| rev:text
| - Victor Barry is an extremely talented chef. His Splendido -- which occupied the site where Piano Piano is now located -- served some of the most interesting and adventurous food in the city. It was a favourite destination for birthdays, anniversaries, and special occasions; and when Chef Victor was on a roll with his multi-course tasting menu, he could wow and amaze even the most jaded of palates. If Michelin was to start awarding starts in Canada, Splendido was not only in the running, it stood at the top of the lis of conteders.
So, it was with great anticipation that a group of seven of us went to Piano Piano a few nights ago. We fully understood that Victor had scaled back, and admired his decision to turn out less labour intensive fare so that he could spend more time with his young family. We also had fairly high expectations, having heard good things from friends who had dined and the relaunched restaurant, and knowing how skilled Victor is in the kitchen.
The first thing to be said is that nothing was bad. But with the exception of two dishes, nothing shined or was exceptional. The second thing is that our group did have a good time (a birthday was being celebrated), and we were in very good spirits. The third thing is that the decor is truly hideous, and quite a shock after the sedate dining room that used to fill the space: cavernous, garish, loud. A pizza parlour on steroids. Even the lovely downstairs private room, which had been a delight and an oenophilic nirvana -- has been transformed into a cave with the same brash wallpaper top to bottom.
To be clear: I am *not* pining for Splendido, so back to the food. The menu is cute, taking the form of a newspaper, and one that recounts Chef Barry's reasons for the radical departure. Yet the offerings are extremely limited, especially the pasta section, which lists nothing save a egg yolk raviolo (more on this in a moment) that a half decent home cook couldn't turn out. The wine list was smart, with bottles in three modestly increasing price ranges, but also extremely limited. The cocktails, meh. So, what was "good"? The chopped salad despite the boring name; the bitter pizza (dandelion greens); and the crudo of sea bream. All more than acceptable. Solidly "good."
There were two flashes, muted ones, of the Barry talent. The first was a starter simply described as foie on toast. It came with fresh and charred grapes. The second was the aforementioned raviolo. But there were problems The foie wasn't foie. Instead it clearly was chicken liver. It was "good," but it was chicken liver no doubt about it. My grandmother would have been able to recognize it as such. The raviolo could have been brilliant -- perfect runny but cooked egg yolk inside atop the spinach ricotta filling. But the brown butter and pangrattato with which it was dressed was overly salty, holding the dish back. Some might say ruining the dish, though to be fair that would be a wee bit unfair.
Desserts? Again limited in the extreme. And as seven of shared a lemon cheesecake (with graham cracker crust) I felt sad. Piano Piano is a cliche (graham cracker crust?!). In a city that has Terroni, this is distinctly second rate. And in a city where chef Rob Gentile has repeatedly found new frontiers to explore in the Italian tradition, it's clear that Victor Barry has just given up.
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