The Cheery Milliner and I pushed through the heavy drapes that shielded the door. What I thought was a dim bar had revealed itself as a high-class restaurant squashed into Chinatown’s heart between a jeweller and the yellow-signed Swatow. We were seated at the back next to a table of three bottle blonds sharing a salad: one wears a red dress while the other two wear much more respectable affairs (the trio’s snippets of conversation provide us endless amusement throughout our meal to come). The Milliner reclined; wood panel walls broken up by floor to ceiling mirrors stretched out behind them.
A fruity sour beer smelling of cranberries for the Milliner and a glass of red begging some scents of almond and sour cherry for me started us off. My beef tongue slider arrived, a thick pretzel bun with mustard, mini-pickles, a pinkie-thick slab of tongue whose fibers teased apart at the slightest provocation. Three silver dollar latkes shared orate space on a delicate plate, each piled with a small globe of sour cream, curled threads of trout, light twigs of dill, and a pleasant overlay of lemon. No grease on the latkes, crunch on the upside, just soft inside.
Miso-glazed eggplant for the Milliner, and I was stunned that the miso was acting as subtle support behind the eggplant impersonating a baked banana, its sweetness brought to the forefront, dressed in green onion and plentiful sesame seeds. A dish of actors, all playing their roles to the fullest to make a performance that ranks as one of the best eggplant preparations I have ever eaten.
An inoffensive cappuccino for me and a tea from a comical tea list for the Milliner. Our attention turns to a tea menu with character. A flower brand chrysanthemum Pu-erh was chosen for its description of tires, birthday cake, and snails. The menu’s descriptors were equally accurate and confusing.
“More earthy, like chamomile.” The Milliner played with their yellow cup and orange saucer. “It definitely comes across more tires and snails than anything else.”
Delighted and thrilled at the dishes wandering past us to other tables (a large circular tray for an eventful chicken or Cornish hen intrigued me as it confounded its eaters), we ventured into sweeter territories. The Milliner’s eyes lit up as they battered through the thin, surprisingly durable crust of a lemon tart topped with a dollop of fresh whipped cream and blueberry compote. To my amusement, a mint leaf was hiding flat underneath the tart, slowly revealing itself as the crust was chopped down and the yellow filling oozed out like egg yolk. I’m sure the Strange Baker will love to hear a mint leaf hiding in a dessert, his most loathed dessert tradition.
My pudding chomer confused me at first. There was powdered butter over foamy shards that felt like they should have crunched. Sour cream and a maple sauce were layered on top of a plain sponge cake. The first few spoonfuls left me with jagged disassociations: near scalding maple, powdered butter solidifying, then melting on the tongue like sweet salty snowflakes, painfully boring sponge cake. Confusion and worry creeped up on me, threatening to dismantle a stunning meal. Then my spoon went right to the middle and managed to scoop a bit of every component, and the puzzle box pudding unlocked. Sour cream chilled the maple and cut its sweet, but not before its sugar insinuated itself into the sponge cake, with the stiff squish of the foam shards (no idea what they were) acting as a change of texture. A surprise riddle of a dessert, though not the sickly toffee pudding the after-dinner menu boasted.
The floor manager called special attention to the powdered butter from our elbows. “Cooking with science,” he said with a laugh as he cleared our table.
Downstairs in the tight washroom, how to speak Vietnamese played over soft speakers in lieu of music. Upon return to the table, I found the Milliner playing with the tall candle that had lit our meal, flickering their fingers through the flame until they went black. Our two-and-a-half-hour meal had simmered to a close. Smiling, full, delighted, and bubbly with well made food wonderfully prepared and presented, we tore ourselves away from bustle of diners and Anderson Paak playing through another set over the restaurant’s speakers.
What a hidden treasure. I will be back for their tasting menu, guaranteed.
People’s Eatery
307 Spadina Ave, Toronto, ON M5T 2E6