Last Sunday evening, I enjoyed a very "fine dining" opportunity at ONE—Toronto’s latest hot-spot restaurant.  Usually, I’m not such a "fine diner" or restaurant reviewer.  But, the visiting couple who invited me to join them there—as an extra special treat—thought our experience might make an interesting blog entry…

Our reservation was put through a month ago, when ONE first opened.  However, when we arrived at the restaurant, though confirmation had been given earlier that day (after I returned a hang-up on my cell phone) there was no indoor table for us.  As a result of insisting, several times, that we had not booked and did not want an outside table (it being a cooler evening), we were obliged with the "best table in the house."

Despite it really being the "best table in the house" (nestled in a corner), the acoustics still made hearing each other difficult.  When you’re with older folk, hearing can be a delicate matter at the best of times.  So can eyesight (though even I, with 20/20 vision, couldn’t manage to read the small-print menu in dim light without straining). That said, ONE was prepared to not have its clientele stress over "failing faculties."  Noticing our awkwardness, a server delivered a box of Josephson spectacles to the table (four pairs arranged in order of lense intensity).  My gentleman host tried on two of the pairs and gave up.  The only alternative was for me to recite the entire menu to him.

My recitation was interrupted several times by a very eager server who told us that the restaurant’s intention was that we share our food tapas-style.  My lady host insisted that she had no desire to do that.  Brits can get to the point fast—we all knew what we wanted and we all wanted the same thing—basically fish, chips, and salad…  Since we weren’t sharing a variety of different foods, we’d now just wished to be advised about quantities.  Three fish, two salads, and two chips could work nicely, we were told.  In actuality, we might have done better with only one order of chips.  While the fish portions were petite, the chips portions weren’t.  The salad portions were just right.

My hosts would have preferred to have all the food come out together, but the server who’d instructed us on being supposed to eat tapas-style, also insisted that salads should come before the rest, and couldn’t be dissuaded.  Finally, came the desserts:  a chocolate truffle of sorts, Timbit-like donuts infused (or stuffed) with "cheesecake" (a liquidy substance), and ice-cream.  We each chose differently, and it was the simplest (plain ice cream) that was the best liked.  The desserts weren’t as special as what came before, we all agreed.

Since I’m not much of a drinker, I stuck with water.  My hosts, however, wanted to try two different Canadian wines.  After deliberation, the sommelier did them an (off-the-menu) favor.  Apparently, a reprint of the wine list, which would be out the next day, was going to include more Canadian wines, as well as by-the-glass selections.

Brits like to ask questions, especially when they’re in atypical environments.  We were all intrigued (and, as animal-lovers, somewhat disturbed) by the decor.  Apparently, it was the work of Yabu Pushelberg. We felt overwhelmed by the cow or horse hair(?) walls in the main dining area (dyed gray), and pig skin suede (?) around the reception foyer (already looking worn in parts).  Aligator print (?) embossed leather covered wrap around seating.  Exact details were uncertain since each employee gave different answers.

The servers and receptionists were all young and sweet, and tried hard to please, but weren’t as polished as one might have expected for a venue where it’s easy to run up a $350 tab for modest food and drink selections.

Finally, came the "loo"—or "luna landscape" as my lady host came to call it. She insisted on going there before we left, and I accompanied her.  As we exited our separate cubicles, we both had the same response.  "Do you know the doors are see-through?!"  Whether this effect was meeting a trend, or simply an accident, she was more taken aback than impressed.

All in all we had a very fun evening at ONE—even if it was so for reasons we weren’t anticipating.  And, as my hosts told me on the drive back to their more conventional/elegant accommodations at the Royal York, they’d have hours of dinner stories to share with other friends, here and back home.

p.s.  After reading this blog entry to a friend, before posting, she alerted me to Amy Pataki’s professional restauant review from last weekend.  It seems our findings about ONE weren’t unusual —though Amy speaks with more bluntly and authoritatively than I do.  Regardless of what’s been shared, I am confident that Mark McEwan will be able to turn things around, quickly.  Every beginning is hard, and he certainly is a lot more ambitious and risk-taking than most of us would ever dare to be.  Best of luck to him!