Samovar Room
51A Winchester Street
416-295-4555
Tapas and cocktails for two, with all taxes and tip: $90
Entering the Samovar Room, nested atop Cabbagetown’s Winchester Hotel, is an experience.
After pulling open the unsigned door (a deliberate oversight meant to create an air of exclusivity), patrons are swept up a steep, narrow staircase to the second floor, the landing of which is crowned by a magnificent chandelier adorned with a canopy of leaves crafted from emerald-coloured glass. A curtained doorway leads into the main space, a sleek yet warm room turned out in polished dark woods, accented in jewel tones, and decorated with an eclectic mix of propaganda posters, gilt-framed oil paintings, and Russian cartoons flickering on a flat screen. The third of owner Rumen Dimitrioff’s Russian-themed hotspots — Rasputin and Pravda Vodka Bars complete the troika — Samovar creates an atmosphere that makes it easy to forget the CN Tower and not the Kremlin anchors the city skyline outside.
Billed as the “(r)Evolution of Vodka, Absinthe, Champagne, and Caviar,” Samovar promises to deliver most than just atmosphere, however, and our party arrives ready to eat and drink.
Things start off on the right — though not particularly Russian — foot as an amuse bouche of creamy hummus laced with roasted garlic arrives at the table to sustain us while we make cocktail and tapas (“zakuskis” in Russian) selections. Accompanied by a mother-of-pearl caviar spoon for slathering warmed slices of rosemary-flecked bread, our complimentary appetizer doesn’t last long.
Slaking thirst is the next order of business, and we make sure to hit on a few of the lounge’s specialty areas. The Russian Mojito ($9.90) combines Zubrowka, a vodka infused with bison grass, with mint, lime juice, and simple syrup. The herbaceous spirit pairs well with the citrus and mint, making for a refreshing quaff. A fruitier option is the Sparkling Pear ($6), a happy marriage of Absolut pear vodka and sparkling pear juice garnished with a skewered peeled gooseberry.
On the sweeter side, the Green Fairy ($13) takes the edge off absinthe by mixing it with simple syrup and 7-Up. The cocktail is a good choice for those too shy to try this legendary spirit straight up, but for the adventurous Samovar is a good place to experience absinthe unadulterated. A shot of crystal-clear Hill’s ($14), with origins in the Czech Republic, is served either aflame or with a sugar cube. We opt for the latter and the anise-flavoured liquid arrives in the bottom of a delicate rose-coloured tea glass, the sugar suspended above on the bowl of a slotted absinthe spoon. Water poured from a miniature carafe melts the sugar and dilutes the high-proof spirit to a sippable strength.
The first round of drinks tempers our disappointment with the food on offer the night we visit. As our server places the night’s five-item “Limited Menu” (perhaps titling it “Special Menu” would have been a more positive spin) on the table, it’s impossible not to notice that the date of three days prior has been blacked out with marker. And, more alarmingly, that caviar is nowhere to be found. Given it’s a Thursday night and Samovar is only open to the public Thursday through Saturday, we try to shake the feeling that we’re getting what’s left from a private function held earlier in the week.
Happily, when our food is served, it tastes nothing like leftovers. The Caesar salad ($9) is crisp and fresh, dressed in an anchovy dressing that is bold but not overpowering. The leaves of romaine are layered with large flakes of parmesan, and the kitchen acquiesces to the request that the double-smoked bacon be served on the side so that the vegetarians among us may also partake. Also sampled — and approved — by all is the gnocchi ($17) sauced in gorgonzola cream and scattered with toasted walnuts for textural contrast.
Lest it appear that we've taken a sudden detour into Italy, we dig into a plate of pan-fried slices of gypsy sausage ($9), which are lightly spiced and flavoured with fennel seed. Piled into a mound with sautéed onion, bell pepper, olives, and tiny cornichons, the only thing missing from this tasty commixture is the Russian mustard mentioned on the menu. It would have been the perfect condiment for dipping. Chicken Kiev ($17) also fits the Russian theme. Although there is an unsightly black stripe along the breaded exterior where the meat was overexposed to heat, the inside is moist and with the first cut a pool of herby butter oozes out, soaking the wilted spinach beneath.
To our delight a selection of caviar canapés ($15) arrives at the table on long narrow platter. After we mentioned that trying caviar was one of the reasons for our visit, our server and the kitchen were kind to accommodate us by putting together something we could sample. Spooned onto sour cream–topped pumpernickel rounds we find slate-grey sturgeon roe (soft texture, smoky flavour); small, deep-orange flying fish roe (crunchy texture — “pops” under the teeth — full flavour); and large, orange-pink salmon roe (voluptuous texture, mild flavour). While it might seem out of line to quibble when an establishment has gone out of its way to please, a return trip to Samovar will be in order to taste caviar served on blinis, a more neutral backdrop than the assertive pumpernickel, which competes with the delicate roes.
Our evening at Samovar begins to wind down just as “Cointreau Night” starts to pick up speed. It’s a promotional event replete with Cointreau drink specials (alas, presented via a sloppily handwritten photocopied menu) and Cointreau Girls clad in white sundresses who begin to hand out branded fake tattoos, flashing safety lights, and free samples. It’s enough to make us wonder if focus on these festivities is responsible for the few low points of our visit.
There's nothing wrong with a theme night, of course, just a long as it doesn't tarnish the rest of the night.
Jodi Lewchuk is an editor by profession and a cook and writer by passion. She also writes about and photographs food for her personal blog, Cursive Mechanics.
