Sopra Upper Lounge
265 Davenport Rd., Toronto, 416-929-9006. Dinner for two with wine, tax and tip, $170.
Opal Jazz Lounge
472 Queen St. W., Toronto, 416-646-6725. Dinner for two with wine, tax and tip, $170.
Jazz lounge. The very words conjure glamorous sloe-eyed babes and men in sharp suits, late nights and dry martinis (shaken, not stirred). . . . Oh to be a glamour girl, to stay up late and groove to the beat. Perhaps in my next lifetime. In this one, I confess that while I do adore jazz, and wish that I were interesting enough to stay up late and go downtown to hear the bebop, the sad (perhaps even pathetic) truth is that I can never muster the energy to schlep to a jazz club after dinner on a weekend (or, even more appalling, on a weeknight). Ditto my honey, who tends to look deep into my eyes shortly after dessert has been delivered, and say: "Wanna go home?" You may be thinking he's having visions of black lace and hanky-panky, but we both know it's more about the couch and a recorded Law & Order.
Hence my thrill at the opening of not one but two jazz lounge-restaurants in Toronto this fall. Holy Brubeck, we could eat a good dinner, hear jazz and still get home before curfew! The stumbling block is that dual role: Restaurants that are also lounges (or bars, or whatever the moniker of the moment is for places where guys go to meet women and vice versa) tend to suffer from blurred focus. Putting out really good food gracefully is hard enough. Add other challenges (such as fostering a cool music environment), and it's a lot to manage. Which of course is why the culinary performance at most of our resto-lounges is abysmal.
But hope springs eternal, so we tried Sopra Upper Lounge (above the delicious Mistura) and Opal Jazz Lounge.
Evening at Sopra begins in a sexy glow of red light, red glass doors against cool zebra wood background. Upstairs, the jazz lounge is noisy, crowded, warm and cozy, with flattering light.
The menu is a tad confusing, its savories split into three categories: land, sea and earth. When we ask about the size of things (as in appetizer versus main-course size), the server mentions tapas and says the plates are "kinda small." For those of us old-fashioned enough to believe in the gastronomical cadence of a main course preceded by an appetizer, this is off-putting. I am officially tired of the tapas dining thing. It's confusing, you never know how much to order, and it doesn't end up being cheaper.
In the case of Sopra, further confusion is created by our server, who tells us that they're out of "calahzone," and when we ask where they get their Kobe beef, she says: "I don't know, but they have it at the St. Lawrence Market and it's really expensive -- like $9 a pound." Expensive?
Despite the server's ignorance, the Kobe beef is perfect -- rare and tender. How sad that it should be accompanied by something you would expect to find in a highway restaurant -- a mashed potato croquette that is a clever combo of grease and mush. That deep-fried grease theme unfortunately pervades Sopra's menu: Stuffed crispy chicken wing is deep-fried, lobster roll is deep-fried and greasy, cauliflower popcorn has none of its promised curry spice and is deep-fried and mushy, and for dessert, there are soggy churros (Mexico's answer to the doughnut) with spicy hot chocolate.
Even the better items are less than terrific: Pizza is pleasant, but its crust is soggy and the topping indelicate. Scallops wrapped in pancetta have been overcooked to crisp the pancetta (which works for the pancetta). Creamed spinach with chèvre and lentils is nice although the spinach is overcooked, and the dish is channelling nachos. Bar food. Expensive mediocre bar food. When the live jazz starts, one can no longer have a conversation, so complaining about the food is impossible. This is a bonus.
Opal Jazz Lounge takes a particular approach to the war between talk and jazz. On the back wall of the extremely charming room is a huge black and white blowup of Miles Davis with his finger to his lips. Shhhhhh! On weekends, they distribute a card asking patrons to "respect our quiet policy during the performances." Which is also confusing. But the food is not.
Opal offers a straightforward bistro card. It takes gall to present French onion soup in this century, but the chef does it up nicely, adding a big pile of caramelized onions to honest beef stock with mozzarella crouton. His crab cakes are good, made with the real thing and not too much filler. He braises Quebec rabbit with merlot and mustard, for a surprisingly piquant sauce. He sears halibut equally competently, only erring on the entrees by overcooking bok choy and green beans.
Sopra is a more expensive room than Opal: It suits its proximity to Yorkville while Opal fits in on Queen Street West. For my money, the jazz being about equal, I'd take Opal any day, thanks to good basic bistro food, sensitive service and almost unbearably lovely decor -- black and whites of jazz greats on brick walls, lit by cool napkin-draped hanging halogens with a "chandelier" made of white cards (all with mysterious writing on them) clipped to transparent wires fanning out from a central light. Opal is not luxe, but the passion for jazz, food and warm welcome go a long way toward the high notes.
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