A Djerba-trip Down Memory Lane

When I say “Greek food,” you say “Danforth.” When I say “Tunisian food,” you say, “Tunis?” Fortunately for Toronto’s rep as a centre of culinary diversity, the answer to the former is also that to the latter. (Cause that’s not an awkward sentence. Whatever. I couldn’t help myself. “Former/latter” is one of my very favourite constructions, despite the fact that I routinely confuse the two. “Does ‘former’ refer to the alternative that immediately precedes the matter at hand? And what does ‘latter’ mean anyway?” Oh the questions that keep me up at night.)

As I was saying – sort of – “It’s all Greek to me” no longer applies to the Danforth. Representing the North African contingent, Djerba la Douce is only a throw of couscous away from Coxwell and Danforth, more than a few blocks east, if truth be told, of Greek Town proper. But we’re not here to quibble over geography – we’ll leave that to China and Tibet – we’re here for the food. And at Djerba la Douce – D la D, as I like to call it -Tunisian food is done well. Mostly.

I should confess here that I worked at a North African restaurant during grad school and, since the owner/chef was Tunisian, I consider myself somewhat of a Tunisia expert. An old Tunisia hat, as it were. (Despite the fact that I’ve never been to the country and don’t speak Arabic. Once again, mere quibbles.) Oh how I miss Mo’s steaming bowls of vegetable couscous and sweet, sweet tajine! Not to mention his homemade pita and chicken okra casserole… So many fond memories. Even the day I served reviewers from The List and then worked myself into a frothy panic over the next few months, afraid they’d badmouth the service (because it would be about me! I was the only waitress on the shift!). The 2006 guide came out and, thankfully, it only mentioned the excellent food, not the harebrained staff. (Which is more than I can say for the 2008 review. That never would have happened to me, I knew the menu inside out, I swear.)

But now the tables are turned and I can exact my revenge on unsuspecting wait staff. Muah-ha-ha! Except I’ve never really been one for vengeance – holding grudges is too much effort. Especially when one can ogle these photos. Fear not, dear readers: impartial shall henceforth be my middle name.

D la D does deliver some tasty appetizers. We started with the Calamari Djerbieno – perfectly cooked pieces of calamari floating in a mild tomato sauce – that came served with pita bread (I’m sorry, Mo’s triumphs).

Then came veggie couscous and the cumin-coated trout special.

Once again, the creature of the sea was cooked perfectly. Moist, flaky – tasty, tasty. (Am I good, or am I good?) The couscous wasn’t bad, it just exemplified what was wrong with D la D’s food overall: a bit too oily, and suffering from the salty bland. Tunisia is the land of harissa, after all – I wanted to feel the burn, damn it. (Did I mention how Mo used to make his own harissa? And roast chilies that could blow eardrums?)

I did enjoy the homey, one-room atmosphere of D la D. But it’s no match against nostalgia. So if anyone happens to have an extra ticket to Edinburgh, remember that no one does sitting in an airplane seat like yours truly. Just hurry – Mo et al are closing shop this year (sniff, sniff). As Jerry Maguire said in that long-ago time when Tom Cruise didn’t give little children nightmares: “Help me, help you eat couscous.”

I’ll even supply the bib.

-Andrea

(Photos by Allan)