La Fenice
At times, even the best of us must suppress our more rational urges and visit Toronto. And, with the better part of our faculties stifled, we might find ourselves agreeing to meet dear friends in the most unsavoury, dangerous, and ill-mannered parts of the city, where strange and unpleasant persons, dressed in the most decadent manner, ply the most abominable trades. We are talking, if it need be said, about the theatre district.
And so we were seated in La Fenice, an Italian eaterie in King Street's restaurant tenement. The food was quite passable, and the service was -- if we may say so -- eccellente.
Our reservation was for a party of six, but soon after arriving, we learned that our number would be reduced to four. The waiters, who had kept us a large, comfortable table in the front window, immediately bustled about to reduce the settings at the table -- but let us keep the roomy table with, as far as King Street affords, the view.
This was typical of the service there. Three or four gentlemen, all with forte Italian accents, were ceaselessly attentive and polite. More on the service anon.
We opted for a family-style approach, ordering three antipasti and three primi. The appetizers were priced at $11.50 and the pastas were $15.50 to $18.50. There was a decent wine selection, and a companion ordered the house Chianti, which at $33 may have been the best value on the list.
The antipasti were all quite good:
Daily antipasto platter: A selection of meats and cheeses (ahem). This was a daily special, and included coppacola, prosciutto, a couple of salame, a small portion of parmagiano, and some pickled vegetables. All were quite good, but we did not realise until later that the cheeses promised with the plate were almost entirely absent.
Carpaccio all' emiliana: Obviously prepared with some knowledge and care, six large slices of cold, raw beef were presented on a large platter, drizzled with olive oil, sprinkled with capers, and draped with long shavings of parmagiano. We found, however, that the chef rather missed the point of carpaccio, which, we hazard to guess, is to serve the beef such that its bright, lively flavour can be enjoyed in its naked form as it almost dissolves on the tongue. Perhaps Emilian is a sous-chef with slightly too much enthusiasm who manned the oil-jar; perhaps he is the chef, from a province where food that does not glisten is not worthy of the table. We care not to speculate. The result, however, was a carpaccio with a flavour sadly masked by oil, salt, and brine. Not inedible, mind you, but a missed opportunity.
Zuppa di cozze del golfo: Steamed in a light and tasty tomato and broth sauce, these mussels were in good season -- meaty, tender, flavourful. There were two or three pounds of them, too, and when our party seemed unable to finish the last handful, a waiter, without prompting, divided them among the diners. Then, instead of taking the dish away, he spooned the sauce onto our plates and produced more bread with which to sop it up. More on this in a moment.
The pasta, too, were quite competent:
Gnocchi al filetto di pomodori: Tomato sauce is best when it harnesses the fresh, clean sweetness and fruitiness of the tomato -- not cooked so long that it becomes a heavy, somber ragout, but not cooked with such abandon that its youthful stridency and acidity remains. It is a tightrope. La Fenice's chef walked it with ease, dressing the gnocchi with a light and bright sauce that pleased both the eye and the palate. If the gnocchi were made that day, in that kitchen, it was an accident, but quality gnocchi remains a rare dream, often unfulfilled; a good tomato sauce is well within the reach of any kitchen, but is always satisfying when it is encountered.
Agnolotti al gorgonzola e salvia: We find gorgonzola to be one of the prettiest mysteries of the curd; at its best, creamy, sharp, sweet, tangy flavours meld into a serene and paradoxical delight. Thus it was with some happiness that we found our faith in the kitchen rewarded with fresh, well-cooked pasta and even-handed cheese in a light, creamy tomato sauce. We would have appreciated a slightly larger portion, perhaps, but we could not take issue with any part of the dish.
Risotto mare: Our disappointments with restaurant risotto are many. We advised against it, in fact; the table seemed inclined, however, and we relented to preserve the bonhomie. We are pleased with the outcome. The rice: al dente. The flavour: sweetness of seafood and earthiness of broth and rice. The result: a competent, pleasurable risotto, made with understanding and care. Such a feat should be neither newsworthy nor praiseworthy; we have been known to whip up a midnight risotto when the feeling overcomes us, with more success than most restaurants. Yet we must give due credit to the sure hand wielding the wooden spoon that produced this fine dish.
A note on service.
Restaurants are not -- cannot and should not be -- our home. We desire neither familial familiarity nor fleeting friendship from our servers; we want only professional respect and due regard, for which we exchange healthy tips and repeated visits. It is thus remarkable how often we encounter rudeness, indifference, neglect, and incompetence from servers, when we only want to be pleased.
La Fenice has solved the conundrum by employing pleasant, attentive gentlemen of middle years, with a respect for and knowledge of the food they serve. They serve their customers well because they identify so readily with them; they make their customers comfortable because they are so comfortable serving them.
We wonder whether restaurants realise that the gain is short in term when they hire cheap, young, attractive servers instead of mature, professional, competent servers. We would be last to tell a restaurateur his business, or his art; but if a server and his establishment present food as it is meant to be presented, and clearly understand how food is meant to be enjoyed -- not as art or artefact, but as something tangible and bodily -- we can overlook almost any number of missteps, whether in the kitchen or the dining room.
We thus assure La Fenice that, while their food is not perfect, it is good enough; and while they may be in the theatre district, we will be happy if we may visit them again soon.
And so we were seated in La Fenice, an Italian eaterie in King Street's restaurant tenement. The food was quite passable, and the service was -- if we may say so -- eccellente.
Our reservation was for a party of six, but soon after arriving, we learned that our number would be reduced to four. The waiters, who had kept us a large, comfortable table in the front window, immediately bustled about to reduce the settings at the table -- but let us keep the roomy table with, as far as King Street affords, the view.
This was typical of the service there. Three or four gentlemen, all with forte Italian accents, were ceaselessly attentive and polite. More on the service anon.
We opted for a family-style approach, ordering three antipasti and three primi. The appetizers were priced at $11.50 and the pastas were $15.50 to $18.50. There was a decent wine selection, and a companion ordered the house Chianti, which at $33 may have been the best value on the list.
The antipasti were all quite good:
Daily antipasto platter: A selection of meats and cheeses (ahem). This was a daily special, and included coppacola, prosciutto, a couple of salame, a small portion of parmagiano, and some pickled vegetables. All were quite good, but we did not realise until later that the cheeses promised with the plate were almost entirely absent.
Carpaccio all' emiliana: Obviously prepared with some knowledge and care, six large slices of cold, raw beef were presented on a large platter, drizzled with olive oil, sprinkled with capers, and draped with long shavings of parmagiano. We found, however, that the chef rather missed the point of carpaccio, which, we hazard to guess, is to serve the beef such that its bright, lively flavour can be enjoyed in its naked form as it almost dissolves on the tongue. Perhaps Emilian is a sous-chef with slightly too much enthusiasm who manned the oil-jar; perhaps he is the chef, from a province where food that does not glisten is not worthy of the table. We care not to speculate. The result, however, was a carpaccio with a flavour sadly masked by oil, salt, and brine. Not inedible, mind you, but a missed opportunity.
Zuppa di cozze del golfo: Steamed in a light and tasty tomato and broth sauce, these mussels were in good season -- meaty, tender, flavourful. There were two or three pounds of them, too, and when our party seemed unable to finish the last handful, a waiter, without prompting, divided them among the diners. Then, instead of taking the dish away, he spooned the sauce onto our plates and produced more bread with which to sop it up. More on this in a moment.
The pasta, too, were quite competent:
Gnocchi al filetto di pomodori: Tomato sauce is best when it harnesses the fresh, clean sweetness and fruitiness of the tomato -- not cooked so long that it becomes a heavy, somber ragout, but not cooked with such abandon that its youthful stridency and acidity remains. It is a tightrope. La Fenice's chef walked it with ease, dressing the gnocchi with a light and bright sauce that pleased both the eye and the palate. If the gnocchi were made that day, in that kitchen, it was an accident, but quality gnocchi remains a rare dream, often unfulfilled; a good tomato sauce is well within the reach of any kitchen, but is always satisfying when it is encountered.
Agnolotti al gorgonzola e salvia: We find gorgonzola to be one of the prettiest mysteries of the curd; at its best, creamy, sharp, sweet, tangy flavours meld into a serene and paradoxical delight. Thus it was with some happiness that we found our faith in the kitchen rewarded with fresh, well-cooked pasta and even-handed cheese in a light, creamy tomato sauce. We would have appreciated a slightly larger portion, perhaps, but we could not take issue with any part of the dish.
Risotto mare: Our disappointments with restaurant risotto are many. We advised against it, in fact; the table seemed inclined, however, and we relented to preserve the bonhomie. We are pleased with the outcome. The rice: al dente. The flavour: sweetness of seafood and earthiness of broth and rice. The result: a competent, pleasurable risotto, made with understanding and care. Such a feat should be neither newsworthy nor praiseworthy; we have been known to whip up a midnight risotto when the feeling overcomes us, with more success than most restaurants. Yet we must give due credit to the sure hand wielding the wooden spoon that produced this fine dish.
A note on service.
Restaurants are not -- cannot and should not be -- our home. We desire neither familial familiarity nor fleeting friendship from our servers; we want only professional respect and due regard, for which we exchange healthy tips and repeated visits. It is thus remarkable how often we encounter rudeness, indifference, neglect, and incompetence from servers, when we only want to be pleased.
La Fenice has solved the conundrum by employing pleasant, attentive gentlemen of middle years, with a respect for and knowledge of the food they serve. They serve their customers well because they identify so readily with them; they make their customers comfortable because they are so comfortable serving them.
We wonder whether restaurants realise that the gain is short in term when they hire cheap, young, attractive servers instead of mature, professional, competent servers. We would be last to tell a restaurateur his business, or his art; but if a server and his establishment present food as it is meant to be presented, and clearly understand how food is meant to be enjoyed -- not as art or artefact, but as something tangible and bodily -- we can overlook almost any number of missteps, whether in the kitchen or the dining room.
We thus assure La Fenice that, while their food is not perfect, it is good enough; and while they may be in the theatre district, we will be happy if we may visit them again soon.
posted by the Droll Bastard at 11:10 p.m.
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