12 things I hate about dining these days
It's October, and "Spooky" Mikey Dislikey has taken over the airwaves to tell you what's really been on his mind: dated decor, hacky restaurant names, menu trends and CaféTO.
Reminders of the too-near past. Plant walls, neon signs that say things like “Feed me burgers and call me pretty”—the kind of stuff you would see at a restaurant in a pre-Scandoval episode of Vanderpump Rules. You had a whole pandemic to update your decor and you did nothing. Get it out of here. Or how about the word “social” in restaurant names? Dozens upon dozens of these persist in Toronto alone. TABLE Food Hall (Fare and Social). Union Social Eatery. King Street Social Kitchen & Bar. Eastside Social. 416 Social. Boxcar Social (multiple locations). Hyde Social. On and on it goes. The word adds less than nothing to a name. And society is more anti-social than it’s been in ages. I don’t think it’s a coincidence. Worrying!
Merch. Why do so many restaurants insist on making merch? Is it like with bands where this is the only thing that’s actually making them money? If that’s the case, why not just make shirts and bypass the whole money-wasting venture that is running a sandwich shop in the first place? I don’t wanna see any merch unless a) you’re a bar, diner or deli and b), you’ve been around for minimum 20 years. Give me something to celebrate. Mazels!
1960s-style cartoon mascots. Congratulations. We’ve killed Corporate Memphis and replaced it with an even more disingenuous design trend. You know the one I’m talking about. Every two-bit takeout joint that’s opened in the last five years has decided the cornerstone of their brand should be an anthropomorphic burger stolen from a stock image website or crudely illustrated by one of the co-owner’s less-employed siblings. You can practically see the text being sent by the co-owner’s mother. “Connor needs the encouragement. He hasn’t had much luck since dropping out of George Brown.” Worst of all, that smiling little slime of a pizza slice is going to appear on the back of a $50 long-sleeve T-shirt before long. Pathetic!
Whatever happened to house wine? Some restaurants—like Parkdale favourite The Bell & The Beacon—understand the value of providing me with a couple unfussy options at $12/glass or less. A bottle for $40, maybe $45. The perfect second, third and/or fourth drink, after that initial cocktail has loosened up the tongue. Something that doesn’t get in the way of my dinner. Something that’s likely to get me to order “another one of these.” Instead, it’s all bunch of $18 skin contacts from Georgia that smell like a fart in an attic. Which, to be fair, I actually do enjoy. Just not when I’m halfway through my dinner. No thanks!
“Speakeasies”, cocktails served in a smoke box (?), mixology-coded drinking in general. Lord knows I’m not above an expensive cocktail prepared with profoundly pretentious ingredients. Just this week I had a riff on a Godfather made with some sort of brown butter infusion. Delicious! But it was served to me in a normal glass, at a normal bar, by a bartender in normal clothes, speaking to me like a normal human. All the other trappings around cocktail culture (please know that I full-body shuddered typing out the words “cocktail culture”) can take a hike. Especially “speakeasies.” If there were anything remotely clandestine or transgressive about these places, I could understand their popularity. Instead, they’re about as sexy as a team-building session in an escape room. Get me outta here!
Crudo on every goddamn menu. Is ceviche too flavourful for you? Is sushi too architecturally challenging? Is carpaccio or tartare too unsettling? Well, do I have the dish for you: five thawing slices of tuna plopped on a plate with a glug of olive oil. That’ll be $27. No, you’re nowhere near an ocean. Yes, it will be in the “small plates” section of your local wine bar’s “provisions” menu. And at every Italian restaurant, every “new Canadian” or “new American” restaurant, and every trendy Dundas West/West Queen West restaurant with a dumb name. Probably something like “Bar Bisoux ;-)”. Restaurant managers, it’s time to put that kitchen staff to work actually cooking something instead of smoking cigarettes all shift long. Crack that whip!
Cauliflower steaks and mushroom risotto. Maybe restaurants will one day give their vegetarian diners more to chew on than one of these two dishes, the de facto veggie options on far too many menus. There are so many non-animal proteins out there that can be turned into main courses: chickpeas, beans of many colours and consistencies, lentils, all the new plant-based proteins, tofu, tempeh, etc., to say nothing of your sturdier cheeses or more toothsome vegetables. India figured this all out centuries ago. Give my wife something interesting to eat so that I can spend more money on meat and fish and the booze needed to break it all down inside my tummy. Sensible business practices!
Happy hours or other drinks deals that only go until 5 pm. Are you kidding me with this shit???
People complaining about tipping. If we have another seven rounds of discourse about the subject, we just might solve it. We all think tipping is kinda stupid. We all know that North American restaurants are cesspits of wage theft and exploitation. We all “ate so well Paris/Melbourne/Barcelona, the best part is the price you see is the price you pay.” We all swear we’re going to go to that restaurant that pays its staff a living wage and won’t prompt you to tip. Like next week, definitely. Oh no, it closed? I was totally going to go there and everything. Unless you’re willing to change your restaurant-going habits, I don’t wanna hear about it. Silence!
People complaining about tipping percentages. Going from 15% to 18% or 20% or whatever is such a miniscule bump in actual dollars dispensed that I can’t help but think the upset is thinly veiled contempt for service workers. On a cup of coffee, you’re looking at, what, an extra 12 cents? I don’t think that’s going to be the difference between you making the rent this month or not. On a $1,000 dinner bill, it’s an extra $30. The cost of a movie ticket and a fountain soda, only a fraction of which is actually going to go to your server, who had to pretend to be your friend for two hours while fending off low-grade sexual harassment from the group two tables over. If you can’t afford that, you can’t afford a $1,000 dinner bill. Go to Pizza Hut!
Everything is too loud. Now we’re into the real “old man yells at cloud” section. Too many hard surfaces, too much cutlery clinking, too much music; get your acoustics right so I can at least feign interest in a conversation with conviction. I’ve already ruined my ears through decades of going to concerts and playing in bands—don’t make me even deafer than I already am. Put up some curtains or egg cartons, IDK. That’s your job, not mine. Figure it out!
Patios that take up a lane of traffic. That’s right: it’s time to kill CaféTO. I don’t have much in the way of sympathy for motorists stuck in traffic, but I am a regular cyclist and public transit user. These patios create all kinds of unnecessary weaving and lane-changing that just slow everybody down, regardless of the mode of transit. And that’s not even getting to the ambiance. Our major east-west thoroughfares are, shall we say, not exactly the narrow lanes of Greenwich Village, where street patios feel like a natural outgrowth of the surrounding scenery. No one in their right mind wants to sit on the asphalt of Dundas West, surrounded by bright blue, city-mandated concrete barriers, with three-ton SUVs piloted by morons whizzing mere inches away from your espresso martini, the exhaust ever so seductively seasoning your truffle fries. Frightening!
Follow acclaimed Twitter user @BODYBUZZRECS for occasional F&B insights. JEERS of the week
It’s a pint of Woodhouse Lager on the patio at Hurricanes on Bloor. If there’s a better sports bar in the city, I’d love to hear it. Great wings. TV on the patio (pictured). $8 half-racks of ribs on Sundays during the NFL season. Sightlines a-plenty. Top-notch staff. Excellent sound quality for The Big Game. Cheers!
