Schiaffoni di Gragnano at Obika Mozzarella BarFred Lum/The Globe and Mail
The first time I tasted burrata was amid grape vines and olive trees at an organic farmhouse outside of Bari, Italy. It was the highlight of what I remember as a 16-course, six-hour lunch. The parcel of cheese had been made earlier that same day. When I cut through its taut, thin exterior, fresh cream and tender curds of juvenile mozzarella spilled out across the plate and blended with the olive oil dressing, creating a still life worthy of Caravaggio. The flavour was subtle, creamy and pure and the texture so soft it barely required chewing. It remains one of the most extraordinary culinary experiences of my life.
On that same trip, during a stop in Rome, I sought out a newly opened restaurant in the Piazza di Firenze that specialized exclusively in mozzarella di bufala campana. It was called Obika and looked more like a sushi restaurant than a trattoria. Dormant aquariums half filled with brine housed balls of fresh cheese. I remember thinking at the time that an all-buffalo-mozzarella restaurant was an idea crazy enough that it just might work - or be hot for two months and disappear.
It worked. In the seven years since the first Obika appeared, three others in Rome and a half-dozen more throughout Italy have opened. There are branches in London, Istanbul, New York, Tokyo, Los Angeles and now Toronto.
Our local outpost is located in a corner of Heritage Square in BCE Place, best approached by strolling in from Bay Street through the dramatic Santiago Calatrava-designed Allen Lambert Galleria. Except for a few covered tables set near the semi-open kitchen, most of the seats are set in the courtyard, giving the impression of dining al fresco, even if the sky is covered in glass and the spreading olive tree is plastic.
This is no 100-mile-diet restaurant. All of the products - from the wine to the cutlery - are brought in from Italy (twice a week in the case of the cheese), except for the plates, which come from Denmark. Buffalo mozzarella, classic, smoked or burrata, is in just about every dish and if it's not in there already, it can be added for an additional charge.
If you start, as per the black-clad servers' suggestion, with the burrata, pair it with the San Daniele prosciutto. The kitchen is generous, filling the plate with thin slices, and they are fantastic: vaguely nutty with a fine balance of salty savouriness and melting fat. Maybe the abundance of prosciutto is offered to make up for the fact that you don't get an entire burrata, but rather a portion of one, half submerged in its own milk in a little glass bowl. Flavour-wise, it's still fresh, ethereal and tastes of Italy, but the pragmatic presentation robs me of the joy of slicing into the tidy, knotted package and releasing its luscious contents.
In keeping with the sushi-bar aesthetic of the original Obika, there are a selection of cheesy curios known as rotoli. Fresh mozzarella is rolled with fillings in a way that is meant to evoke maki rolls but reminds me more of the tortilla, cream cheese and smoked salmon roll-ups that grace the tables of every potluck ever held. Smoked salmon is, in fact, one of the rotoli fillings, along with a bresaola (thin slices of cured-beef) version and one with ham and radicchio. You don't need to try any of them. The fillings do nothing for the mozzarella and the cheese actually mutes the flavour of the ingredients, resulting in a rubbery little spiral that looks pretty but is just plain dull.
Flat flavours depreciate the salads, as well. The arugula with orange and fennel derives some interest from the accompanying bresaola but is otherwise underdressed and boring. A similar lack of vibrancy afflicts the mâche and radicchio salad with caciocavallo cheese and artichokes. That both mélanges are heaped unimpressively into deep glass bowls and barely dressed only adds to the impression that they are not the kitchen's top priority. It seems like a missed opportunity, not only because the ingredients are good, but also because salads seem to grace the tables of at least half the corporate crowd that fills the restaurant on weekdays.
Although they may not be as righteous as salad, pizzas that benefit greatly from long-risen dough can provide the lunchtime suits with solace. The result is a light, Napoli-style pizza with a flavourful crust, further enhanced by an intense tomato sauce and high-quality toppings. That same excellent red sauce carries the schiaffoni di gragnano (fulsome pasta tubes with mozzarella di bufala), and serves as a dip for a selection of fritti, or fried items: arancini (rice balls), milk-soaked bread and, yes, breaded mozzarella, all carefully shaped and cooked to resemble tempura. Far and away the most aggressively flavourful thing on the menu, though, is the simple crostini con n'duja: toasted slices of bread smeared with a fiery salami pâté. It rocks: spicy, salty and porcine in equal measure.
The espresso barista is a dab hand, but with the exception of an excellent cannoli, desserts (loose tiramisu, tough chocolate-almond cake and banal ricotta mousse) are forgettable.
While dining in the shade of a plastic olive tree is no gastro-tour of the Italian countryside, Obika offers a little taste of Italy that has the distinct advantage of being only a subway ride away. Have another sip of wine, close your eyes, and maybe, just maybe, a taste of the burrata will take you the rest of the way there.
Follow Chris Johns on Twitter @chrisandvinegar