Ursa
924 Queen St. W. | 416-536-8963 | ursa-restaurant.com
I have ventured out to the Trinity-Bellwoods area to try Ursa, following the buzz about its wild-foraged greens and modern Canadian locavore cuisine. Behind its nondescript entrance on Queen St. W., Ursa is cozy — dark wood flooring, with cinderblock walls and a ceiling the colour of the night sky with a constellation of bare Edison bulbs hanging above the diners like stars. It’s smallish (perhaps 40 seats, plus a long bar) and intimate.
My waiter is enthusiastic and knowledgeable, introducing me to the cuisine and the concept (nutritionally balance, local, holistic, Canadian). I give a mental shrug at the onslaught of adjectives. In the cacophony created by Toronto restaurants trying to ride the next trend, this just seems like more noise. Still, he is very earnest, and a true believer. And this, despite some really excellent food, is where Ursa stumbles. At Ursa, food is complex, with every dish requiring an explanation. It is the culinary equivalent of legal drafting that begins, “I am herewith returning the stipulation to dismiss in the above entitled matter; the same being duly executed on this twelfth day…” Ursa needs an editor.
As I wait for my guests, I review the cocktail list. There is some original thinking here and though tempted by the robust wine list, I try a Long Weekend cocktail ($12). It is stylishly presented with a fancy orange flourish, and is startlingly good. My guests arrive and clamour for a taste.
Even the most staid corporate lawyer will feel a kinship with Ursa — the boys in the kitchen have an attention to detail that will have corporate comma-jockeys swooning. Every single dish that arrives displays masterful culinary architecture; nothing is sloppy, haphazard or out of place. The summer foraged salad, with which we start, is an artfully tossed mélange of cascading wild greens, mushrooms, and sea asparagus in a Banyuls vinaigrette ($16). Still skeptical about the foraging angle, my companions and I pick through the various greens, most of which I don’t recognize (sea asparagus?) or hadn’t realized were salad-worthy (milkweed….isn’t that a weed?). I can’t argue with the result, however – this is a new benchmark in salad, both in taste and texture. My dining companions and I are divided over the pickled milkweed pods, however. Tasty, yes, but it feels odd on the tongue, as if I’m being French-kissed by a woolly bear caterpillar. I’m not sure I care for furry food.
The fried tofu arrives, floating on fragrant paste of apple, ginger, miso and spring cider and sprinkled with peppery watercress ($14). The silky texture of the tofu is perfect, but even with the accents it seems bland, if beautiful. The burrata with grilled apricot and “wild foraged leaves, buds and berries” ($18) is excellent but we are distracted trying to identify the various buds and berries.
Our mains (there are only four from which to choose) arrive and like the earlier dishes, each is an aesthetic wonder. The bison with rye berry puree, asparagus, béarnaise, water plants and bourbon-flavoured jus ($26) is flavourful without being tough, but the béarnaise seems out of place in this complicated dish.
By now, I’m exhausted by the onslaught of ingredients. My dining companion’s lamb is delicate and the charred eggplant imparts a wonderful smokiness, but the dish is a riot of flavours with Zaatar spice, bulgar, fava beans, yogurt and hot Harissa sauce scattered across the dish ($26). The waiter explains how the cool this balances the hot that, but I’m weary of food that needs a manual. I just want to eat.
The artistry continues with dessert. A lemon meringue pie is deconstructed and it is beautifully plated with dollops of yuzu lemon curd, a slash of beautifully browned meringue, dots of blueberry preserves and shortbread cookies made with duck fat ($10). But I’m left wondering…why? Lemon meringue pie didn’t need fixing.
The same with milk and honey – this is a complex undertaking, with warm, house-made ricotta, partially-dried red grapes with deliciously concentrated flavour, glorious honey, a honeycomb and four tiny bottles of whey from the ricotta. The whey is an odd touch – warm and tasteless. It’s intriguing, but the whole ensemble seems a bit precious.
As evening falls, the glare from the kitchen’s flourescent lights and white tiles threaten to compromise the ambience, but staff appear and suddenly blinds are pulled down. Visual balance is restored. I wish I could say the same about the noise – with the hard surfaces, particularly the cinderblock walls, this place is loud during the peak of dinner, though it drops to a more reasonable level as the crowd thins.
Looking to impress a cadre of lawyers from New York? Ursa will get the job done and leave them talking. If you’re looking for effortless dining, however, Ursa risks leaving you overwhelmed.
Judge Foodie’s verdict:
Highs: the artistry of the presentation; the adventurous flavours and textures
Lows: complexity of food is sometimes over the top; noisy when it gets busy
Kirsten Thompson is a Toronto-based research lawyer and commercial litigator. Since her call to the bar in 2000, she estimates that her restaurant to courtroom ratio has been approximately 14:1. Thoughts? Comments? Ideas for a review? Email her.
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