Apparently I was having a day in need of comfort yesterday; after gorging myself on dumplings at Mother’s I wandered over to the Toronto institution Terroni for some good food and company. For those who know it, and that list includes the majority of Torontonians, Terroni usually invokes strong feelings. Some love the constituency of the menu and the food, the tightly held beliefs of the management and the busy hum that sings over each of its outposts. Others find it totalitarian, power mad with rules, and unable to accommodate even a reasonable request. While I sympathize with the later, I firmly hold space in camp of the former. Not being able to make menu substitutions (Ever. They mean it. Don’t even ask.) or order a diet coke is a workable tradeoff in my books for the joy of consistently made excellent pizza and pasta, brusque yet friendly, competent servers and a approachable Italian wine list. It’s a great mid week, low stress place that requires little effort for maximum satisfaction.
Terroni is the only restaurant that for two years I have almost always ordered the same main. I have no idea why; other mains are great (I steal ferociously from The Bankers plate) and usually I balk at food ruts. The dish I pick, Rigatoni Arcobalen, is dead simple; Cherry tomatoes, zucchini, olive oil, basil and buffalo mozzarella (a personal weakness). And it’s perfect. Every single time. Which puts me in my only (happy) food rut.
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