2020 was the least exciting year of eating I’ve had in my adult life. I miss restaurants, a lot. I feel terrible admitting it because I know a part of what I miss is being fed by someone else, and I know that the feeling of being “taken care of” is achieved at the expense of others and our planet (rarely is the journey of an ingredient from inception to consumption an ethical one).
But really I miss dining out, less out of a desire to be served, but because it’s an event, a show—the restaurant is a magical place. I’m still dumbfounded by the synchronicity, the timing, the thoughtfulness behind each detail, so easily overlooked by the diner. And because I’m a dreadful cook, I see the final dish—from the choice of ingredients, to the preparation, to the plating—as a work of art.
Toronto’s “best” restaurants are believed to be in the west end, but I’d argue some of the city’s most underrated spots lie in the east. Lake Inez is one of my favourites. Like many restaurants a…