The breeze was deceptively cool as the Cheery Milliner dragged me out for an adventure. The sun burned us whenever it emerged from the clouds—all too often—and their hat made all the more sense. They were prepared for the weather, and I was all too hungry.
The lockdown left me ravenous in the way those starving often forget their hunger. When set before a feast, it‘s remembered in waves, with bits in pieces unlocking the floodgates before the famished quality overwrites everything else.
We wandered through Distillery, grabbed a soft and mooshy brioche loaf from Brick Street Bakery, and found ourselves heading into El Catrin, the first restaurant I’ve been to in months.
We follow the painted arrows on the cobblestones, years of archaic Gameboy sliding floor puzzles having trained us for automatic response. We’re ushered to a patio table in a nook, the rules are explained, and we are left to fish out our phones to read the menu via QR code.
Servers in red dresses and black accents flitter back and forth, all masked and busy. The tables are spaced and many are here. A watch a thin woman in a beige dress with over large sunglasses and soft burn hair down to her hips toss half a churro to a pair of keen sparrows. The pigeon under my table stays put, giving the duo of smaller birds a disdainful coo as they tear off sweet pieces.
Hairstyles and fashions flit past as we wait in the shade, cushioned benches beneath us, frosty glasses at our fingertips. The Cheery Milliner takes a classic margarita and I elect to be basic and get a piña colada; the agave in both adds a wonderful under-flavour that pulls from the sweetness without distraction.
Dishes and blocks supporting our meals arrive. Ahi tuna ceviche with watermelon and a bright mignonette is a small scoop in a stemless martini glass set in a wooden block next to a small bucket of crisp chips. I was warned that it was too small for a main, but as a split app it was more than enough. The Cheery Milliner caught the scent of the fire pit’s burning wood wafting out from behind the portion nooking us in; we grinned and fell to light chatter.
The baja tacos were three to a plate, piled with chopped slaw, cilantro, and laid out on flour tortillas. A week or two or time ago (liminal existence What), I had Harbord Fish and Chips and the haddock was adequate trashy fun; El Catrin’s crispy fried fish was a wonderful counterpoint. Crunchy exterior, soft meaty flakes inside, easy to bite, enticing to keep eating, more and more. There was perhaps too much slaw—an avalanche fell off when I hefted up the first taco.
A brief admission: I’ve been seduced to the side of buffalo cauliflower, and through it roast cauliflower. I’ve been playing with these fleuret-providing heads for months as I tweak to find the right balance of oil (soaking), sauce (oh so much), and crisp (great out of oven, less so days after). My go-to recipe yields highly addictive, arguably healthy vegetable nibbles drenched in spice and oil. I am now open to the possibilities of cauliflower, rather than my previous indifference.
The Cherry Milliner’s choice of charred cauliflower was oddly appropriate, them being the one to lure me. A small mound covered in avocdoe crema, almonds, coconut and chilies, I found the bites held more snap then I was used too, while not crunch enough to rival the flakes of coconut or slivers of almond. While enjoyable, these were the only part of the meal where I didn’t relax into the food, instead picking apart how it was done differently than what I have come to produce. Still, pleasant if you enjoy cauliflower as an element rather than a sauce-conveyance device. For Milliner’s part, they do not like beats, almost to an aggressive, turnip-tossing degree: they enjoyed the pickled beat slivers that topped the dish. I thought they added a welcome splash of colour and a light briny pop.
I had expected us to lick our plates clean, but the heat, the flour tortillas, and the slight weight of the cauliflower left us comfortably full not-even halfway into our meal. We packed up the remaining (the baja tacos and cauliflower were remarkably good cold the next morning) and basked in the freedom of being able to sit at a table outside of the walls made painfully familiar over the last months.
I have missed so much of eating out, and El Catrin reminded me of all the accessory feelings that build up to a good meal. The heavier weight of well-balanced silverware. People watching from comfort. Properly blended and mixed drinks. Amusing and noteworthy plating. Pleasant and endearing waitstaff. The symphony of ambient clatter and conversations, immediately subdued by the arrival of yearned-for food. No clean up. A business card in my back pocket as a record and reminder of the meal, a final monolithic slab of card stock as testament that good food was well eaten and enjoyed.
It is wonderful to be able to return to a restaurant. For a brief afternoon, it was wonderful to be fed and satisfied as we sat under the sun of a lovely summer day.
El Catrin
18 Tank House Lane, Toronto, ON M5A 3C4