Sassafraz
100 Cumberland St., Toronto. 416-964-2222. Dinner for two with wine, tax and tip, $280.
When Sassafraz burned in a spectacular fire last December, all eyes were on the horribly scarred remains of the beautiful yellow house in Yorkville. You don't get a better corner than Bellair and Cumberland for a restaurant in Toronto, but all the (appropriate) sentimentality surrounding the fire almost obscured the nature of the restaurant.
Pre-fire Sassafraz was a bad restaurant: bad food and bad service. Quite simple. But it was always beautiful. The owners have restored the building to an even better state than its previous pulchritude, and it reopened in September. Still a bad restaurant? You bet.
We begin, as diners tend to do, by ordering drinks. Fifteen minutes along, no drink. But then along comes another server, who asks if he can take our drink order. Then they bring an amuse. The server explains what it is. I ask for clarification, but he turns on his heel and hurries off. More explanation might have helped us understand why we are given a most un-amusing amuse consisting of a tiny piece of pumpernickel bread (probably toasted but schmecks like stale) topped with tasteless veg salad.
This fails to do the job of whetting our appetites, because of either clumsy or non-existent flavouring. The latter is further exemplified by roasted cauliflower soup that has almost no cauliflower taste. Blindfolded, I could not have guessed its origins. Even the smoked paprika oil floating on top, while a wonderful Hungarian reference, adds little savour. So-called truffle toast points are awash in butter, but have no discernible truffle scent. As for clumsy flavour choices, an otherwise credible salade Niçoise has dressing with so much anchovy flavour that it overwhelms all the good stuff. And I am an anchovy lover. Bison carpaccio is the usual carnivore's delight, but partnering it with a glob of unadulterated honeycomb is like asking me to put maple syrup on my foie gras: Too sweet is not good for the savoury.
There are a lot of very happy people dining at Sassafraz. One evening, we share the resto with what appears to be a sweet 16 party, which is great for my sentimental gene, since I had my sweet 16 (41 years ago) at Mr. Tony's, a long-ago restaurant that stood in the same house on this very corner. Mr. Tony's was then the toniest resto in town - not the fanciest, not the most expensive, but the most epicurean. I was a teenage junk food refusenik; even then, I was addicted to the finer munchies in life. My fave foods at Mr. Tony's were shrimp mignonette, which swam in garlic butter and was served with perfectly cooked white rice, the better to mop up all that butter, and French onion soup, its cheese topping so unctuous it would soothe the most angst-ridden teenage breast.
The service at Mr. Tony's was, I still recall, silken smooth. Not quite like what is happening on that corner these days. Four wait staff converge on our table with the main courses, which they set down with much muttering and confusion among themselves. It doesn't look exactly like what we ordered. After two minutes of continued discussion, they tell us that this is the food for another table, and they take it all away.
When the correct mains finally arrive, it is not exactly cause for celebration. Ricotta gnocchi, although a tad robust texturally speaking, are competent. But their cream sauce is about as old-school as the garlic butter on my shrimps mignonette. This is thick heavy cream sauce, and where, oh where, are the promised truffles? We can't smell or taste them, and when a plate of gnocchi costs $26, it ain't about things farinaceous.
Seared scallops are only somewhat overcooked, and the accompanying cauliflower purée with lentils is pleasant, although not exactly loaded with flavour. Lamb tenderloin is properly cooked, but deep-frying eggplant in a croquette is a terrible crime against a subtle vegetable that can't stand up to batter. Maple glazed sablefish is only slightly overcooked, as is the lobster in its accompanying lobster hash.
What a pity that such a gorgeous room is so mired in mediocrity. Or perhaps not: The birthday parties and the tourists will forever adore the 20-foot garden wall with its wall of rushing water, the vaguely deco banquettes and the pretty crystal light fixtures. And the beautiful people will continue to crowd the très chic bar. Sassafraz needs picky aging epicures like a dog needs side pockets.
Truffle time again
Fausto di Berardino has returned from his annual truffle-foraging trip to Alba in Piemonte, Italy, and is shaving the precious white fungus on pasta and risotto. Clever epicures with a nose for this most fragrant of tubers will hurry, platinum cards in hand, to his Coppi Ristorante before the supply runs out. 3363 Yonge St. 416-484-4464.