Mele came up with the mantra that we would “eat New York” when we visited the city last March, a style of travel that basically translates into “meals before museums.” While I won’t always condone pizza before Picasso, I’m a big fan of eating out often when visiting a new city, and that is especially the case in diner-happy New York, where even the biggest bites of local cuisine don’t amount to much on the surface of The Big Apple. Despite quality advice from James and Mele’s New-York-witty relations, we hardly made a dent with our mere week of meals, because (duh) that was New York, New York.

Six months later, Mele and I visited Ontario with mantra intact and in mind. As “eat Toronto” waited, unchecked, on our to-do list, we spent five days in the GTA, eating our way through suburbs and family events, until finally we made it into the city… for one meal. Toronto, no less of a dietary wonderland than New York, had to be experienced in a single lunch hour. For the chosen representative, the unsuspecting dining establishment upon which we chose to bestow the honor, that was one tall order.

I approached the decision by taking a second look at my hometowns, noting that to a visitor in San Diego or Los Angeles, I would recommend Mexican or Korean food respectively. Considering that Canada leads the world in per-capita immigration and 43% of all immigrants in the country live in Toronto – a city that isn’t near a border, isn’t in Mississippi, and yet is only half white – I set out looking for the most promising immigrant-fueled cuisine in the area; which means that instead of looking up the best restaurants in Toronto, I was researching Canadian immigration patterns and Census statistics. Factoring in that I’ve already experienced the Grecian odes of Queens and Chicago, and that California is already home to plenty regions of Chinese culinary ancestry, research led me inevitably to the flavorlands of Portugal and Jamaica, settling eventually on the sandy coast of Kingston, of which I know very little beyond Cool Runnings, The Wounded and the Slain, Usain Bolt and jerk chicken.

Toronto is an attractive skyline city with the lakeside beauty of downtown Chicago, the metropolyptical claustrophobia of Manhattan and the obscene traffic problems of Los Angeles. I think I got the full downtown experience; from sitting in the Blue Jays’ Rogers Center under the C.N. Tower watching Blue Angels fly between buildings, to crawling at five kilometers per hour through the in-queue-to-be-gentrified Queen Street West. Word of mouth and an iTouch led us through The Annex – an area reminiscent of the West Village – to our destination in Forest Hill South, a Jamaican takeout hot spot with a sign that belies its storied 22-year history

Albert’s Real Jamaican Foods rests unassumingly on St. Claire Avenue West, a side winding street full of rail tracks and holes in the wall that reminds me of San Francisco’s Mission district, minus the Mexicans. While the largest Jamaican-born population in Toronto hails farther east, in Scarborough, West Indian restaurants are plentiful enough that arguing which is the city’s best will bring up too many contenders for easy consensus, and Albert’s tends to have more than a few votes. One older gentleman at Albert’s confessed that he’d driven there from Scarborough specifically for the curried goat (his local place was closed for the day), and that’s enough vote of confidence for me.

When we arrived, we thought Albert’s might be closed – in Toronto, people actually don’t work on the originally Canadian holiday of Labor Day. Fortunately, the door was open, so we entered into a cramped, white-washed room with a tiny counter, a crowded display of baked goods and a wall of yellowing newspaper clippings. The menu looked as bare as the sign outside, and I might have mistaken the place for a 24-hour donut shop if not for the dense scent of curry and spices emanating from the steam table. The staff was rude, the menu was basic and the place was uncomfortable; in other words, I was expecting some pretty darn delicious and authentic Jamaican grub.

I was not disappointed. The tall order – king fish, jerk chicken, curried goat, oxtail, beef soup, a meat patty and a fritter – ranged in color from light brown to dark brown, each served over the traditional rice and peas. The rice and lentils were an immediate standout: a West Indies variation of red beans and rice, something with enough rich flavor to stand on its own, especially with the incumbent gravy. I quickly learned that the meal ahead of me was a far cry better than the serviceable jerk chicken I’d had previously at Santa Monica’s Cha Cha Chicken and Emeryville’s food court.

The jerk chicken itself was familiar, though a little more dry and more potent in jerk seasoning than I’m used to, putting it halfway en route to good jerky. The king fish, a meaty mackerel, eluded me in its preparation, though at best guess I’d place it somewhere between saltfish and ceviche; both peppery and salty, the fish reeked strongly of lemon but still tasted like cooked white fish and never overpowered or underwhelmed the senses. The meat patty, a greasier and more eggy cousin to the Russian pirozhok, and the fritter convinced me that I need to live near a Jamaican bakery someday, but as stand alone items they weren’t the best parts of the meal. Despite their being strong dishes themselves, neither were the chicken and the fish.

More of a highlight was the soup. Albert’s daily, homemade soups have earned a reputation as a must-order, and since Seinfeld has taught me that hole-in-the-wall soup du jour is always worth it, I ordered Labor Day’s “beef soup” and was rewarded for my wisdom. With chunks of stew beef and potatoes, the “beef soup” tasted suspiciously like Irish Beef Stew mixed with coconut milk, an ingredient I’ll be sure to have on hand the next time I’m making the stew at home. Maybe some oxtail, too, because Albert’s oxtail, served over rice and peas, was fatty, seasoned and browned to perfection. The deeply brownish-red dish was a little earthier and a little sweeter than the rest of the order, giving a slight impression of barbecue goodness.

My favorite lunch item at Albert’s, however, was the curried goat. The curry and Jamaican seasonings permeated tender goat chunks to the bones on which they were served, and I tip my hat to the gentleman from Scarborough who drove across Toronto for it, because it tasted worthy of inconvenience, and isn’t that the highest praise that takeout food can be awarded? My family, Mele and I drove across downtown to try Albert’s, too, and none of us were complaining as we walked back out to the car. It was a good meal, a different kind of meal than I was used to, and while I don’t want to burden Albert’s with representing Toronto’s Jamaican food as a whole, and I don’t want to let Albert’s stand as the lone item on the menu of “eating Toronto,” both cuisine and city can do much worse. In 1988, a Jamaican bobsled team shocked the world in Alberta, and last month I was pleasantly surprised at Albert’s.

Albert’s Real Jamaican Foods
542 Street Clair Avenue W
Toronto, ON M6C 1A5
(416) 658-9445

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This entry was posted on Friday, October 2nd, 2009 at 11:32 am and is filed under travel.