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| - A few years ago, I moved to Forest Hill from the wilds of Markham. I was seduced by the promise of rapid transit downtown, the prospect of long walks through interesting neighborhoods, and the chance to experience 'city life' in a relatively residential setting. Part of the latter's appeal lay in Forest Hill Village; a strip along Spadina just north of St. Clair avenue, which at the time was dominated by cute indy restaurants and branches of Canada's biggest banks.
I still love the neighborhood, and can't see moving any time soon, but just as my dreams of problem-free trips downtown were scuppered by the white elephant that is the St. Clair Streetcar Right-of-Way, the character of the village has undergone a not-so-subtle shift. Smaller businesses make way for chains, or storefronts just go unfilled-waiting for condofication, I guess.
One restaurant that's survived is the Hope Street Café. In fact, Hope Street has thrived; its owners expanded to a second, higher-end location just across the street. I've only been to the latter twice, put off by servers' attitudes and small portions the first time, and by a huuuuge bill for drinks and dessert on a woeful first (and only) date the second.
Herein lies the problem. Five years ago, Hope Street was an unpretentious, crowded joint overrun by locals. Diners enjoyed their meals, the company of their families and a network of friends, crammed elbow-to-elbow in an awkward coach-house space. Everybody knew each other. We went to the same schools, summer camps, colleges, political parties, weddings, bar-mitzvahs and funerals. Brunch was just another chance to run into those friends who might as well be family, and pick off each others' plates.
This was not fancy food by a long shot, but it was fresh and proportioned to fit the neighborhood's appetites. A strong sense of value knit the place together, along with stuffed sandwiches, fruity salads and sinfully delicious baby-back ribs. Avocado and goat cheese popped up randomly throughout the menu. Brunch was an excuse to be seen by the people who mattered, tucking in to massive and affordable omelets. The big breakfast promised a full day of uninterrupted weekend shopping without need to refuel, all for under ten bucks.
Then they ruined it.
Around the time of South Street's opening, the owners undertook a confused renovation project. Instead of the uncomfortable chairs, a long black banquette was installed, darkening an already dim room. High top tables were installed along with those ridiculous chairs that suspend your feet off the ground. I hated high chairs when I was a toddler though, I get a kick out of watching the Zoomers struggle to keep their balance in them, or beg for a sensible seat elsewhere in the restaurant.
There are table linens, which are a good thing, but huge black leather chairs dominate the room, even if they are more comfortable. The once-friendly space is now difficult to navigate. Portions have shrunk while prices have expanded considerably.
The best items are still bar-inspired. A respectable burger comes a bit overdone, with capable fries or daily soup. At $13 though, it's a tad steep for a plain patty. Upgrades to decent sweet potato fries, salads or onion soup with a chemical tang run $3-$4, and a slice of cheese costs an extra buck. A banquet version would thus cost upwards of $20.
Salads are well-composed, though dressings err on the sweet side, and at upwards of $16, are more than a light meal. Fajitas make for fun eating, although one order of chicken comes laced with profoundly sticky sauce. The ribs remain a highlight; fall-off-the bone tender, and a great contrast with spicy southern wings. Ambiance aside, their sauce is an excellent excuse to defile napkins. Fish and chips sees a stingy portion of halibut with more fries. For $20 I'd rather take a friend elsewhere.
The brunch menu has taken a similar turn to snootiness. Eggs benny now come on those ridiculously narrow rectangular plates, which segregate each component of a dish and I'm convinced lead to colder food faster (without residual heat from other items, the food lies exposed). Worse, food that takes a bit of work to eat (think of sawing through peameal bacon or toast) has a tendency to skip off the plate entirely, and into your dining companion's lap. The food would be fine, if it were warmer and cheaper. Coffee's good, though, and so's the company.
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