Laide
138 Adelaide St. E., Toronto, 416-850-2726. Dinner for two with wine,
tax and tip, $85.
Given the convergence of food and sex (both being
appetites fuelled by love and/or commerce), it’s surprising that
somebody didn’t open a pornographic restaurant sooner. Especially in
downtown Toronto, where so many restaurants retail dating opportunities
to young adults with more money than responsibilities.
Laide is rendering
explicit both the connection between our two favourite forms of
nourishment and the reason why young(ish) single people go to bars. For
Laide is not exactly a restaurant. As the nice server explained to us
one evening: "We don’t take reservations because we’re more of a
lounge than a restaurant."
And quelle lounge! You
enter Laide (pronounced as if there was no "e" on the end)
through a narrow white hall plastered on both sides with six-foot-high
relief sculptures of naked people whose sexual parts are being fondled
by disembodied hands reaching round them from.
Over the bar is a huge
screen showing non-stop black-and-white porno movies from the 1940s. Boy
meets girl, boy meets boy, girls meets girl. It’s all there and it’s all
explicit, no-holds-barred, no discreetly placed pompoms or G-strings. A
wrestling scene in D.H. Lawrence this isn’t. On the other side of the
pearl-grey horseshoe-shaped bar is a stripper pole with a brass plaque:
"Use at Own Risk."
Dining while someone is
being fellated on screen is even more entertaining if you’re quaffing
one of Laide’s martinis with a cutesy name such as French Kiss,
Threesome or Brazen Hussy.
The martinis are no
more than the usual downtown pleasantries in a martini glass, but for a
place that refuses to call itself a restaurant, the food is ridiculously
yummy, thanks to chef Sam Gassira, who had been doing good work at
Focaccia on Hayden Street for almost five years. Gassira is currently
attempting the ridiculous, being chef at both Laide and the newly opened
Bloom in Bloor West Village.
Laide’s plates are
tapas-like small (and inexpensive!) servings, so constructing a full
meal requires some mental gymnastics. But fear not. Tasty tastes abound.
Three perfectly cooked
sea scallops sit on three different sauces: red caviar cream, sweet corn
relish and house-made salsa. Soft braised duck leg with cassoulet is a
dream come true: juicy duck with crisp skin, sexy white beans and deep,
rich sauce. Onion galette is beautifully rendered intense onion jam in a
phyllo basket topped with mousse-like chèvre and sweet/tart dressing.
Barbecued baby back ribs are a symphony of gooey sweet ’n’ hot flavours.
Even roti, the staple
of cheap ’n’ cheerful Caribbean takeouts, gets careful treatment from
chef Gassira. This roti, unlike many roti one meets, is filled with
impeccable curry-spiced veg. Like the movies, it’s hot.
Other items are less
successful: Poached pear with major tchotchkes attached is overcooked
and has the unappealing texture of a canned pear. The ameliorating
effect of nicely cooked large shrimp is insufficient to cover for
sweet-pea risotto with no discernible taste.
Tuna with green mango
is equally problematic. This is tall food, food as architectural
statement: Two fat fine pieces of tuna clad in toasted black and white
sesame seeds crown a weird edifice that is possibly trying to be sushi.
It’s compressed gummy rice inside soggy nori, with sweet hot mango salsa
(à la Greg Couillard) on top that tastes great but does nothing for the
texture of either rice or nori.
The service is as
uneven as the food: One server is charming, attentive and on the ball.
The other brings us an ashtray, unbidden, in the non-smoking section. We
ask her three times for mineral water. After the third time, she brings
. . . tap water.
Laide is idiosyncratic
in the extreme. It’s smoky and noisy. As befits a lounge, the tables are
tiny and the seats uncomfortable for dining. But chill out, drink a
Brazen Hussy martini, and watch the party.
