If you love tasting menus like I do, Twenty Victoria likely offers one of the most affordable ones in Toronto. Through a prepayment on Tock, the non-refundable six-course meal is set at $175 per person and is inclusive of gratuities (but before taxes) meaning the only thing that needs to be settled at the restaurant are drinks (beverage menu prices also includes gratuities).

That evening’s menu was casually paperclipped onto the drink menu and was rather cryptic, each dish described using two ingredients such as trout & egg. A quick scan of the December offering left me surprised by how seafood forward Twenty Victoria’s winter meal would be, a welcomed change in my books.

But first, a plate of “snacks” arrives, two one bite wonders including a delicate crispy salt cod croquette and a dollop of sturgeon caviar placed on goat cheese and radish. Both worked to wake up the senses and the radish a refreshing and stronger substitute for the traditional blini.  

The first dish, kanpachi and oca root, combines slices of raw fish with a root vegetable that’s described as “a cousin of the potato” and tastes like a starchier jicama. While it looks like sashimi, when the kanpachi is mixed with the crunchy diced oca root, olive oil, citrus, and basil seedlings, the dish tastes more ceviche. It was a vibrant starter that happened to coincide with tropical music being played in the dining room (a mere coincidence), the happy music putting us at ease that it wouldn’t be a stuffy meal.

What seemed like A LOT of sauce arrived with the trout and egg. Yet, the whipped hollandaise-like sauce carried a lightness that didn’t overpower the rich fish and even worked solo with pieces of fallen fish roe. Ultimately, throughout the menu, we found the balance of richness and lightness was what made Twenty Victoria excel – serving a decadent ingredient with something refreshing or at least restrained so that you can continue through the menu without feeling gross.

Pairing chopped walnuts with scallops wouldn’t have been my first choice, but it wasn’t terrible either. The slightly cooked through nuts added a bit of texture against the soft scallops, which were perfectly seared and served with a lovely creamy sauce. In this dish, the raw celery (?) leaves provided a bright element to counteract the buttery condiment.

With the scallops comes their bread course, a magnificent loaf that needs to be sold to go. Hot and crispy, the dark brown crust breaks away to reveal a milky airy centre. It’s their version of Japanese milk bread, which makes complete sense after the explanation as my husband found it resembled a lighter brioche while it tasted like a richer pain au lait for me. Regardless, I only wish I didn’t devour it all as the bread would also go well with the next dish. My advice for you, save a quarter.

Admittedly, I was disappointed to see the ‘lobster’ in the turnip and lobster dish rendered into a sauce, albeit a deliciously rich and silky bisque. It’s that richness that elevates the sweet slender turnip, an ingredient that hardly gets diners excited. Twenty Victoria’s turnip was a great consistency, neither too mushy nor too raw, and when slathered with the lobster sauce and topped with a black truffle does make the root vegetable more palatable.

The lamb was cooked to perfection, and I love that there was a sliver of fat and/or skin on one side that formed a crackling to compliment the tender meat. I wouldn’t have thought to pair lamb with maitake mushrooms and kelp, but both crunchier vegetables went nicely with the delicate tenderloin adding interesting textures in lieu of the traditional mashed or roasted vegetable side dishes.

Prior to dessert, we were asked if we’d be interested in a cheese course, something not listed on the menu. Of course, we obliged, and it was a great way to finish off the wine before diving into a digestif. Large ribbons of Niagara Gold arrived with crisp lavish bread and a slightly sweet quince. Having had this prized local cheese on other occasions, served as a traditional wedge, the ribbons completely changed the cheese’s taste allowing it to cover the tongue and almost melt away. Indeed, cheese please!

The pastry of the carrot pie was a wonderful thickness and consistency, holding its shape but breaking apart easily to mix into the carrot filling. I would have liked the pie to be sweeter, especially since it was paired with tangy unsweetened whipped buffalo cheese and a sea buckthorn syrup. I guess its neutrality helps balance the much sweeter lemon and ricotta cake, a warm moist cake sitting in a light syrup, so the dessert almost feels like a sticky toffee pudding, except with a hint of citrus and not quite as sugary.

Some diners were surprised that Twenty Victoria didn’t make it onto Toronto’s Michelin guide. With their amazing food, it’s certainly a strong contender. I sense that with a couple of small tweaks they could get there … assuming the added stress is something their chefs want, of course.

For example, expanding their tableware selection would help. When someone splurges on champagne ($35) and not a mere sparkling wine, ideally, it’d be served in a flute as opposed to a regular wine goblet.

If I were to get really picky, offering a wider fish knife or a shallow spoon with a dish like the trout and egg, would make it easier for patrons to spoon the sauce and fish roe onto the trout for a more fulsome bite. Yet, it comes back to whether Twenty Victoria even cares. Right now, dining there just seems so carefree, especially when trying to obtain a reservation. Star or no star, it was a shining meal for me. 

Tucked in the Japanese Cultural Centre, walking into Kaiseki Yu-Zen Hashimoto transports you to another country. Given their limited seating, their doors may be locked, so give the posted number a call and in no time, someone will greet you at the entrance and lead you through the orange torii gates into the dining room.

There’s so much to take in that the first ten minutes is like sensory overload. Take a deep breath and get ready for the meal; Hashimoto only serves three tables an evening, there’s plenty of time to explore after dinner. So, settle into your private dining room and decompress for the meal to come.   

Hashimoto describes kaiseki as “much of an art form as a style of food preparation” and this is certainly accurate. Each dish was beautiful and like a gift waiting to be unwrapped; a sense of excitement settled over me as I lifted the dome from many of the courses.

The eight-course meal ($350 per person) began with an onjyaku-zen (amuse bouche) consisting of three hearty soups designed to warm-up the stomach. Hashimoto’s saikyo miso soup wasn’t overly salty but rather rich in umami made with white miso, topped with a braised carrot, and a pea-sized amount of mustard to add an expected spice against the broth. Meanwhile, the nutty flavour that burst through the cube of goma (sesame) tofu was incredible, almost bordering bitter if it weren’t balanced out by the thick savoury soup. If anything, I could have done without wasabi on the tofu as the sesame taste was already so pungent.

Of all three bowls, my favourite was also the simplest and what Hashimoto calls “seasoned rice”. It’s like a thick congee studded with cubes of sweet soft squash and topped with slivers of salty dried kelp (?). The bowl was lovely and comforting and had us wanting another taste of it to end the meal.

Paper thin slices of tennen madai (line caught sea bream) was featured in the sashimi course, so delicate that it’s like eating flower petals made of fish. Around the plate were three agar jellies flavoured with ginger, carrot, and seaweed, as well as a washer-sized daikon filled with thinly julienned pickled vegetables. It’s a much lighter dish following the onjyaku-zen and really showcases the knife skills of Chef Masaki Hashimoto.

Diners are asked to refrain from wearing strong scents to ensure they’re able to enjoy the sensory experience of the food. The yuzu aroma that escapes from the owan-mono was so refreshing, although at first whiff, it leaves me wondering if a citrusy soup is something I’d enjoy.

Hashimoto didn’t disappoint, balancing the yuzu in a savoury consommé and pairing it with a host of rich flavours: a silky chawanmushi (egg custard), a thick chewy rice cake, and a soft braised daikon. The slice of amadai (tile fish) was cooked perfectly and I loved that the fish’s scales were deep fried to form a crunchy garnish on top.

The yaki-mono (grilled course) featured a host of ingredients that were in-season during the autumn in Japan. Generally, I only have persimmons raw, yet somehow the fruit tastes so good baked, releasing more of its sweet flavours with chewy pieces of mochi included to soak up some of its juices. The fruit was so inventive that the grilled shima-aji (stripe jack) almost seemed secondary; I found the fish a tad overcooked and in need of a stronger glaze to make it stand out.

To finish the yaki-mono a host of seasonal produce were used as palette cleansers including crisp lotus root, a gooseberry topped with egg yolk (surprisingly, it works), mountain yam, and a lovely mountain peach that’s almost tastes like a cross between a plum and strawberry.

The Spice Girl’s song, When Two Becomes One, is what comes to mind when I think of the taki-awase course. The dish begins with ingredients being stewed separately – in this case, cubes of octopus, vegetables, squash, and daikon – and are then steam together to blend the flavours and aromas without causing the ingredients to become overcooked. After simmering for four hours, the octopus was so tender that if our server didn’t tell us what the protein was, I would have thought we were eating brisket.

Following the softer steamed dish was the shii-zakana (signature course), which provided a textural contrast with different crispy elements:

• Medallions of the most incredible chicken teriyaki encapsulating a soft walnut and wrapped in a thin crispy skin. I could munch on rounds of these in lieu of chicken wings.
• A ball of flavourful mashed Japanese potatoes filled with wagyu beef cubes and rolled into crispy rice grains creating something that rivals arancini with its crunchy and soft elements. Of course, in this case, instead of the traditional ground beef and peas, it’s filled with rich wagyu. Oh boy.
• Even the garnish of popped wheat was edible; a bit fibrous when I took a bite of the entire stalk, but once we started picking out the individual grains from the husk, became almost like a nutty popcorn.

Guilt washed over me as I took my first bite of Chef Hashimoto’s hand carved radish crane… it must have taken so much time to carve its delicate neck and legs! It was the last thing consumed so that I could appreciate its beauty before finally dipping it into the carrot sauce and devouring the refreshing décor.

The last savoury course brought a bowl of sticky rice topped with slices of A5 Hyogo wagyu, the prized beef from the Kobe region. While it was delicious, I do wish the beef was left thicker and cut into cubes so that more of the fatty rich flavours would be locked in and flow onto the tongue.

A bowl of noodles and soup is always a delight. In this case, a cha (tea) soba served in a fragrant dashi broth that was good to the last drop. What a lovely way to end and cleanse the palette before dessert.

Like many Japanese desserts, the mizu-mono was a fruit plate prominently featuring the expensive Shizuoka musk melon. A sizeable melon is upwards of $200 a fruit and commands the premium as supposedly they are raised to only have one melon per plant to ensure all the flavours are concentrated into one fruit and there being less of a chance of the melon having blemishes.

Indeed, every time I’ve had a slice it’s the sweetest melon ever and tastes like a cross between cantaloupe and honeydew. What also makes it different is the texture: when you have a normal melon it tends to be very soft and sweet in the centre, then gets hard and flavourless as you approach the find. The musk melon tends to have a more uniform sweetness and tenderness throughout.

It’s strange when I’m excited to try fruit, at Hashimoto they also provided a white strawberry encapsulated in a light jelly and topped with condensed milk. Truthfully, it just tasted like a lighter Ontario strawberry that you can purchase at a farmer’s market when it’s in season… I don’t think I would pay the ~$40 for a pint. It was my first experience having a shine muscat, which was like a sweeter and juicier globe grape without seeds. Set in gelatin and adorned with a gold leaf it’s crazy to think that a bunch of these grapes can be upwards of $100.

Aside from the fruit, we were treated to a leaf of uber-rich matcha pudding and a dollop of sweet azuki beans topped with a crispy candy. My recommendation is that Chef Hashimoto switches out the rock sugar with pop rocks to really give the diners a surprise.

With an extensive sake menu, if you’re not familiar with the Japanese spirit, they have a “sommelier” to help you choose one based on your preferences for other alcohol. Letting her know that we like a dry crisp wine, she recommended the Okunomatsu Junmai Ginjo Genshu Arabashiri that was offered in a half bottle on weekends ($55), which does have a less sweet finish.

For those who are abstaining from alcohol, they also offer pots of fragrant tea ($9 a person) or water served from a kimono clad Swell bottle ($7 a person).

Incredible surroundings and beautiful unique dishes aside, what makes dining at Kaiseki Yu-Zen Hashimoto an unforgettable experience is their service. With only three tables nightly, we were in good hands – just like in Japan, the hospitality rises to another level.

It evens ends warmly with our server offering to take a picture of us, which they email to us later that evening along with pictures of the dishes sampled. It’s a simple and sweet gesture that sets the restaurant apart, from the moment you enter and after you return home, dining at Kaiseki Yu-Zen Hashimoto is a true sensory experience. 

Prior to my meal at Minami, I did realize it was the sister restaurant of Miku. What I discovered that evening was that the restaurants were named after the daughters of the owner – is he the father-of-the-year or what?

While Miku is known for their flame-licking aburi creations, Minami’s inventiveness goes beyond the blowtorch and into how dishes are visually presented. We decided to see the restaurant in action with their Minami Shokai tasting menu ($150) and a premium sake flight ($35), which we hoped would sip well with all the food.

Slices of miso duck arrive laid on a slightly stale and hard puff pastry, which does little to add to the dish other than make it look more substantial. The duck breast, just cooked through, was a lovely balance of meat & fat and the miso just enough to give it flavour. It’s an interesting choice to start with such a strong protein, yet when paired with fruits helps lighten the dish.

Traditions are certainly thrown out the window as sushi comes before sashimi, six eye-catching pieces of it. The lovely creations take time to prepare, so the rice arrives too cold (and could benefit from more vinegar). I guess you don’t go to Minami for the rice, instead the gold leaf that caps the chu toro, a delicious and lovely show piece.

Personally, I prefer the simpler sushi: the bit of yuzu jelly and wasabi used with the kani helped bring out the crab’s natural flavours without too much fuss; and while the kinmedai was a bit chewy the fish was nonetheless refreshing against some of the heavier pieces.

Minami should consider blowtorching the wagyu tableside as it’s not the greatest cold and I’d skip the uni unless it’s a great quality as it added a slight metallic taste to the sushi. While sampling the surf and turf roll, all I could taste was orange and seaweed so sadly neither of the main elements really shone. Luckily, the bite of salmon maki helped end the dish on a higher note.

Their saikyo-miso sakekasu (try saying that three times fast) marinated sablefish was divine and I liked that other than a dollop of caviar they left the fish sauceless. I’d suggest having the fish first and leaving the “sides” until the end - the honey glazed endive goes nicely with the dish, while the way too oily shiso tempura does not.

You must love the presentation of the sashimi as the billowing dry ice flows around all the fish. Luckily, the seafood was fresh as well and the tuna always a lovely treat. Minami ever so briefly chars the cuttlefish before adding the pops of juicy roe and while this goes fine with soy sauce it would excel with a thicker sauce. Finally, I liked the fresh sweet spot prawn and their use of the entire shrimp as the deep-fried head was crispy as heck and the perfect nibble to end.

The A5 Japanese wagyu stole the show! While it could have been seasoned a little less, the wagyu was so buttery and decadent that I didn’t want the bites to end. Luckily, Minami isn’t stingy with the prized beef, you receive a decent quantity of steak and quite a few sides as well - a lovely crispy potato pave (layers of potato baked) and roasted heirloom carrots.

As a palate cleanser we are brought a plum sorbet popsicle with tart sparkling water… I had the sorbet but skipped the much too fizzy water, give me sake any day.

Despite detesting Bounty bars, the coconut mousse with chocolate was a lot better than I expected. Placed into an impossibly thin chocolate shell, the dessert certainly looked like a coconut and the light mouse and dark chocolate went rather nicely together.

Interesting elements like the house-made coconut noodles were delicious and I could see them using them in a dessert ramen, which could tie-in the Japanese tradition of ending tasting menus with a bowl of noodles. Note to chef: feel free to borrow this idea!

Another reason to visit Minami is their awesome location in Yaletown. What an ideal street to be on with the all the bars and patios, a great way to start and/or end the meal. Whatever happens, when you’re going for the shokai experience, go big or go home. 

There’s no better way to get into the mind of a restaurant than through their chef’s menu. At Richmond Station, every two weeks, their chefs create a tasting menu ($120) with an optional beverage pairing ($75) that tests ideas in progress (some finding a permanent home on the a la carte menu) and others simply showcasing the amazing ingredients available.

Their late July menu started us off with a selection of canapés, a great way to begin so diners have something to nibble on while waiting for the main attractions to arrive. We start with the salmon tart filled with finely chopped salmon, onion, and dill aioli creating a fresh savoury bite. The pastry has a soft crispiness that’s a little unexpected – it tastes like thinly compressed shortbread. The fish was great, but the shell made me ponder.

Luckily, I didn’t have to think for long as my mind was blown by the buttermilk oyster. It is SO good! What a genius idea to use buttermilk and herb oil as the flavouring – the creaminess combines wonderfully with the silky briny oyster, while still having a touch of acid. Ultimately, it allows the oyster to finish sweeter. Move over red onion mignonette, let’s hope buttermilk rains supreme.  

Our server suggests we follow the oyster with the thick tomato bisque, which was fine but not nearly as great as the oyster. Be sure to dig to the bottom of the teacup, that’s where you’ll find pieces of Parmesan crisps that add a salty hit to the soup.

Following orders, we sample the profiterole last as its sweet and salty filling (perhaps a liver mousse with maple syrup?) brings an almost dessert-like finish to the canapés. Personally, I think Richmond Station should consider including one of these with the bill, in lieu of the typical chocolate (the restaurant does put a sweet and salty spin on the mignonettes), as it’s unexpected and ends the meal on a lighter note.

It’s no surprise that the summer menu features a host of seafood: the starter, a scallop crudo, takes a fresh clean scallop and adds bits of radish to enhance the soft shellfish. I love the diced pickled jalapeño that add an unexpected hint of spice, which is calmed by the lime crème fraiche. I’ve always associated Richmond Station with meat (likely because of their famous burger), but this menu shows they do seafood well.

We’re advised the summer squash salad is created from things grown in their garden – barely cooked rounds of zucchini and sweet, peeled tomatoes sitting on a surprisingly rich squash purée that’s spiced with miso. Somehow, they created a feeling of having a “warm” salad without raising the temperature.

The black sea bass was steamed to perfection and the mound of mushroom foam, once mixed with the vermouth cream, creates a comforting cream of mushroom taste – an unexpected and enjoyable twist. While the dish could have become heavy, once you pop one of the Saltspring Island mussels into your mouth, the acidic bite resets the taste buds.

In terms of food, the only slight slip on the menu was the honey-glazed Muscovy duck. While it was cooked well and had great flavours, our piece had a chewy silvery bit running through the meat. Since the duck was left as a larger piece (likely to ensure it stays warmer), that grizzly flaw made it difficult to cut thinly and made for a chewy bite.

My recommendation, if there is a tell-tale silvery sign after cutting into the duck, is for the kitchen to proceed to slice the breast into thin slices… even at the detriment of the meat arriving cooler than normal. In this case, perhaps pour the au jus from a hot vessel tableside to bring heat back into the dish? It’s just a shame when you can’t enjoy the duck to it’s fullest because you have a mound in your mouth that you’re chewing through like Bubblicious.

Cheers to the duck sausage, which was delicious, especially when mixed with a bit of creamed Swiss chard, chanterelle mushrooms, and sour cherry jus.

Richmond Station was smart to serve their pillowy soft bread with the duck, so diners don’t fill-up on the warm milky creation. Normally, I would have devoured both, but by the end of the meal I could only have one. In hindsight, I should have skipped the cup of tomato soup to save room for the roll.

Dessert brought us a custardy vanilla panna cotta topped with tart stewed gooseberries, berry sorbet, and meringue pieces. Like many of the other dishes, Richmond Station seems to always like to feature at least two flavours – in this case sweet and sour – to keep every bite interesting.

The petit fours bring the meal full circle with a fruit tart made with the same crust as the salmon… yes, I still remembered the shortbread like shell by the end of the meal, and it works better for a sweet.  

While the food was a hit, service could improve with two slight adjustments:

• Richmond Station’s cozy upstairs dining room doesn’t make it easy to hear people – especially when they are wearing a mask. I’d recommend having the chef remove their mask when explaining the dish or letting the maskless servers do the talking, as I could only catch every third word of the explanation and didn’t have the heart to keep asking them to repeat themselves.

• If need be, slow down the food service to give the front-of-the-house enough time to do their part. For example, we had to follow-up on our drinks that hadn’t arrived by the time the canapes were presented – champagne goes so well with oysters that it would be a shame not to have them together. And there was an instance where a dish was presented before the cutlery was set – to their credit, the chef noticed right after explaining the dish and went to get the cutlery… at the same time our server arrived to lay it out. I get it, there’s a staffing shortage so these things will happen. Perhaps, slowing down the pace of how quickly dishes are coming out will give servers (especially new and inexperienced ones) more time to complete all their prep work.

At least bill settlements are kept simple. Richmond Station’s prices already includes gratuities, so when you ask for the check, they just add on taxes. The pay machine arrives with the total inputted and ready to tap. So, finalizing the transaction is simply a snap. Don’t worry, I’ll stop doing rhymes now.