There are two kinds of Torontonians; those who take advantage of the food in this city, and those who do not. The latter are not my people. I believe these are also the people who wear Toronto vs. Everyone t-shirts. News Flash: Literally no one is against the idea of “Toronto.”

But for those who do take advantage, deciding where to eat can be overwhelming. Decision anxiety is a real thing (#RespectMyIllness). And as someone who spends entirely too much money on already-cooked food, I am often asked for recommendations on where to eat. Suggestions. Insights. And as such, I’ve written this guide: My 10 favourite places to eat in Toronto.

Before we begin, a few disclaimers. First, this list is NOT an objective criterion collection based on service, taste and presentation and all that jazz. Some of these places are old news. Some have been torn apart by critics (https://www.theglobeandmail.com/life/food-and-wine/restaurant-reviews/rose-and-sons-swan-toronto-diner-is-a-work-in-progress/article26961618/). But again, these aren’t reviews. This is much more personal.

Also, these are not in “order.” They’re not necessarily equal but they’re not ranked, because I find different places suit different moods at different times. There is no one best place — if you feel like pizza, Pizza Hut is a better suggestion than Alo (neither of which cracked this list). I’ve given it a “top 10” format because the internet seems to react kindly to that, and 10 seemed like a nice round number to limit my scope.

Finally, the second place on this list closed down literally yesterday (written in September 2017) and I didn’t even get to say goodbye. But I still included it here because I am way too lazy to replace it.

Alright. Let’s go.

Fresh

OK don’t worry guys this isn’t a vegan list. I didn’t trick you. But one of the things that determined a restaurant’s place on this list is how difficult it would be for me to live without. How much would it suck if this place closed? How difficult would it be to replicate its offerings? How hopeless, desperate and generally sad would I be if it suddenly went OOB?

With Fresh, the answers are “it would suck a lot,” “very difficult” and “extremely sad.” While Buddha Bowls and Green Goddess Salads might not scream TASTY, they are essential to my weekly routine, especially when I need something to pull me out of the daze of a meaty, sugary, deep-fried weekend. And you know what? They are tasty. If you know anything about eating out, you know a sauce can make or break a meal. And Fresh nails not only their dressings and spreads, but the house hot sauce that sits on every table goes on everything, and turns a healthy vegan meal into something well worth eating.

That’s not to say everything at Fresh is super healthy. You can do it greasily (shoutout to D.R.A.M.) with (quinoa) onion rings, falafel tacos, and mayo-laden veggie burgs. And even that stuff is likely a big step up from what I was eating Sunday night. Also, really good juices and shakes, especially if you’re a millionaire.

Rose and Sons Queen Street

The first time I ate here, I said out loud to my girlfriend “I think this is my favourite restaurant in Toronto.” Everything about it spoke to me — Jewish roots, diner atmosphere, and the art collection — and the menu has grown more articulate over time.

We’ll start with the basics. As the name implies, it’s an Anthony Rose joint. Rose, the chain-smoking yoga-practicing king of Jewish comfort food, brought over the hummus from Fat Pasha, which is like going to a house party and bringing Drake, and at R and S, he serves it with fried eggs and frisée salad for breakfast. I was sold right there.

Then I tried the avocado toast — a dish now so notorious amongst millennials, people have accused it of bankrupting us — and that’s when I truly understood this wasn’t a regular diner. The menu calls the scrambled eggs on this avocado toast “soft n’ sexy,” and somehow that undersells them. The stewed peppers on top add a welcome semi-spicy acidity, and the thick slice of Petite Thuet Miche toasted drizzled with extra virgin olive oil, like a loving Jewish mother, gives the dish perhaps even more support than it needs.

The service is casual and down to earth and the coffee is shit, just as each should be.

(BUT THIS IS ALL USELESS BECAUSE IT’S GONE NOW. DAMMIT!)

TIE: Jacobs and Harbour 60

Steakhouses in Toronto are a contentious topic. It’s a little bit like the last American presidential election: not only does everyone have a favourite, but anyone who disagrees with that favourite “just doesn’t get it.” It’s something so near and dear to people’s hearts, that no one is even willing to have a conversation.

In that spirit, I’m going to double the people who agree with MY choice by making two. That’s right — two steakhouses on this list, and each for very valid reasons.

Jacob’s and Co.

The case for Jacobs is one word: meat. Unarguably, Jacobs has the most exotic, indulgent, and easily the most expensive cuts of beef in the city. They are meat fetishists, and not only can staff members describe each cut’s flavour with encyclopedic knowledge, they can also tell you what that cow’s favourite movie was. Who his friends were. What kind of cow he really was, before the wagyu went to his head. They do their research, and it shows in the results. My recommendation: Go to Jacobs once a year, on a special occasion, and don’t skimp. Spend $200 on a steak to see what a $200 steak tastes like. If you go there and order an $80 dollar steak, well, you should’ve gone to…

Harbour 60

If Jacobs is about the steak, then Harbour 60 is about the steakhouse. This is not to say the product isn’t top quality, it’s just a more considered, full-service experience than the minimal feel at Jacobs. Harbour 60 is total suit country. Situated right beside the Air Canada Centre, it’s consistently packed on game nights, and is a favourite for road teams, visiting celebrities, and local stars. Drake filmed a music video in the private dining room downstairs. The Weeknd brought Selena Gomez here, and she told me she loved it.

H60 is Toronto’s Prime 112; a place to see and been, service as caring and reliable as it comes, and a fully professional restaurant that puts as much effort into the sides and dessert as they do the steak itself. (The sides did cure cancer, as Jonah Hill, would say). You wouldn’t go wrong at Harbour 60 hitting the patio for a gin Martini, a few oysters, the white truffle mac n’ cheese (the best in the city), and the holy-this-is-insane baked Alaska for dessert. That said, get a steak too.

Rol San

CONTROVERSIAL STATEMENT ALERT: I have had better Chinese and Vietnamese food in Winnipeg (my hometown) than Toronto. That said, walking into Rol San felt a lot like home.

I can hear you yelling “Markham, Scarborough, Mississauga!” at me, but that’s not the food I’m talking about. I don’t mean authentic, based-in-traditional-recipe Szechuan and Cantonese cooking. I’m talking my-uncle’s-on-Sunday type Chinese food. Red-sauce Chinese food. Generals-that-don’t-exist Chinese food. And in downtown Toronto, Rol San does it for me.

First, and this is incredible, each table is covered in about 100 white plastic garbage bags for table cloths. This way when customers leave, the server simply wraps up the entire mess in a bag, and whisks it away to a magical dishwashing station (I assume). Rol San feeds so many people, and this is one amazing way to handle high turnover. It’s comical when you first see it, and sensible by the next.

But let’s talk food. The Rol San hot n’ sour soup is sweeter than it is hot or sour. In other words, it’s perfect. There’s a 24/7 dim sum cart that steams as it goes by like a siu mai choo choo train. Chow-mein everywhere. Rice any way. And the star of the show: crispy, sweet, tender ginger beef. Inauthentic AF.

Banh Mi Boys

One of the single best dishes in all of Toronto, from fine dining to quarter-pounders, is the fried chicken bao at Banh-Mi Boys.

Now, full disclosure: I don’t accept the fried chicken banh-mi as is. I make a modification that I highly recommend you make as well. It’s what’s known in some circles as a veteran move. In more racist circles, it’s known as a Jewish move. Now I should charge for this (definitely a Jewish move) but I’ll give you this hot tip for free: sub out the carrot and cucumber on that fried chicken bao for slaw. Korean slaw. The result is an incredibly juicy, oh-so-crispy, and perfectly saucy sandwich, served in a pillowy soft bao dripping with mayo and, yeah, slaw baby.

Aside from that, I hear people like the namesake banh-mi, but why have baguette bread when you can have bao? I just don’t understand. The beef cheek, the tofu and the squid are all delicious too, but the fried chicken keeps me coming back.

I will say though, Banh Mi Boys does this weird thing where they ask how spicy you want your food. “Mild” is as it comes, “medium” they add sriracha, and “hot” they add Jalapenos. But that’s not just a heat index, that’s a FLAVOUR index. I need to know this information. Don’t veil flavour options in vague spiciness terms. TELL ME WHAT YOU’RE DOING BACK THERE.

Grand Electric

Grand Electric was going to be on this list. I get their tacos delivered via Uber Eats at least twice a week. Then, last Tuesday, I ordered my standard four tacos (Spicy Chicken, Beef Cheek, Pork Belly and Crispy Cauliflower) and I was outraged. See, up until this order, Grand Electric had double wrapped their tacos with two corn tortillas. The filling was substantial and the double shell was warranted. But this time, I noticed a lacklustre ONE tortilla supporting each taco.

They clearly changed the recipe to make the shells stronger. I know this because the old ones collapsed upon pickup when I tried go Atkins(ish) one time and leave one of the shells behind. These new ones can support the load. But you know what? They’re not as good. And not only that, the two shells feels more AUTHENTIC, like I discovered a good street stand while walking my burro (note: I have never been to Mexico). Now, it’s like I’m a sad Canadian ordering food to my condo with my phone. Fuck you Grand Electric. Bring back the second tortilla.

SUBSTITUTE IN THE RUNNING: OTTO’s Berlin Doner. (Shoutout to Daniel Asper for the reco).

Momofuku Noodle Bar

Some people credit David Chang with being at the forefront of the foodie movement; one of the driving forces behind the internet just being a place for stylized food pics. His obsession with fried chicken, his love of share plates and family style dining, cereal milk ice cream; it has all helped cement his status as perhaps the king of hipster-chefs-as-celebrities.

But brush all that aside, and go eat a goddam bowl of Ramen at noodle-bar, and I dare you not to be impressed. First, the presentation is, well, Instagram worthy. The house specialty is a gently segregated bowl of al dente ramen noodles, a poached egg, fish cake, pork belly, pork shoulder, a paper-thin sheet of nori, and umami flavour bombs that I hope forever remain a mystery. Their baos and bites are all worth ordering, and if you’re lucky enough to be there when the Okonomiyaki Cheeseburger is on the menu — essentially a big bac with better beef and pancake buns — don’t pass it up. Chang, as it turns out, also knows burgers. And I guess pancakes too.

No matter what you have, you’ll be very full. And then, head upstairs to Milk Bar for birthday cake truffles, crack pie and corn cookies. (“The meal’s not over when I’m full, it’s over when I hate myself.” — Louis CK)

Lee

Chef Grant Soto is one of my favourite personalities on the internet. He’s clever and the content is funny (If you don’t know what I’m talking about, he’s an internet comedian who makes fun of Susur Lee’s grown children). And while buying up Supreme catalogs and cutting people off in traffic on YouTube doesn’t make for the most likeable vibes, let’s not forget why Susur’s sons are in a position to do all this stuff in the first place: because Susur himself is one of the best in the world at what he does.

Susur is a wildly accomplished chef with the restaurants and dishes to back it up, regardless of what his sons are doing in their vlogs. I’ve had the famous Singapore slaw more times than I can count (I used to live directly across the street and could almost hear the julienne slicing from my bedroom), and I’ve never even considered if I’m even close to becoming tired of it.

After that, I get cheeseburger spring rolls (better than they sound) to wash away the healthy, and a couple mains like the Black Cod, Chicken Curry (his Top Chef-winning dish) and Chinese duck pancakes.

Then I check Grant Soto’s Instagram update, and hit the hay fully satisfied.

Piano Piano

This place is still semi new but holy shit is it good. I find a lot of Italian places in Toronto to not be as decadent as they should be. Perhaps skimpy is the right word. But Piano Piano is the opposite.

Pastas are buttery, creamy and truffley. Pizzas are cheesy, meaty and made with the best thin crust in the Toronto. Portions can be made family style, meatballs are massive, and the place itself has big energy (loud but not too loud) and a large physical presence (look for the pink wall on Harbord).

Toronto Life recently named their bitters pizza the best pizza in the city, and I’m naming their brown butter egg yolk ravioli the best “that” in the city too. It’s tough to get a reservation within a week, but book now and start a bread and butter countdown.

Imagine the following scenario: You meet an attractive person at a party after discovering a mutual love for the new Father John Misty song playing through the Apple TV at someone’s shitty loft. Later on, this same person catches you checking your Instagram feed. One thing leads to another, yada yada yada, you wake up with a new follower. And of course you follow back because you’re not a fucking monster. So you’re going through your feed and you see your new friend has posted a picture of him or herself at the party. With the host. Who is your mutual friend. You’re gonna like that picture, right? I mean, you know both people in the picture, that person just followed you, and it’s about time you make your digital self known to their digital self with a muh-fuckin double-tap, amirite?

I am. And it doesn’t even matter if it’s a shitty picture of both of them (which it almost unquestionably is because they’re people and people are shitty). “Liking it” at this point, is simply the right thing to do.

Here’s the thing about likes on Instagram photos: They have almost nothing to do with the picture itself. It’s completely about context, and overwhelmingly and outstandingly, the most deciding factor on whether or not someone is going to twice-tap their iPhone screen with their Dorito-stained thumb is your current relationship with the potential liker. Which is how every human should always be viewed — the potential for one more like.

For example, say you recently pissed someone off because you canceled a lunch date or forgot to include them in your baby shower or stole their identity to commit credit card fraud; you wouldn’t garner a like from that person even with a meticulously executed collage of you stretching your scrotum over every Trump Tower sign. It could even have an incredible caption referencing Harambe. Doesn’t matter. The photo has nothing to do with it. You’ve already soured them, and extracting an Instagram like from said person will now be more difficult than drilling 800 feet into a meteor bound for earth.

Alternatively, say you recently gave someone a ride somewhere or pulled them out of enveloping quicksand. This person will probably like whatever you put up in the next little while, be it you with your ugly father or a picture of your tuna sandwich on brown. You’re in their good books. It’s their way of saying “I see the sandwich bro, but thanks for that thing you did.”

But relationships don’t tell the whole story. There are three other major factors that are trustworthy predictors of an Instagram like, and they are as follows.

Like-predictor #2: Ego of participation

This is a concept that’s been brought up in several ways in the internet age of writing. The first time I came across it was in Eckhart Tolle’s “A New Earth,” the book Oprah read while she shat for more than a year. It was also mentioned in a 2013 GQ article by Brendan Vaughan titled “Are You Obsessed?” and Vaughan did such a good job reiterating the concept, I’m going to let him take over for a moment.

Let’s say you mention to a friend that you’re a fan of the rapper Chief Keef, and your pal fires back with an emphatic, “Obsessed!” That’s NOT an attempt to bond over a mutual love for the music of Chief Keef. That’s competitive. That’s “Not only do I, too, enjoy Chief Keef, but I’ve enjoyed him for quite some time now. In fact, I’ve moved beyond mere like into full-blown obsession. Because I tend to hear about these things a little sooner than you do.” Being “obsessed,” in other words, is a new way to win the ever accelerating race to be first — and to make sure everyone knows you’re in the know. At which point it’s time to start all over again, looking for something new to publicly obsess about.

So how does this translate to Instagram? Say you post a picture of yourself at a trendy French restaurant you’ve never been to. You slap some cringe-worthy caption on it like “Bon Appetit” or “Ooh La La” and your bouillabaisse is officially live. Now, if you have a follower who’s eaten there before (god forbid with some regularity), you’re not only going to get a like from this abomination of a human being, you’re also going to get a completely unnecessary comment like “Best spot” or “My family’s fave” or worst of all “Make sure you get the fig and foie gras compote.” I can almost guarantee it. And similarly to what Vaughan calls “being obsessed,” these comments are not about bonding — they’re about ego. The ego of saying “Hey, I ate there first, so your picture isn’t that special you dick.” But it comes out as “omg luv that place”.

Like Predictor #3 — Time of Day

Time of day is the easiest criterion to predict, manage and explain. The only caveat is you must be aware of both rush hours, times of heavy traffic, as well as avoiding posting during what I call “Green Bay Packer games.” You ever drive through Green Bay while the Packers are locked in a tight one? Me neither, but I assume it’s fuckin deadsville.

Some of the more known Rush Hours:

Workdays between 9 a.m. and 3 p.m.

People are bored at work. They’re yearning to see how the barista screwed up your name. Please do not let them down. This is the workday rush. Before 9 a.m. is too close to the digital backwash from people on the West Coast from the night before. Wait until after 3 p.m. and you’re risking people on the east coast heading down into subway tunnels for long, depressing, Instagramless commutes.

Friday between 7 p.m. and 9 p.m.

This is when people are planning their evenings, and by planning their evenings, I mean looking at Instagram. Ooo, where are the other apes drinking moonshine tonight? Will that female ape be there? Do I need to put on pants?

People look to social media to get a “feel for the scene”, and there’s no more urgent time to feel said scene than on a Friday night. It’s a digital traffic jam. Visibility optimized. Likes maximized. Everyone is terrible.

Sunday Afternoon — Noon to 7 p.m.

Sunday afternoons were created to see how many times people could check their Instagram feeds consecutively without a single update. There’s not a lot to do on Sundays without football so we tend to hope other people are doing things we can pretend to ignore.

Don’t post before noon, however, as people are still waking from nights of debauchery which, in a more perfect world, would have killed them. After 7 p.m. on Sunday, people move over to Twitter to wax intellectual about their favourite TV show. Wait until their Monday morning dump to hit em with that killer meme.

Like Predictor #4 — The Actual Picture

Is there a dog in it? Cool, I’ll like it.