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Sequel

3362 Yonge St., Toronto. 416-480-0996. Dinner for two with wine, tax and tip, $130.

Should a restaurant feel like a home? It depends on whose home. Yes, if the home were on the luxurious side of comfy, yet neither haughty nor intimidating. The idea of restaurant as (second) home appeals to me for a few reasons: First, what higher expression is there of comfort than to feel at home? Second, since Canadians are following Europeans down the road of restaurants as the primary places where we socialize (rather than at home), it seems sensible that a restaurant ought to feel home-like.

Which suggests it can't be too big, the service has to be very friendly and personal, and the menu has to focus on foods that we can eat often (as opposed to complex high-fat fancy stuff built for special occasions). All of which positions Sequel to fill the bill.

I love how small it is: 25 seats up, and 25 seats down. It's a cozy nook, thanks to warm lighting, one really sweet striped banquette for four, a wall of small pieces of stone and, most of all, the ministrations of co-owner Eric te Boekhorst, who practised his front-of-the-house craft as general manager of the estimable Herbs from 1996 to 2004. Eric's partner, Lisa Rutland, who managed the catering at Senses and before that at Herbs, shares the front of the house with him and they do a kick-ass job of setting the tone and taking great care of the diners.

One feels, indeed, like a friend invited to dinner, but wishes that they were as obsessed with the back of the house. They clearly have good taste, but there are some slips 'twixt the cup and the lip. The kitchen has taste and technique, and optimism would suggest that if te Boekhorst and Rutland were to spend more time sticking their fingers in the pots and tasting the food (which chefs hate, but too bad for them), then surely there would be fewer gastronomical errors. Given their august pedigrees (Senses and Herbs), surely the partners get it about fine food.

They must! The squash is thin shavings of butternut spiked with charmingly thin slices of excellent old cheddar and sun-dried olives, in a subtly minted vinaigrette. The flavours are nicely balanced, as are the carefully calibrated flavours of the other composed salad - radicchio with lightly roasted pear, Roquefort cheese and a vinaigrette charmingly built on charred oranges. Equally lovely is the scallop two ways starter in which the bivalve appears both in vodka-spiked ceviche in a shot glass and seared on a small pile of pumpkin purée. And their octopus salad takes the cake: marvellous chewy octopus atop lightly smoked corn with my new favourite sauce - chimichurri - on the side. It is an unsung hero, piquant and delicate, all flavour, no fat.

It's not uncommon for a restaurant to serve great apps and falter on the mains. Many bigger brains than me (but maybe smaller mouths) have noticed that and asked why. Could it be that small plates are simply less challenging for the chef: No big hunks of meat or fish to overcook or sauces to misjudge? Of the four main courses we sample on two separate visits, only one lives up to the standards set by the service and the appetizers. Duck confit is of unimpeachable texture, crispy outside and soft inside, and the lovely fowl nestles on superb soft polenta studded with sweet corn chunks.

But who tasted the broth in the bouillabaisse? Maybe nobody. It's badly over-salted, which detracts significantly from the otherwise pleasant seafood within. Venison osso buco is a great idea gone awry because of badly dried-out meat. And wild-mushroom perogies are merely pleasant; they need some sauce and are a tad hard.

Desserts suffer from that same inconsistency: Flourless chocolate cake isn't quite chocolaty enough, and its promised marshmallow ice cream doesn't taste very ... marshmallowy. Roasted banana tapioca is much better, subtly redolent of banana and quietly creamy.

It is eminently clear that te Boekhorst and Rutland are over-the-top committed to excellence and to the success of their little enterprise.

And they couldn't have got out of Herbs and Senses (respectively) alive without growing impeccable taste buds. Methinks there's some tiptoeing going on here, in the kitchen.

It can't be either fun or easy for an owner to stick her finger in the bouillabaisse just before service and say it won't do, make another batch. But they'd best start doing it.

jkates@globeandmail.com