Food Court

I have a handful of eating experiences in my life that stand out, such as the turtle soup in New Orleans which the waiter had me try before and after he poured in a goodly dollup of fine cognac over a spoon, cascading the booze into the soup ("so it will breath, ah!" he said) -- the soup was stunning before the cognac and mystical after its being added; or the aged, black-angus beef steak I had while on a date with a woman (turns out I'm a vegetarian, which is okay as the woman turned out to be a lesbian) at The Senator Dining Room in Toronto--that steak seemingly had no fibre, it melted as might whipped cream on my tongue.

Who knew I would add eating in a food court to my list of never-forget eating experiences, but that's the case today.

The firm I work for has a named tower in the TD Centre office tower complex, and while the TD Centre is the very geographical and metaphorical heart of Toronto's financial district, and designed by famed architect Ludwig Mies van der Rohe, the food court is still, well a food court, complete with the standard Japanese and Chinse fast food, the token Greek take out, a Tim's, a MacDonalds and the rest of the cast of food court franchises. There have been exceptions lately with a high-end burger place and a designer salad place, and froo-froo coffee place with an Italian name.

About a month ago one of THE Montreal chefs and restaurant developers opened a "sandwich shop" in the foodcourt -- MBCo. (Montreal Boulangerier Co.) The joint really is about fine, fine dining in a food court setting. A license to sell wine has been applied for. I've eaten there 4 times. First time was a small veggie pizza which was beyond just good, the nearly overly ample amount of oil soaked into the dough crust so precisely measured and flavoured as to erase the guilt of eating it. Later I had two sandwiches, both vegetarian and remarkable enough to mention/recommend the place to people despite the $10 tag for lunch (not including a drink or side).

Ah, and then there was today. I had the roasted salmon sandwich on some sort of very dark bread (they make their own breads) and it was just among the very best food I've ever eaten. It was, as such utopian and rare experiences with food are, nearly surreal. Like one suddenly discovers a sense called taste. It was so many many tastes combined into one, individual tastes elusive in order to service the collective, everything in the sandwich (right down to the watercress sprigs springled on top) working so well together in a culinary harmony.

I made a point of telling the owner of the place -- a giant of an Italian man, who wears button up sweaters like a grandmother and aggressively imposes customer service (today he told someone who was eating in, "I want you to sit down so I can bring you your sandwich, please. go, go!" then he followed the customer to the table and delivered the food, on, I'll point out, a china plate -- and he mumbled about how there was no mayo in my sandwich (a flavoured version was on the side for those so inclined) and the salmon is roasted fresh, not canned, before bellowing that my compliment had won me a free lunch the next time he sees me. I truly feel like refusing as it somehow might sully the compliment. The food WAS that good.

Don't worry, I'll take the free lunch.