The Westmount Gastro Pub’s
only hindrance may be its lack of signage. The restaurant depends solely on the
name pasted to its front door to draw the undersized crowd that has been
frequenting its space for the two months it’s been available to the public. Is
there a strategy here? Is there a reason for no sign on a strip that boasts
giant signs making customers aware of what lies in Westmount plaza’s sprawl?
I’m too old and jobless to care about any semantic s; if the academy wasn’t a
dying animal, maybe I’d put in the effort for a more consequential conclusion.
I will say this, however: it’s a crying shame. The Gastro Pub makes a valiant
effort to deliver good scratch to the palettes of our polis. I only hope the
food it attempts to make from scratch doesn’t go unnoticed and spoil before it
gets the privilege of feeding many more mouths. Word on the street is that’s
what’s happening. A crying shame. It’s good. I dare say it’s delicious. The
Gastro Pub plays the game well against the urbane restaurants already around.
Its fare is familiar, but it diverges with a hodge-podge menu that offers
interesting twists on meals we’re familiar with. A risotto with fresh ground
lamb comes to mind. And the attempt at making everything from the most basic
components an impressive foray. Hats off to The Gastro Pub; it does its best to
exist as an appendage of Waterloo- trying to buy local, trying to be fresh,
naming drinks after city streets. The first restaurant I’ve seen to
rhetorically foster a sense of community with what it cooks. If it doesn’t
succeed, it serves as at least a testament to the sad truth that Waterloo’s
philistines don’t really care as much about the community as they say, and will
disavow any sense of the word as soon as losing face is no longer a worry in
front of their shameless social climbing peers. Hmph. My thesis was useful,
after all. But no more academic tangents from this point on. There’s much more
important matters to attest to, like the Pub’s food, and its space.
I have exhausted every way to
describe an atmosphere like The Gastro Pub, simply because its persona borrows
from the banal cosmopolitanism that dresses every haute food hole in this town.
Black ceilings, brown everything else- the power suit colours of a restaurant
space. It’s not a bad thing. I wasn’t repulsed sitting and eating. I liked
feeling clean and pretending I was on business; but, the Pub’s mission
statement of ‘a public house that specializes in serving quality food without
pretension’ made it hard to stomach. And as playful as the bricolage menu is,
it does very little to bolster any sentiment. The plating too. These appeals to
humility only exist, paradoxically, as anti-aesthetic aesthetics, and make The
Gastro Pub absolutely pretentious. But hey, the food was good, and the service
even better.
If you’d like a little of everything, the sandwich options are a good choice,
especially for those of us doing lunch, offering small tastings of sides like
double-blanched French fries, or the daily soup. I went for something a little
more ambitious, however; a main event; the beer can chicken: a slow roasted
half-bird basted with Honey-Brown Lager. And though my first ordering relayed a
poultry with an undercooked, bright pink flesh, my chef did everything a good
restaurant does by footing the bill and delivering unto me an entirely new
plate with the most tender bird and pastoral lavender meat, bone and all.
Basted in beer, it gave off a nectarous aroma, reminiscent of the odours we
find cooking with white wine. Any honey flavor imparted onto the chicken itself
was slight, but perfectly suited to the mellowness of the meat.
Accompanying
that was a serving of sautéed vegetables, perfectly done as far as I’m
concerned, with enough crisp zeal to teeter it on the edge of the raw and the
overcooked. To that, I added fries, conventional in constitution, but accompanied
with a homemade catsup full of texture, tongue tickling tang and fresh tomato
to cool off any overpowering sweetness typical of the stuff we buy off of
shelves. I would have liked the fries separate though, the juices from meat and
vegetables running over them before I had a chance to enjoy any crunch.
For dessert I was treated to
a buttery crème brulee with a side of wild blueberries simmered in their own
sour juices. On a plate decorated with chocolate sauce and cinnamon, my buttery
brulee, atypical to its boring custardy siblings, was left open to the option
of adding even more levels of flavour. However, its soft-butter texture and
down dulcet flavor made it a joy to eat all on its own, and did well enough
without the ruddy wild berries. Its charred caramel was my favourite part,
reminiscent of roasted marshmallows.
I have to admit, you’ve wowed
me Gastro Pub, even after an embarrassing introduction; and I’d like to believe
that’s a difficult thing to do.
Aside from a jejune pretension and slow start, know this: I’m rooting for you.
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| One, dishonest photo this week. Why? The tyrants said I wasn't allowed to take photographs. True story. |
The Westmount Gastro Pub
50 Westmount Rd.
Waterloo, ON
Mon- Fri: 11:30 am-10:00 pm
Sat-Sun: 11:30 am-10:00 pm
ANY PAYMENT
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