A pun, it is said, is the lowest form of wit. And Toronto is a city bursting with urban pretensions and aspirations. So what was Soufian Alhasan thinking when he named his falafel shop Syriandipity?
"I was watching the movie Serendipity, sitting with my ex-girlfriend -- who I was in love with at the time," Mr. Alhasan explains. During the course of the film, inspired perhaps by the aw-shucks charm of John Cusack, Mr. Alhasan experienced his eureka moment. It took until August of 2005, a year and a half later, for Mr. Alhasan to turn name into reality and open his tidy Middle Eastern takeout store, which is snuggled into one-half of the former home of venerable Queen West grease spot Mr. Pong's.
Opening his own restaurant has been a struggle, Mr. Alhasan admits, but he's optimistic that things will turn around in the spring. Now magazine recently gave him a Best Falafel award, and his excellent stewed okra helps cleanse the palette of the establishment's horrible pun. Indeed, while Mr. Alhasan is grateful for the publicity, he would rather focus on the food he serves than the shingle above the front door.
Syriandipity is not alone in the groan department, of course. Have you ever tippled a pint at Ein Stein, Done Right Inn or The Pour House Irish Pub? Tried on a pair of mules at Heel Boy? Had a racquet restrung at The Merchant of Tennis?
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"It was a late-night brainstorming thing," says tennis entrepreneur Pamela Horwood, who admits to a love of things Shakespeare and English. "I said, 'Wouldn't it be cool if we opened up a place called The Merchant of Tennis?' "
As with Syriandipity, the nomenclature preceded opening day by a few years. Still, Ms. Horwood argues that it's her store's service and reputation -- not its clever name -- that has kept it in business for 14 years. "If someone was deciding between Sporting Life and us, the name might sway them," Ms. Horwood says before hesitating. "Maybe. Maybe not."
Do we shop at such establishments in spite of the pun, or because of them? Does a memorable name assist word of mouth or stifle it? Glen Stone, the public-affairs manager for the Toronto Board of Trade, admits to a dearth of statistics on the likelihood of entrepreneurial success and the presence of puns. "We simply don't know how many businesses have taken the one-pun challenge," he says.
The golden rule of business success is location, location, location. But for punny places, there is an equal stress on elocution, elocution, elocution. That said, the more relevant and functional the pun, the better. Hey Good Cooking is a vegetarian restaurant, Rus-Teak sells antique wood furniture, Out on a Limb stocks socks and tights, Salvador Darling is an art gallery crossed with a vintage clothing boutique, and Alternative Grounds provides fair-trade coffee to the ethical consumers of Roncesvalles.
Not every pun hits the mark, however. Saving Grace is an excellent brunch spot on Dundas that is, alas, at least 1½ blocks away from Grace Street. Cut and Dry sounds like a hairdresser but is actually a florist. And a few names, such as Cocktail Molotov and Wilde Oscar's, are more clever plays on words than proper puns.
Despite its endurance (Jonathan Swift wrote A Modest Defense of Punning way back in 1716), the pun is not without risk. Many suspect that Ra-ra-raw! -- a Kensington Market raw food restaurant -- wilted and closed shop within six months because of its punishingly unhip name, rather than its uncooked entrees. Who would admit to dining at a place named Ra-ra-raw!? Even raw foodies have appearances to keep up.
Terry Lau, founder of the graphic design firm Beehive, lives directly above the former home of Ra-ra-raw! Customers were seen "very seldom," according to Mr. Lau, an omnivore who never bothered venturing inside.
Lest the Globe's substantial vegan readership revolt, it should be pointed out that another punny dairy and meat-free restaurant, Pulp Kitchen, has enjoyed plenty of success since opening on Queen Street East in 2003. And Live, a straightforwardly named raw food restaurant on Dupont, continues to pack 'em in.
Yes, puns remain timeless. And as actor and professional wit Oscar Levant once said, "A pun is the lowest form of humour -- if you didn't think of it first." So, while not everyone is willing to admit it aloud, we all have a favourite pun place.
If you're looking for the very best of the worst, you may want to head to Richmond Hill, where the paint-it-yourself ceramic store Your Fired . . . is celebrating 11 years in the glaze business.
"Your fired," says Madison, the manager of the store, every time she answers the phone. She says the store might have enjoyed equal success were it named Corey's Ceramics (after owner Corey Hoffman), but Your Fired. . . is catchy and "people do remember the store because of the name."
Not that everything went smoothly at first. "People used to call all the time, thinking it was a headhunter service," says Madison, laughing.
Special to the Globe and Mail
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