Posted by Paul Wernick in diners, restaurant review on March 22, 2007 at 6:54 am

The Bus Terminal Family Restaurant
1606 Danforth (at Coxwell)
416-463-4680
dinner for two with taxes and tip: $25

The coq-au-vin tasted marvelous but my daughter demanded chicken in nugget form. The crystal decanter was exquisitely crafted; a sudden lunge by her sent it toppling to the floor. Lethal shards of glass flew into someone’s ratatouille. What was left of the warm, intimate ambience was shattered by her cries of “I have to go pee.” And then she did. My wife and I skulked out of the restaurant dragging a bawling toddler, our own bladders loosening in anxiety. The hateful glares of the patrons still haunt our every waking hour – particularly the dinner hour.

We should have known better than to take a rambunctious child to an upscale restaurant, even on our anniversary. Out of respect for the dining public we vowed to eat exclusively at “family restaurants”. For me, “family restaurant” is a vaguely defined but troubling term. It evokes images of Formica and vinyl, harried parents with their squabbling children, and food neither too spicy nor too pricey. (When I was boy, Swiss Chalet was an excursion into ethnic dining.) Family dining means plastic table mats and sturdy dishware, a boisterous atmosphere and crayons into which your offspring can divert their destructive impulses. Oh well, we all have our personal demons.

And so, with an uncontrollable three-year old and a care-worn wife, I entered the Bus Terminal Family Restaurant. Yes, let me make it clear: this establishment was at one time a bus terminal. Food and drink have been served in this building for about 65 years, making it perhaps the oldest restaurant on the Danforth. The original wooden benches remain lined against the wall. Torontonians have rested their weary haunches on them since the outbreak of World War II. The large windows of the terminal overlook what is now a municipal parking lot. The dining room is long and narrow. Its walls and ceiling are decorated with vintage album covers and photo glossies of R&B and jazz musicians. “Papa Loves Mambo” blares from the loudspeakers. All in all, I would describe the setting as retro kitschy cool. But don’t be fooled by the faded 70’s menu over the counter: that was placed there during the filming of the endearing family classic “Get Rich or Die Tryin’” starring 50 Cent.

The waitress is pleasant and prompt. Her Uncle, she informs us, used to own the joint. She suggests the roast beef special – what could be more family? - and quickly fetches our daughter a glass of chocolate milk. We peruse the menu and take in the surroundings while she (my daughter, that is) contentedly blows bubbles into her drink with a straw. The clientèle consists of other families and a few young couples with a sprinkling of grizzled diner types. I don’t actually see any one wearing the burgundy uniform of the Toronto Transit Commission here. Possibly a shift change will increase their number.

We forego the roast beef many other patrons are enjoying. It looks juicy, rare, and big – just like Mom never used to make - but we’re simply not that hungry. The menu itself is not extensive or ambitious. There are omelets, the inevitable all day breakfasts, burgers – food that is the lifeblood of your typical greasy spoon. The Chef’s Specials look more promising. I opt for the roast pork sandwich; my wife chooses the chicken potato roti; we select mini hotcakes and fruit for our daughter. Her high-pitched whining for French fries contributes to the authentic family atmosphere.

This is a friendly restaurant and we’re in an amiable mood when our entrées arrive. My roast pork sandwich comes with home cut fries and a house salad dressed with balsamic vinaigrette. It’s a little on the dry side and the pork could have stood for some more energetic trimming. But the French bread is liberally stuffed with roast onions and nicely if blandly seasoned. The fries themselves are pleasantly crisp. The roti is especially impressive. The dough is thick and warm, with tender chicken and potatoes swimming in curried gravy. My wife approves of her quasi-Greek salad – nothing wilting or brown to be seen on the plate. The portions at the Bus Terminal are very generous and it was soon apparent we wouldn’t be able to finish the meal. Those notorious Styrofoam take-out containers are provided. We help our daughter finish her hot cakes. They are beautifully arranged and the whipped cream seems genuine, even if the syrup is artificial. The fruit – strawberries, apples and cantaloupes – accompanying them is a good thing, as is the constant refill of my coffee.

We prepare to leave as a bus driver enters. I’m sure the hearty fare and cheerful environment here will be a relief after a hard day of staring down disgruntled transit passengers. It was a relief for us after an onerous day. The entire outing cost a little over twenty dollars. We will come back here for our anniversary.