Yet Another Great Find

One of the things I love about traveling is taking advantage of the local transportation to head out to some restaurant on the opposite side of the city to where I'm staying. In London that would typically mean the long escalator down at Oxford Circus to the Bakerloo Line, then to Piccadilly Circus for the Piccadilly line to Leicester Square, then a short walk to L'Atelier de Joel Robichon; in Paris, my last great meal was at a small place not far from the Jardin du Palais Royal, Les Fines Gueules - which turned out to be walking distance from where I was staying close to Pyramides.

But in Ottawa, it means the "Number 2" from Westboro Station - a five minute bus ride to the corner of Holland and Wellington, and then a one block walk north to Allium.

"Stop the presses!" I know what you're thinking - did Scott seriously take a bus in Ottawa?

I'd like you to know, I'm a "man of the people"! Even when there's some four year old unit screeching throughout the 5 minute ride, writhing in the lap of his grandmother and spewing expletives that would shame Malcolm Tucker. That it cost me $3.25 for the experience I found a little offensive - but it did make me feel "connected". And we returned via the same route two hours later with an entirely new, entertaining cast of characters!

The intervening period was spent enjoying a wonderful meal at Allium - a restaurant recommended by a friend who also lives in the area. And I must say for a Westboro resident, this will be an obvious destination for a return visit; but for someone from the far outreaches of the suburbs it's highly worth the trek.

In addition to the excellent service, what I found particularly enjoyable was how accommodating the staff were. From looking at servings on other tables, the Chef was clearly generous with the portion sizes; and the menu items seemed quite rich; so Kim and I decided to share an appetizer at the waiter's suggestion - the Mushroom Spaghetti - Mushrooms/Garlic/Chili/Basil/Lemon Zest/Truffle/Parmesan/Blackburn/Egg Yolk. And unlike most restaurants, the waiter asked if we wanted bread - which we declined.

To me, bread is gratuitous - waiters bring it, people eat it - whether they want to or not. And while I typically refrain, the words of Anthony Bourdain haunt me:

"The reuse of bread is an industry-wide practice. . . when it's busy and the bus boy is crumbing tables, emptying ashtrays, refilling water glasses, making espresso and cappuccinos, hustling dirty dishes to the dishwasher - and he sees a basket of untouched bread, most times he's going to use it. This doesn't bother me and it shouldn't surprise you. Okay, maybe once in a while some tubercular hillbilly has been coughing and spraying in the general direction of the bread basket, or some tourist who's just returned from a walking tour of the wetlands of West Africa sneezes - you might find that prospect unsettling. But you might just as well avoid air travel, or subways, equally dodgy environments for airborne transmission of disease. Eat the bread."

This from the man who's restaurant (Les Halles) was temporarily closed for sanitary reasons a few years back. But with me it's got nothing to do with tubercular hillbilly's - after all, I'm a man of the people - I just don't like wasting bread; I appreciated that he asked, and I was thinking of the folks who come after me!

As the main, I had the Halibut - described on the menu as "Butter Roasted Halibut: Mushrooms/Corn/Champ/ Pickled Beets/Sweet Chili Salsa/ Coconut Sauce" - and it was wonderful. The Halibut was prepared beautifully - perfect texture, and the top of it was seared such that it was golden brown and truly crisp. The puree that it rested on was exquisite - a hint of coconut, and just a subtle kick from the salsa. It was very well done - and the portion size was ideal for a relatively rich fish.

We capped the meal with an apperitif - Kim with a coffee of some sort - something I disdainfully imagined had gone out in the 1980's. . . but apparently not. . . and she seemed to enjoy it; while I had a 10 year old Tawney port to accompany a well constructed cheese plate. . . "I say James, would you mind terribly bringing around the Bentley so we can avoid those people on that bus thing again?!"

I always knew that Westboro had some terrific food hang-outs - and suspected it was richer than what I experienced in the urban core. That I have found the trick to traversing no-man's land, from Westboro Village to Westboro (the food side) without the need to double Kim on the Vespa makes it that much more attractive. But if I do this run after a night out with the boy's I'm not sure I'm going to be quite as empathetic to some screaming urchin with a behavioral problem and an adolescent vocabulary.