Guu Izakaya opened its doors in Toronto on December 18, 2009. Since then, Ryerson campus dwellers, the work crowd, Toronto foodies, and Vancouver expats have been pouring through its doors non-stop. From the exterior (and from the usual hour-long line-up outside its doors), the restaurant looks more like an exclusive club than a Japanese “pub”. Izakayas in Japan are affordable watering holes that also serve food for salarymen to hit up before going home. However, when I dragged my own crowd of two Vancouver and one Ottawa expats to Guu on a Saturday night, we were mostly interested in the food.
As soon as I pulled open the massive wooden door to its entrance, I was greeted with a loud and energetic chorus of irashaimase! from all over the restaurant. I was temporarily shell-shocked and froze in the entrance way, literally too dazed to take another step. Was this a restaurant? Was I still in Toronto? The warm, lively, chaotic scene before me seemed a world away from the wet, cold, windy, and empty street I had just left. I spotted my friends at the bar and quickly joined them.
The restaurant was not very large, but they seemed to have somehow fit a hundred people inside. The commotion of the Japanese chefs behind the bar, along with everyone else in the place, made it so loud I found it difficult to hear myself speak. Every few seconds, the entire staff would shout a chorus of Japanese together, and I would again be shocked into a daze. It took us a long time to order as the shouting made it hard to focus on the menus in front of us. Time here also seemed to go at a faster pace than the outside world. Our server came by four times before we were ready to order – it seemed like we were taking a long time when in reality, we took no more than twenty minutes. When we finished our meal (in a rather timely fashion I would say), we realized we had maxed out our two-hour time limit, but it felt like no time at all. » Read the rest of this entry «
At first glance, Pangaea seems like everything a fine dining restaurant should be. I am greeted by an enthusiastic waiter at the door, who immediately leads us to our seats through an expansive dining room, with honey-blonde wood drenched in sunlight.
“The skylights really let the light in,” I comment to my friend as we are seated. The linens are neatly folded in front of us and feel thick to the touch. The tables are set far apart for privacy and easy navigation. So far so good.
A greasy-haired waiter shows up at our table promptly inquiring after our drink choices. We hadn’t had a chance to look at the menu yet, so he leaves and returns with water. When he returns a second time, we still weren’t ready, and he seemed to have decided we were never going to order. It takes much longer for him to return a third time.
My friend and I both made selections from the Summerlicious menu, and I added a pot of tea to my order, surprised that they had a tea menu at all.
The food came reasonably quickly.
We both had the charcuterie to start.
The salamis were forgettable, and the cured vegetables were far too sour. The pork rilettes on toasted ficelle turned out to be something like a meat pâté on a slice of demi-baguette bread. The pork rilettes were good, but considering it was the only eatable item on the plate, that wasn’t saying much.
My entree was the Lake Trout, while my friend opted for the mushroom risotto.
The Lake Trout was a horrendous disappointment. The skin was nice and crisp, but the trout itself was completely lacking in flavour. The green beans and potatoes were boring, the kind you might find at a large banquete dinner. The roasted almonds and shallots were an interesting mix, although far too buttery, which made the aromatic almond and lemon noisette less noticeable.
The mushroom risotto fared better with my friend’s palate, although tomato in risotto was a questionable choice. The risotto was creamy, but far too salty.
For dessert, we both chose the Niagara Angel Food Shortcake. We were hopeful that dessert would satisfy our taste buds – after all, dessert was virtually always agreeable to us.
The apricots in crème Anglaise were quite nice, but the angel food shortcake part was peculiarly foam-like – you can tell from the picture how spongey it was. It was also tough to break apart, I had to use a spoon and a fork together to pull the cake into smaller pieces.
The waiter came back only once to check on us during the meal, and another time, looked over while I had an empty plate in front of me but did not come to clear it.
“So… why did you insist we come to Pangaea?” My friend asked out of curiosity, assuming I had read a rave review somewhere. I admitted I had not, but had made my decision largely because the chef had followed me on Twitter. She rolled her eyes. I deserved it.
I felt a little guilty about making her accompany me to this disappointing experience when I went to the washroom and – to my horror – found myself in a tacky tiled bathroom that looked like it had been built 20 years before the rest of the restaurant. The metal stall doors were rusting, the tiles on the floor were uneven and dirty, and there was barely any water pressure coming from the cold water tap. Classy.
Not only was the service inconsistent, the food disappointing and overpriced (I would never, ever, ever come back for a regular-priced meal), but the washroom was dirty! There was toilet paper on the floor and pee on the seats. For goodness sakes, Moxie’s has nicer washrooms, and there are drunk people there on a weekly basis!
The washroom was the last straw. My friend and I grabbed our purses and vowed, with good reason, never to return.
Rating: 