Restaurant Review - Let’s get toasted
Toast points Midtown in an affordable, casual direction
I generally give credence to the maxim that a restaurant is only as good as its weakest dish. It’s so discouraging, on a maiden voyage to a new eatery, to inadvertently pick the menu’s biggest booby trap. Suddenly you realize how many groceries the meal would have bought.
But my initial spoonful of Toast’s chilled potato and leek soup reminds me that, sometimes, you really can just misorder the first time around and might want to give a potentially deserving place another chance.
I’d been to Toast months earlier for lunch. I’d glanced over the plainspoken, user-friendly menu and decided on the Toasty, the signature sandwich stuffed with a daily revolving filling. That day’s contents happened to be a scant, crumbly portion of spiced ground beef, which made the thick, already greasy roll even more lubricious. A slapdash Caesar salad reminded me how much that careful construction of greens and dressing has devolved in the 80 years since its conception in Tijuana.
I resolved not to return. And yet, good reports on Toast continued to trickle in. Maybe lunchtime simply isn’t the restaurant’s finest hour?
So it is that I find myself again on Toast’s patio, in Atlanta’s consummate season for patio dining. Clarion skies. Slight nip in the evening air. Life just seems sharper and easier to grasp this time of year.
But it’s not too cold to still enjoy chilled soup. I stir a blob of créme fraiche into my potato and leek soup, so silken it’s almost custardy. The soured cream doesn’t so much blend into the soup as disperse into cloudy nuggets. They melt on my tongue and cut the sweet richness of the potato puree. This is soup made with love.
It isn’t the only unanticipated pleasure. Ribbons of smoked salmon cascade over a fluffy corn cake in a nice melding of textures. Traditional smoked salmon accompaniments of capers, onions and créme fraiche add treble tones and bass notes. A goat cheese and tomato tart is by turns gooey, sweet, astringent and toothy. Preserved lemon bits brighten and unify the ingredients.
Well, whaddya know.
Toast is located on the backside of the Biltmore, next to Halo (and you can definitely tell — by the stylin’ threads and the appropriately tousled hair — who’ll be headed to the persistently hip lounge after dinner). Ami was its former incarnation, a mediocre venture that seemed lost in the dust of the fevered construction on the block a couple of years back.
The dust has now settled, the residents have moved in, and the space, retooled as Toast, fits right into the neighborhood. A Day-Glo orange wall and matching chairs give the dining room a perky, retro lift. During my two visits, though, not a single solitary soul sits indoors.
Scan the list of dishes — starters, sandwiches, salads and “plates” — and you’ll notice that three-quarters of them cost under $10. With the care that goes into the cooking, the restaurant could charge more and probably get away with it. I’m so happy they don’t.
Drew Van Leuvan (good chef name, don’t you think?) briefly operated a company that supplied pasta to local restaurants. He now channels that experience into a few impeccably conceived offerings. If you’ve been to Toast, one of the amiable servers has probably encouraged you to order the English pea and brown butter cappelletti — that’s tortellini to you and me — in a light broth with curried hazelnuts. It’s understandably the star appetizer, a deft pairing of yielding pasta all the more supple in the mouth from the contrast of the crunchy nuts. The curry, rightly, is a mere aromatic shimmer on the horizon.
Agnolotti, another stuffed pasta, gushes mascarpone and a hint of corn. They share their bowl with plump, woodsy chanterelles — a timely junction of summer and autumn flavors. Even the potato and chive gnocchi, once on the leaden side, have been tinkered with and lightened. I’ve always loved the saucy green jumble of baby artichokes, feta and arugula pesto they bob in.
On my last visit, a server mentions the kitchen is gearing up for a seasonal menu change. I’m hoping the pappardelle and meatballs stays on, but that it gets a heftier sauce. The negligible montage of roasted red pepper, pine nuts and a few bits of tomato doesn’t stand up to the brawny duo.
The big plates don’t hold as much interest for me. Slow-cooked rounds of rib eye remind me of the endlessly chewy slabs of prime rib that my father adored in the ’70s. The ratatouille served with a dull roasted chicken breast is a muddy mess.
No, I’d rather focus on the skyscraping burger with green tomato ketchup and a plate of the crispy cottage fries (although I find the chunky, tartar sauce-like tarragon caper aioli alongside the fries repulsive). Even the simple mixed greens salad works: A scattering of salty Marcona almonds and a lemony vinaigrette gives the greens distinctive pep.
And I’ll be sad to return and find the frisky blueberry pie (really, an open-faced tart) with cookie dough ice cream gone for the fall. See you next year, I hope.
So many places in Midtown have an overly ambitious agenda. They want to be swanky, they want to serve slipshod food and turn tables like mad, or their chefs get too big for their britches in the creative department. Now, when you’re in the area, wondering where to grab a bite in an unpretentious spot with affordable prices, you know where to go.
Hot damn. I’m glad I gave Toast a second shot.