George Smitherman
The Sloppy George
A perhaps overly generous helping of pulled pork packed none-too-tightly into a spiffy yet leaden bun. The sauce is sweet and hits all the right notes at first, but there is a creeping spiciness at work here, reaching a fiery intensity that may cause eye-watering and 3 a.m. acid reflux. Dalton McGuinty has claimed this to be one of his favourite sandwiches, but insiders say that privately, the Premier believes it to be overrated.
John Tory
Thrice-Reheated Prime Rib
No amount of mental preparation can prepare one for roast beef so grey, so dry and so amazingly bland. There is not even a suggestion culinary artistry - no reduction, no sauce Bordelaise, not even that buffet standard "au jus" - as though to harken back to an era when Sunday roast meant the sound of flatware clinking on Mother's china and so much left unsaid.
Joe Pantalone
Vegetarian Lasagne
This well-meaning, progressive pasta dish fails to impress. Additions like Shanghai bok choy and Portuguese agrioes try to cover all the bases, but the result seems to pay lip service to that emptiest of concepts: diversity. And for a dish that calls for at least a soupcon of cheese, there just isn't enough. In short, this is lasagne that looks to the past and not the future. As a Tuesday night dinner-at-home meal, it does just fine. But as a main event, forget it.
Giorgio Mammoliti
Zuppa di Bizarro
The problem this time is too much cheese. And foamed walnut oil, pork marmalade, gizzard sorbet, deep-fried beef marrow dredged in heritage buckwheat, foie gras boiled in yuzu juice, and sweetbreads wrapped in orange peel. If it sounds like a catchy ingredient, it's in here. This soup may be full of ideas, but is there a good one in the bunch? The answer, alas, is no. Pass the Listerine.
Rocco Rossi
Grand Poisson d'Ottawa
Not a whiff of Italian heritage in this geometrically perfect sphere of seared Ottawa River carp. It isn't famous for the way it tastes so much as who likes it. Notoriously popular amongst Liberal bigwigs, it is rumoured to have been the dish that persuaded Michael Ignatieff to trade academic stardom for political, ahem, challenge. Lovers of Ignatieff will find it savoury and sophisticated. Everyone else will be left wondering: Is there a dish that would make him leave?
Adam Giambrone
Half-Baked Rump Roast
Your grandmother had a name for meat like this: red veal. Too old to be tender, too young to show the depth and robustness of age. In other words, more banal than a stalled streetcar holding up traffic on Queen Street. Vegetables seem interesting by comparison. Diners will be tempted to send it back to the kitchen, but not before angrily stabbing it with their fork.