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Any time hunger hits
When now began covering the downtown scene back in the early 80s, if you wanted an alcoholic beverage in white-bread Hogtown on a Sunday you also had to buy a stale ham sandwich. Such was the stranglehold of Ontario's blue laws. Since then T.O. has evolved
by Steven Davey
Lucky 7 Back in the day, the corner of St. Nicholas and Charles was the stomping grounds of the local boho set. A Space, Toronto's first alternative art gallery, and Divine Decadence, an early vintage clothing shop, were originally located there, as was Roxy's, a dim subterranean coffeehouse-slash-café where Margaret Atwood and General Idea could be found munching veggie burgers. Renda Abdo's 7 West (7 Charles West, at Yonge, 416-928-9041, NNN ) continues in that outsider spirit. Located in the same Victorian that housed bygone Roxy's, 7 West opened in 1991 and hasn't closed since. The three-storey space seems to have been here forever.
The first floor's more formal room has a lovely fireplace and French doors that open to a small, raised curbside (cough) patio. Up a well-worn staircase is a second, more relaxed area rigged out with church pews, pressed tin, exposed brick and an overhead trompe l'oeil mural of cherubs frolicking in the clouds. Another narrow stairway leads to an intimate attic and a small private rooftop deck that faces a skyscraper skyline. Or what you can see of it.
To an eclectic retro soundtrack – the Electric Prunes, Prince, Chubby Checker – the late-night set dig into simply prepared dishes like chunky vegetarian chili, smooth tuna melts and tasty pita pizzas. Most come with a large serving of house greens (romaine, red cabbage, chickpeas, cukes and red onion) dressed in a lemony Mediterranean-inspired vinaigrette.
Hooter time Across town, The Owl (700 bloor West, at Clinton, 416-538-3030, NNN ) is another resto that never closes its doors. With minimal signage, the second-storey spot is one of Korea Town's more obscure fuelling stops and has what's quite possibly the shortest menu in town: four items. It describes one of them, bulgogi, as "some beef, some noodles, some vegetables" and that's exactly what you get – thin, stringy strips of quickly seared soy-marinated beef and sweet potato noodles stir-fried with carrot, scallion and button mushrooms in smoky-sweet red pepper paste. By day, this decidedly shabby spot attracts an older crowd bent on Korean comfort food, but as the night grows long and the volume of the Asian techno pop booming from the many speakers hanging from the acoustic tiled ceiling increases, the small room fills up with animated club kids from nearby karaoke bars.
Their favourite: Pork Bone Soup, the Seoul food version of goulash, thick with delicious marrow-full shanks slowly simmered in broth and thickened with potato, salty fermented miso paste and hellishly hot pepper powder. Soon, every table is a pile of delicious discarded bones and joints. All mains also include a soothing bowl of sticky rice and another of pickled cabbage kimchee that adds contrasting crunch and warm, tingly heat.
Veal Value It's 5 am and you've got a serious hankering for tripe. Only Commisso Brothers and Racco (8 Kincort, at Glencairn, 416-651-7671; and 33 Eddystone, at Oakdale, 416-743-6600, NNN ) can satisfy that nocturnal desire, though the taxis and 18-wheelers filling up the parking lot aren't here for stomach lining, Italian-style. They're lining up for Commisso's legendary hot veal sandwiches, pounded steak on a house-baked bun ladled with old-school tomato sauce and layered with hellishly hot unseeded banana peppers and rubbery 'shrooms. The long-running bakery also carries a whack of Italian imports like olive oil, fresh bocconcini and fancy Sicilian cakes and pastries.
Fee fi pho fum Both downtown Chinatowns are littered with pho parlours, but only one stays open all night long. Pho Pasteur (525 Dundas West, at Spadina, 416-351-7188, NNN ) may look like a generic noodle house – bright fluorescent lighting, large communal tables, a plastic plant or two – but its Vietnamese card is longer than most pho factories'. Early in the evening, the clientele are U of T types and extended Asian families, but in the wee hours, especially on weekends, the squeaky-clean spot's packed with an après-disco Clubland gang intent on inhaling major carbs.
Vietnamese Shish Kabob finds a near-satay of thinly sliced well-done beef scented with lemon grass and dressed with crushed peanuts, over a large bowl of slippery rice vermicelli. A side of raw cuke, bean sprouts, sweet carrot daikon slaw and sprigs of Vietnamese mint gets wrapped alongside the tasty grilled beef in delicate rice paper or leafy lettuce.
The smiling young staff in matching red aprons couldn't be more accommodating, but someone should get them to axe the appalling country schlock (Shania Twain at 2 am, anyone?) Pasteur passes off as dinner music. There, I guess I just did.
Deli delights Although deluded expats insist otherwise, it is possible to get authentic Montreal-style smoked meat in Toronto. Yes, Centre Street Deli's brisket is too lean and Coleman's sandwiches come closer to corned beef, but Melanie Simpson of Mel's Montreal Delicatessen (440 Bloor West, at Howland, 416-966-8881, NNN ) serves the real deal. Available in four styles – including purist-preferred fat – on regulation rye sided with crunchy dill and industrial coleslaw, her sliced beef even turns up on poutine. Busy at all hours, the popular Annex eatery sports an awning-covered patio out front for those with bloodshot eyes who wish to avoid Mel's bright yellow interior paint job.
Fran's the man Another old gal who deserves a new coat of paint, Fran's (20 College, at Yonge, 416-923-9867, NNN ) opened in the 40s and has been doing business round the clock ever since. The last remaining outlet of a once thriving chain, the original College Street diner can't decide which decade it's in. The once impressive art deco facade needs renovation, and the interior – a mirrored maze of formica-topped booths – could use an overhaul, too. First to go: the dozen or so 70s-style pastel abstracts that look like they came free with their cheap brass-edged frames. And anything recorded after 1972 on the juke box.
The current menu is just as muddled, ranging from a meat loaf that Joan Crawford in Mildred Pierce would be proud of to puzzling Tex-Mex jalapeño popper pub grub. Stick with tradition. The Classic Franburger finds a very good, freshly ground patty on a sadly untoasted commercial bun, garnished with luncheonette-correct ripe tomato, onion and lettuce, with Hellman's mayo on the side.
The crisp golden fries won't win any frites prize, but there's plenty of them for sharing. Fear not, fans of 50s kitsch: contrary to gastro rumour, the last Fran's is not about to close, but instead will be joined any day now by a splashy new sibling in the Pantages Hotel complex. However, rumour #2 is true: Fran was a man.
Wheat chief Surrounded by some of the trendiest trats in town, Golden Wheat Bakery (652 College, at Grace, 416-534-1107, NNN ) does a very good pain au chocolat as well as a wonderful croissant filled with strawberry jam and mild ricotta-like Portuguese queso. Our favourite late-night nosh: their grill-pressed ham and cheese panini.
Pancake bay If there's one thing I've learned in my years of reviewing restaurants, it's to be suspicious of kitchens that have pictures of food on their menu, as they do at the Golden Griddle (11 Jarvis, at Front, 416-865-1263, and others, NN ), the family-style flapjack franchise. Located opposite the St. Lawrence Market, its curbside patio makes a great spot to watch the very, very early morning scene. Inside, it's all 80s exposed brick, bevelled mirrors, hanging plants and dead carpeting over which staff race about refilling cups of coffee for busloads of American and Japanese tourists who don't understand why that Eatons mall is closed at 7 am.
Not so shiny spoon Vesta Lunch (474 dupont, at bath urst, 416-537-4318, N ) is certainly a late-night Toronto institution. And many of its nighttime trade look like they just escaped from a local institution. Putting the Greece in greasy spoon, a pair of short-order cooks whip up all-day/all-night breakfasts and souvlaki dinners under a blue-and-white striped flag flapping in the exhaust. The fries are frozen, undercooked and mealy, the gravy comes from a can and the inept Greek salad is hardly Olympic. It celebrates its 50th anniversary next year, but the reverence for Vesta in certain quarters is Greek to me. 
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