubles was partially due to the pragmatism of the name; what can be better than knowing upfront that you are getting two of something? Sure, I was not altogether sure what I was getting two of but my North Americanism told me two for the price of one was a very good thing indeed.

Prior to my trip to Kensington, my knowledge of doubles could be described as hopeful at best. I only knew the name, the fact that it was some sort of street food from the Caribbean, and that it existed somewhere in Kensington. Armed with this knowledge, sheer persistence led me to Patty King and its promise of doubles. Patty King is an example of the many mom and pop ethnic-esque bakeries that exist across Toronto: linoleum, harsh florescent lighting, curt but friendly service. It smelled mainly like Jamaican patties and, while I will admit to being swayed for a moment, my endgame was to get a doubles, the flaky spicy goodness of a Jamaican patty be damned.

Photo courtesy of Nosuchsoul

Unwrapping the wax paper I discovered two yellowish pancakes. A closer inspection revealed that the pancakes were being held together by a chickpea curry, or chana. The pancakes seemed to be griddle-fried and coloured with turmeric, although Wikipedia suggests that saffron is the traditional colouring of choice. While a bit greasy, this only reinforced its street food heritage. Soft with an almost cake-like texture, the pancakes were savory and a nice texture contrast to the slight firmness of the chickpeas. They had an almost indiscernible sweetness, nicely complementing the mild curry flavour of the chana. Satisfyingly savory and umami, the doubles more than lived up to my non-existent expectations.

-Wilson

Link:
Photo of Patty King in Kensington

Dish Cooking Studio

Several months ago, I attended a corporate event at Dish Cooking Studio on Dupont St. in Toronto. I recently had my photos developed from that evening, and wanted to post them here.

This is the kitchen area where we sat and nibbled on our antipasto of olives and grilled vegetables, while Chef Charmaine went through a demonstration of the dishes we would all have a hand in creating later that evening. We were divided into 4 different groups, each in charge of a different part of the meal. (Appetizer, Pasta, Main Course & Dessert)

Here are a few shots of the red pepper involtini dish that my Appetizer group helped make. We stuffed these roasted red peppers with a mixture of goat cheese, green onions & Italian flatleaf parsley.

The linguine plate, tossed with baby argula, some sort of mild cheese & homemade tomato sauce.

I’m usually not much of a dessert person, but I finished my entire slice of cake. It was light, not too sweet and was served with a dollop of mascarpone, fresh raspberries & a sprig of mint — delicious!

- Allison