Say the words "Canadian cuisine." Oxymoronic? I have always struggled with the notion of the likes of apple pie, tourtière and fish chowder as cuisine. Great down-home cooking, yes, but hardly the stuff of white-tablecloth dining. Certain restaurants (Metropolis, Jump) have essayed Canadiana but none has made much of it. Our failure to develop indigenous haute cuisine is not exactly something to mourn: One ought rather to celebrate the diversity of our citizenry who bring Canada the gastronomic treats of their homelands. Thus I have not exactly been pining for someone to invent haute Canadiana.
What exactly is haute Canadiana? A nouvelle take on cod pie? Hardly. In Europe they define the best cooking not as a particular dish but rather as an approach: The melding of superb technique with the freshest possible local ingredients. By that precise definition we have one utterly glorious and truly Canadian restaurant in Ontario -- Michael Stadtlander's Eigensinn Farm (run, of course, by an immigrant).
And now we have another contender. Patriot opened in February on the second floor of the Colonnade on Bloor Street east of University. Its owner is Scott Willows, a very smooth front-of-the-house guy who was a partner in Metropolis and later managed Auberge du Pommier. The chef is David Chrystian, a guy to watch very closely. He made waves last year at Café Societa and then moved to the Courtyard Café to learn high-end production cooking.
Certain chefs -- precious few -- know how to wring maximal flavour from ingredients without complicating matters unnecessarily. I have not before met a cream of asparagus soup (in this case white asparagus) with as much flavour as his. Nor a lobster bisque, which he infuses with so much sweet flavour and not too much cream, atop of which he lays a fat, juicy lobster claw, several lemon verbena leaves and splashes of fresh basil oil like jade pools. Who else has throwaway lines like fresh artichoke and oka cheese gratin atop supernal carrot soup? Or a "doily" made of lacy oven-dried tomatoes on barely seared lamb carpaccio, with droplets of delicate beet juice, fresh basil oil and reduced balsamic vinegar?
He walks the line between enchanting presentation and gewgaws, mounting a paper-thin, tall potato crisp atop dewy smoked salmon with crisp-fried brandade de morue (creamed purée of salt cod, tres Canajun, eh?). He celebrates spring by building a small cake from woodland morels, fresh lobster and white asparagus. Among appetizers, the sole disappointment is fresh Quebec foie gras. We expected a substantial sautéed hunk for $17, but it comes as two pieces of foie gras terrine, each no larger than my baby finger, albeit with a superb tart of wild and domestic leeks.
At lunch, he does organic lamb sausage with fennel. And an over-the-top lobster omelette. He puts more effort into the omelette's garnish than most chefs put into the main event -- very thinly sliced fennel and red onion with sweet warm fingerling potatoes, and slivers of freshly roasted artichoke in a light creamy dressing spiked with seedy mustard. Surmounting the eggs benedict is one of those tomato doilies.
Main courses at dinner are, if possible, even more interesting, more enchanting, more cleverly composed. A fat medallion of perfectly cooked salmon is tied up with a blanched leek "ribbon" and set upon fresh fiddleheads, wild leeks, rapini and pumpernickel gnocchi with caraway seeds. Fresh lamb trio is a tiny loin stuffed with foie gras, a very lightly crusted chop, and a piece of boned leg, with an intense reduced lamb stock. Steamed halibut has a roof made of thinly sliced black radish to resemble flower petals, a garnish of shallots and fennel braised in red wine till almost candied, and gossamer beurre blanc with seedy mustard.
Does this man flag when the time for sweets draws near? Never! His pineapple tarte tatin is sexy caramelized pineapple on a perfectly short crust, the sweetness cut by slightly tart cream cheese ice cream. His maple trio is house-made maple walnut ice cream (Baskin Robbins go home), maple butter tart (another perfect fragile crust, giving new meaning to Canajun cooking) and yogurt maple Bavarian (a small custard with sweet and sour in splendid dialogue).
Are we ready to Hoover Bavarian cream, leave this restaurant and run smack dab into a large sign, "Dr. Bernstein Diet Clinic"? The second floor of the Colonnade is not the most auspicious home to such a fine restaurant, whose service, by the way, is as smoothly seductive as its cooking. The non-smoking section overlooks Bloor Street's millionaire's row. While dining on all that passionately created Canadiana, we look through big windows at Starbucks, Nike, Cartier, Chapters and a homeless guy sitting on a blanket. In order for Patriot's outer landscape to reflect its inner scene, we strongly suggest putting up curtains. This is not just a decorating decision. It's almost ideological.
Patriot, 131 Bloor St. West, 2nd floor, 416-922-0025. Dinner for two with wine, tax and tip: $100. Accessible to people in wheelchairs.