| rev:text
| - The Epicure is a neighbourhood institution, and I've had some decent meals there in the past. Plus, the staff are friendly. But based strictly on the lunch I had there the other day, this is a (rare for me) one-star review.
Hard to choose from a huge menu of sandwiches, wraps, burgers, pastas, pizzas and mains - at least seven in each category. Hmmm... well, it's been a long time since I've had calf's liver, and I kind of remember liking this dish at Epicure in the past (maybe 8-10 years ago - mistake #1: most restaurants change completely in that time). "How would you like that done, sir?" asks the sweet and charming server. "Medium rare, please," say I.
When the dish finally arrives, I can see right away that I'm in trouble. The liver is absolutely drenched in some kind of balsamic reduction with onions -- did someone in the kitchen have shaky hands and spill a whole pan of sauce on my plate? Once I locate the meat with my fork and knife, my worst fears are confirmed: I could re-sole my winter boots with this liver, and probably get through at least the month of February. The chef has stacked three thin layers of liver one on top of the other, and all of them are of course carbonized. Medium rare? When you have so little control and skill in the kitchen, why even ask? Had I not been having lunch with my elderly mother, and had I not been in a rush to get back to work, I would have sent the dish back. Instead, I chewed through it while making small talk with Mom, who at least seemed to be enjoying her pecan chicken. I tasted it - weird aftertaste. And the block-shaped "almond potato" croquette that came with it was deep-fried within an inch of its little Dutch life. (What's it going to be: pecans or almonds? Another bonehead move, chef.)
Oh, and the menu. That pecan chicken is described as "Boneless chicken baked in a pecan crust with an apple calvados au jus." "With an au jus"?? That translates as "with a with juice." There's no such thing as an "au jus" -- in French "au jus" means the meat is served with its own juice. Sorry, pet peeve. I expect this kind of illiteracy from American roadhouses, but not from a restaurant in a cosmopolitan neighbourhood of the largest city in bilingual Canada. (And I'm sorry, "apple calvados"? As opposed to what? Raspberry calvados?)
Anyway, the espresso afterward was watery and bitter. Should have gone to Lit down the street.
Bye-bye, Epicure.
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