Sometimes, all that I want is a pork chop: a thin, unpretentious, bone-in pork chop, cooked to medium and nicely browned on the outside — simple, salty and peppery. I actually feel that way, even though it’s a sentiment I stole from The Art of Living According to Joe Beef, which, by the by, is a must-have cookbook. Not too long ago, I found the pork chop of my hankerings at a diner on Roncesvalles Avenue.
I’m not referring to just any old diner, though. This is the Ace, a hip new joint that’s a veritable time portal to the ’50s. And the street in question is not the same Roncesvalles from years gone by. This is the new post-construction Roncy, which seems to be getting better by the day.
Last year was good to this west-end strip. The seemingly impossible happened: construction wrapped up. A bunch of trees were planted. New shops opened.
Food-wise, the stellar Barque Smokehouse opened in April, followed by Cardinal Rule and then Pizzeria Defina. And as the year came to a close, two more restaurants chimed in: The Westerly Kitchen and Bar and, of course, The Ace, the place with the mean pork chop ($17, served with mashed russet potatoes and a coffee-infused red-eye gravy, which is a clever hat tip to American diner culture).
When owners Maggie Ruhl and Gregg Boggs took over the space last year, it had been untouched for decades. The site had been home to several incarnations of diners since the ’50s, and it was preserved in dust. During the renovation, the duo refurbished where necessary but conserved as much as they could: old-school diner stools, countertops and tables, complete with initials hand-carved by patrons of yore. Even the old cyan-hued milkshake mixer now houses beer taps.
The effort has paid off. On any given evening, the dimly lit diner exudes a palpable ’50s ambience that’s haunting in the best possible way. And the food is far better than your typical diner fare.
Chef Peter McKnight, previously of Wish and Smith, is in charge of the open kitchen. Those familiar with his cooking won’t find too many surprises, but that’s not entirely a bad thing because he’s a competent chef.
The evening starts off well with P.E.I. mussels and double-dipped fries ($11). McKnight’s philosophy is to let food taste how it should taste, and he succeeds here with a mild white wine sauce zinged with tomatoes, chives and dill, which complements the luscious mussels but doesn’t overpower them.
Country fried chicken ($17) is a dead ringer for the one previously found at Smith — collard greens, ham hock gravy and all. It’s a recipe that McKnight has been perfecting over the last three years. When I had this dish at Smith, I found it too crispy — McKnight fries it twice — but this time around, it’s just right. The chicken is soaked in buttermilk for a day before hitting the fryer, and the juicy result is a good choice for a main.
Not so is the French-style fish soup ($18), full of tough, overcooked shrimp and mushy whitefish. It’s inundated with mussels, too, which work better in the aforementioned appetizer, though the house-made Irish soda bread that comes with it — crafted according to Ruhl’s mother’s recipe
— is a thing of beauty.
Despite the few misses, the food is commendable. If you can, enjoy it while relaxing in the best seat in the house — the one at the very back, facing the entrance — to fully soak in the nostalgic aura. If you’re on a date, be same-side sitters.
Further north on Roncesvalles, the Westerly is a new project from co-owners Tom Earl and Beth Davyduke, along with veteran chef Geoff Kitt, who is fresh off a stint at Collingwood’s the Huron Club. This is a handsome restaurant, with hardwood floors, marble bar top, exposed brick and antique lighting fixtures. It’s exactly how a place opening up in the west end is expected to look.
The Westerly, for the most part, plays things very safe. Music is nearly inaudible, and service is friendly but cautious — a notch or two above inattentive (water, for example, had to be requested twice).
And, for a place that looks this hip, the menu is far from challenging (continental standards include steak frites and gnocchi with cream sauce). But the Westerly makes up for it by offering food that is, with few exceptions, fantastically executed.
Chicken liver crostini ($9) is probably the most adventurous dish here, but since offal is all the rage these days, that’s not saying much. The liver is lightly seared for a few minutes before being chopped up with capers and lemon zest. It’s chunky, creamy, sweet and delicious, and set atop a house-made baguette that’s been doused in olive oil. The added bacon is a great touch and so is the Kozlik’s mustard, which is some of best mustard around.
Duck confit ($18) is crispy on the outside and buttery on the inside, even if the colour is reminiscent of a paper bag. The du Puy lentils are beautifully al dente, their earthiness balanced by piquant black currant jus. On the side is a decidedly blasé piece of steamed Shanghai bok choy, which tastes nearly unseasoned. Inexplicably, it makes its way onto several other dishes, too.
When the braised short ribs ($22) come out, I’m floored. The meat, which has been braised in red wine and beef stock for four hours, is succulent, velvet-soft and topped with sweet roasted cippolini onions. The accompanying mashed potatoes are nicely punched up with grated horseradish. Also included are some roasted Brussels sprouts, which are fine, but I have yet to taste any in the city that are better than the fiercely caramelized ones done by chef Matthew Sullivan — who recently left his tenure as executive chef at Malena and L’Unità — which have forever changed my outlook on this vegetable.
Pastry chef Vicki Zielinski makes a delectably potent chocolate ganache ($8) with candied peanuts. She’s also responsible for the fantastic house-made focaccia bread, made with potato water (for extra flavour) and spiced up with rosemary, chunks of sea salt and hints of garlic.
Like the Ace, the Westerly offers something unique: it could very well provide the best food on the strip (of the non-barbecue variety, of course).
Here’s to hoping that Roncy’s charm can survive the next inevitability: the influx of chains.
