Peter Pan bistro goes whole hog as new owner creates fresh space
Peter Pan (out of 4)
Address: 373 Queen St. W. (at Peter St.), 416-792-3838, peterpanbistro.ca Chef: Noah Goldberg
Hours: Lunch, Tuesday to Friday, noon to 2 p.m. Dinner, Tuesday to Saturday, from 5 p.m. Brunch, Saturday, 11 a.m. to 2 p.m.; Sunday, 11 a.m. to 3 p.m. Reservations: Yes Wheelchair access: Washrooms downstairs Price: Dinner for two with wine, tax and tip: $100
“Would you like more challah with your pig’s head?” Clearly, I am not at a B’nai Brith Canada dinner. At that moment, I am at Peter Pan bistro, picking over the cheeks, snout, ears and — best of all — creamy brains inside the roasted skull of a suckling pig. I have paid $32 for the privilege of scavenging a partial carcass. And I am enjoying myself immensely.
The waiter’s question, while solicitous, is wrong on many levels. I am Jewish but not kosher. So is Peter Pan chef/owner Noah Goldberg. It seems inconsistent, to say the least, to serve miniature braided Sabbath egg bread with pork, a non-kosher meat.
But if this is wrong, I don’t want to be right. Peter Pan is back and it’s better than ever, committed to courtesy and nose-to-tail eating.
The southeast corner of Queen and Peter Sts. has been Peter Pan restaurant for decades. Goldberg, 32, bought the business last year from longtime owner Mary Jackman (Goldberg’s old boss Susur Lee supposedly had his eye on it, too).
Now the second-floor rooming house is a chic event space, two patios are in bloom and the downstairs restaurant feels both classic and fresh. Designer Jessica Ingwersen restored the Art Deco booths, marble bar and pendant lighting. Tables are topped with cement boards and Laguiole knives honed to a shaving edge.
To shake the association of a boy who never grew up, Goldberg commissioned drink coasters showing famous Peters (Jennings, Mansbridge, Frampton, etc.). British artist Debbie Lawson tackles iconic Canadian animals in 3D tapestries. It’s as if your grandmother’s Persian rug sprouted moose antlers.
Sitting in the front window, sipping a crisp glass of Zinck Sylvaner ($9) recommended by sommelier Jay Whiteley and watching the parade of Queen West shoppers, it’s easy to get comfortable at Peter Pan. Even the noise level is relaxed, with no music playing.
Order a simple snack, like fat handfuls of peas in the pod ($5) to shell. Or popcorn ($4) sprinkled with the botanicals in gin: juniper, fennel and coriander seeds.
The menu changes weekly and reads like a French bistro in Britain. (Goldberg cites St. John and former boss Daniel Boulud as inspirations.)
The classical dishes are uneven. For every refined duck raviolo with smoked onion broth ($14) there is chewy steak ($29). Overcooked trout ($27) happens in the same meal as revelatory cooked radishes ($7) lavished in butter and chives.
More consistent is the care. Tell the server you and your partner plan to share the risotto ($18) — a fine example of the genre chockablock with peas, fiddleheads and asparagus — and the kitchen splits it into two nicely garnished portions. They even bake buttery madeleines ($8) to order.
Opt to end your meal with cheese and a server wheels a cart to your table and explains the offerings ($18 for three). It’s delightfully old-fashioned.
On the specials blackboard, things get funky with offerings such as deep-fried duck tongues ($10) meant to be dunked into blue-cheese dip as you would with tiny Buffalo wings.
It’s also where the pig’s head comes from.
“I didn’t try pork until 2008, when I went to work for Daniel. Then I sort of went off the deep end,” says Goldberg, a one-time Jewish day-school student.
There’s nothing romantic about the cleaved head of a young Quebec pig, teeth showing.
But it is a pleasure of layers. First is the bronze skin; puncturing it with a knife is primal. Underneath is wobbly white fat. Underneath that are the muscles, grey and tender ropes of surprising delicacy. Underneath it all is the best part: trenches of bread infused with drippings, porcine croutons. They are a medieval feast come to life in the 21st century.
As the richness builds, Goldberg supplies the antidote: the mustard vinaigrette on du Puy lentils tossed with baby turnips, radishes and blanched celery.
I eat everything but the bones and the eyeball. The waiter gives me a gold star.
Don’t tell my rabbi. apataki@thestar.ca, Twitter @amypataki