Mirabelle Toronto - What the hell?!

[GrahamK]

Was it reall only two short years ago that Mirabelle at Yonge & Eglington was one of THE hotspots for foodies in North Toronto? O how far to fall!

Went for a birthday dinner with some friends the other day, and while describing it as "ghastly" may be a bit strong, it wouldn't be too too far off the mark.

First off, the table we had reserved was already occupied, which led to a rather embarrasing exchange as the woman using the cane for mobility had to limp her way to the other end of the restaurant. As we moved to the table (well, it WAS ours) the waitress mentioned that our two other guests would be joining us, yes?!

Uhmmm .... Surprise, honey!

Seconds after our guests sat down, the server came to take our food orders. However, having been only seconds after seating, nobody was ready. So she went away, for about 1.5 minutes and returned, again asking if we were ready to order.

How 'bout some drinks? Can we order drinks?

Apparently that was an option as well, and we ordered our cocktails. Which were very good indeed, as was the wine.

Orderring the appetizers: What's the soup of the day? That would be an empty bowl, because there is no soup today. What am I, in a Dickens novel?! "No soup today, David Copperfield!"

(By the way, the signboard out front clearly says "Soup: Seafood Chowder." So maybe it was a blessing there was none, because nothing shouts out "leftovers" like Seafood Chowder.)

Alright then, how about the pate? It seems to be a signature dish, it is named after the restaurant after all.

Let me check, says the server. No, sorry, no pate today.

It is 7:05 pm on a Saturday, and already two items are wiped off the menu. Two of the EASIST items on the menu.

Eventually we are able to find appetizers which, surprisingly, the actually have. We didn't order the flatbreads and dips, despite near-constant promoting of same by the server (I think that even with my limited cuisine skills, I could probably prepare flatbread and dip myself at home).

After an enternity of waiting, the appetizers arrived:

Vegetable terrine (ugh), smoked salmon gravelox (fine, but nothing special), grilled calimari with piri-piri (far too big a portion, but nice and piquant because of the piri-piri) and kedgeree fish cakes (no sauce, mysterious fish - perhaps this was where the seafood chowder ended up?)

More waiting, more wine (a pretty decent Venetian Merlot, very reasonably priced). At some point during this interim, a basket of bread appears. But only bread - no dip, no spread, no butter. Whici is fine, since noone at the table has any plates at this point either.

Another bottle over here please.

As the days slowly turn to weeks, the mains finally arrive:

Steak Frites – 9oz New York Steak, hand cut Fries, Demi-glace: Fine, actually, although having done some serious damage to the second bottle of wine while waiting, this is something of a guess. But really, what real harm could you do to a steak frites? Well, a little bit as it turns out: there was no demi-glace, and the fries were pale and wan.

Flat iron steak-potatoes layonaise, sauce bordelaise: No sauce at all, bordelaise or otherwise. And where I come from, potatoes lyonaise (spell-check, please!) consist of sliced potatoes, sauteed onion & garlic, all stacked in layers and cooked-off in butter. These were hash browns.

Roast Game Hen (Special of the Day, and apparently the cause of the delay): Roast it, chop it half with a cleaver, drop the whole mess on a bed of pale and wan frites. No veggies, no side dish, not even a sprig of parsley. O so very appealing. Bland with a capital "BLAH."

Grilled Hamburger – Garlic Mayo, bacon, mushroom: What harm could you do to a burger? Plenty, as it turned out. Charred to the point that I thought eating it might bring about a case of Coal Miner's Lung, with a slice of portobello that had been abused to the point of absolute surrender. Back this one goes, mind if the rest of us start eating without you?

Halfway through the mains, the burger re-appears looking ... pretty much the same, actually. The frites seem to have picked up bit of colour though, so a winner is you!

Any coffee or desert? Uhm ... that would be a resounding no, thanks all the same.

While owner Dion Alpert is extremely personable, and was very apologetic about all that had gone wrong, he is going to have to seriously revamp both his kitchen and serving staff lest he too fall prey to The Curse of Quartier (Mirabelle is the same location). You just cannot lose a chef with credits like Auberge de Pommier, Crush, Sassafraz and the Savoy, and replace them with one who's only bio entry is George Brown College School of Culinary Management.