Chino Locos

Chino Locos—”crazy chinese” in Spanish—is a puportedly Mexican/Chinese fusion restaurant, although it comes off more as a burrito place with Chinese elements. It’s got an interior filled with various interesting pop culture posters, a short, enticing menu with weird names that attempt to be cool or funny.

This is a trend that I’ve noticed in many home-grown fast food restaurants, especially in burger places. Keep in mind that, at time of writing and of reviewing, I felt more like an overly-critical cynic than a happy young blogger, and this may colour my review against my best efforts. It may not help Chino Locos (a lucrative-enough business to have two establishments—is what I think of as an “acceptable target”), as one negative review won’t harm the company’s revenue or chance at success.

Another justification for my bad mood in the following paragraph: it’s never a good thing when a person walks into your restaurant wearing two thick hoodies and goes through their entire meal without even taking off their hat. It’s Canada, not the Arabian Peninsula, buy a heater.

We start the meal off with a bowl of nachos, after having come here directly from swimming practice, I’m ravenous and tired. Even that doesn’t keep me from noticing that the 5 dollar appetizer is made with dollar store ingredients and kept marginally above absolute zero with a microwave seemingly so weak I wouldn’t be surprised if it were damaged in a drunken experiment involving half a grape, plasma and an exploded egg.

More of an “edible oil product” than cheese

Let me paint a dank picture: temperature feels like the bowl’s been sitting around for ten minutes (actually, more like five given the restaurant’s cold interior) bland tortilla chips probably imported from over the border, and that kind of fake Taco Bell “cheese” that wouldn’t taste much different if it regurgitated back up my throat before being re-swallowed. To be succinct, I was disappointed so far and was already thinking of the snarkiest new name for Chino Locos that I could think of in Spanish, something using the word barato (which means “cheap”).

My Mom’s pulled pork burrito

Then came the burritos, which were good enough to elevate Chino Locos off my hit list and even give it a mixed review. Sort of. My mom had gotten the pulled pork option, and mine was a fish burrito. Both came to our table hot, as if they’d actually been cooked instead of microwaved, and the tortilla was generously stuffed with meats and filling alike. In terms of generous portion and comfortable heating, they passed the test.

My fish burrito

Given the choice of mild, medium or hot, the former was mild, and mine was hot, both choices turned out to be mistakes. Maybe the spicy choice was meant to live up to its name, perhaps I just was not in the mood for heat despite my mom convincing me I’d like the hot sauce, but whatever the reason, I found my burrito too spicy to honestly enjoy. Franky, there wasn’t much else to taste, even the milder pork wrap had little to no seasoning.

At least they’re a good size

What I will say is the ingredients of both were pretty good quality: fresh, tender and plentiful. While huge and filling, the burritos lacked a lot in terms of spice, not the fiery kind, but rather marinade, garlic, chives, herbs, decent salsa, friggin store-bought taco seasoning, something. Due to the simplicity of their ingredients, the burritos were two-dimensional in flavour: having many things to bite into and taste, but not much depth. I wish they’d added more sauces and aromatics from both Mexican and especially Chinese cuisines, some guacamole and hosin sauce would’ve killed it, but unfortunately the nuances of both ends of the world were overlooked. Good thing is that I’ve found my snarky re-name, “Gringos Locos”.

Pros: if you’re in the Broadview area of town and for some reason are stubbornly avoiding anything Chinese in the area, than Chino Locos will, despite its name, offer a non-eastern meal. I’d recommend ordering medium-spiced burritos, they’re too bland by default, and too spicy otherwise. If you want to feel stuffed by a tortilla baby and are likewise in the neighborhood, this will handle the craving. Coming here is really weighing how close you are vs how much you crave something with meat and beans in it.

Cons: were to begin? It’s cold and uncomfortable, for starters, and the nachos were something I could picture my dog nibbling on for a couple seconds before walking away disappointed. I get not every dish can be amazing, some will be bad comparatively to others, but at least try with everything, or else take it off the menu. Laying that to rest, let’s just say a customer should ignore the side dishes. The burritos, ignoring the spice problem that was 100% our own fault, didn’t have much flavour and they really shouldn’t hinge on what degree of heat the customer orders them in. In terms of constructive criticism, experimenting with extra seasoning could really make Chino Loco’s shine. Lastly, in relation to one of the pros above, the streetcars and buses go right by the place, if you’re in the area, just hop on something with wheels and go elsewhere. I’d sooner wait 15 minutes going downtown so I could eat at Chipotle’s.

 

In short, I thoroughly do not recommend Chino Locos, the best thing about their establishment is average, filling but done better elsewhere and complaining about everything they got wrong is like beating a dead horse at this point. 3/10 (Yes, the nachos knocked off a star off my rating)

Chino Locos 368 Broadview Avenue

Pizza Pide

A Turkish pizza restaurant. Hmm, that’s interesting. That idea to me conjured up an image of a slice of pizza with Turkish food toppings… whatever those may be. The actual Pizza Pide has a better concept than that: a restaurant that serves both pizza and traditional flatbread topped by mediterranean meats, cheeses and herbs. 

It suddenly comes to mind that there must be a burden on all people from Turkey. Imagine being proud of your country, and having the only thing people say about it is some lame crack about poultry. Seriously, name a fact about Turkey that wasn’t pulled off of Wikipedia. Im not saying Turkey is a dull country—rather the opposite—us big dumb Westerners don’t know diddly squat about what is probably a very interesting place.

Turkey is obviously more complex a nation than a lot of North Americans are aware of, and I think that’s at least evidenced by their foods. It’s got a large mix of ingredients from Iran, Italy, and many other countries in that general area of the world. It would seem Pizza Pide is mediterranean fare—so far so good—but with a Turkish Twist on it. Did I just write an alliterative pun? Oh god, this is the end.

Pizza Pide is located across the street from Gerrard Square, only really standing out as it is not a Pizza Pizza, I’ve encountered two on the way there. Pide looks very basic on the inside, not appearing much different from its other fast food competitors, but there’s one key difference. I’d a thousand times rather eat here than anywhere that had Pizza x 2 in the title. That’d be the name for the new and improved Pizza Pizza if they cared enough to new and improve.

 

All our orders and some condiments; presented family style

Anyways… as a family, we skipped the slices and turned straight to the wall-bound menu of flatbreads, which are admittedly not that dissimilar in concept from a regular pizza. Our orders were a 9 Tavukla Kasarli (chicken strips and mozzerella), 19 (pepperoni and mozzerella) and mine was a number 4 Mevlana (feta and mozzerella cheese with parsley over ground beef. Mixed with tomato, parsley, peppers onion and spices). That last one’s a mouthful. Orders 1 though 6 and a couple of the higher numbers are different than the rest of the menu.

My mom’s order: the Pepperoni

My order was a flatbread, while the others seemed to be inside a pastry, almost like a cross between a Calzone and a Croissant. Either one is just as amazing, it’s just a matter of nicer pastry or more surface area for toppings.

Nana’s chicken pizza

The first thing to notice is how generous the cooks are, both in terms of portion size and their liberal usage of cheese. Numbers 9 and 19 had a buttery, soft crust encasing warm gooey cheese, the former with large hunks of tender chicken, and the latter with butcher shop quality pepperoni.

My order – the more traditional Turkish style pizza

Mine had a thin, slightly crunchier crust absolutely covered with good stuff. While the mozzerella was just as gooey, it was a vehicle for all the other toppings. The feta cheese added a mildly beautiful amount of tang, accentuated by fresh herbs such as parsley, and completed by light crumbles of beef with just a little bit of that classic grease.

Pros: The food is certifiably delicious, and tactically located outside of Gerrard Square for hungry mall shoppers.

Cons: The interior is basic and fast foodish. While that isn’t a problem for me, it might be for others. If the main focus of you and your companions’ dinner is food, the decor won’t matter.

All in all, the only people I don’t recommend Pizza Pide is someone who either wouldn’t like the interior, or doesn’t like pizza.  While the lack of decor is really the only legitimate complaint I can make, it doesn’t detract from the experience of eating here in any way.  Yeah, it’s pretty damn good.   

Pizza Pide 949 Gerrard St E

Bach Yen

 

 

We had originally planned to review Que Ling and had even taken outside pictures, but something… unexpected happened. We were kicked out, within about half a minute of walking in—maybe more like 40 seconds—a record-breaking time regardless. They told us to take a seat, and then claimed the restaurant closes at seven, despite the fact a guy who walked in literally at the same time was allowed to stay. All kinds of reasons went through my head, that they didn’t like bloggers, had all of their tables reserved,  to maybe some kind of prejudice against certain customers. But either, d@mn that was a quick time, even Soup Nazi would be shocked.

 

The closest other Phò restaurant, Bach Yen, was forgiving in that they actually liked paying customers. I was rapidly overwhelmed by the very bright interior.  As my eyes adjusted to the pitch, they revealed a decor of cheap furniture and one (maybe two) Asian paintings. But in many areas of Toronto, restaurants have an appearance many times worse than this, but have incredibly good food. This was—{breathes}—definitely not that.

 

Let’s do a Pros and Cons list. What were the pros of the appetizers? There were pretty cheap: we afforded both the veggie spring rolls (order #3) and chicken satay (order #4) with peanut butter sauce, without having to mug someone for spare change! The cons? Everything else.

 

The spring rolls tasted weird, not the weird flavour of pure genius, but rather the cacophony of bad ideas someone who thinks they’re genius would make. I really shouldn’t blame Bach Yen however, but rather the grocery store they got the frozen boxes from. Same could be said of the chicken sauce, I made a better peanut dish at home, all I did was crack open a jar and spread it on a tortilla wrap. I didn’t even add honey. By the way, the chicken was a bit chewy, and mom felt like it was a frozen product too.

 

But maybe the appetizers aren’t the chef’s speciality. Maybe it’s a restaurant based off of one or two dishes and the rest are menu filler. The rare beef and beef ball phò (order 327) was going to put that to the test.

 

Unfortunately, we’ll never know, since all I got was a bowl of alien, brown liquid. I’m not saying I could ever make phò—unless stealing a bowl from someone else counts as “cooking”—but I can taste it. I’m on the easier side of the food world, I can’t produce my own stuff, but can judge who deserves praise and money like a dad with too many kids. As a soup, it wasn’t bad, but the only interesting flavour was a flowery back note. In a dish with many tastes mixing together, this would’ve been good, but in a slightly salty broth, it sticks out like a cuss word in kindergarten. This was the only time I hadn’t turned a bowl upside down to drink every last drop of the phò, there could’ve been a prize lurking in the bland depths and I would’ve been none the wiser.

 

 

The usual condiments that come with Pho

There’s a voice in the back of my head saying, “If you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all.”, to which I reply, “Shut up you nasally parasite!” I also hear a second voice telling me to go back on the meds, but that’s not important at the moment. In order to be balanced and fair, there are some good qualities to Bach Yen, much like how a graph of the economy has upwards climbs of hope before crashing down into the abyss of Wall Street-esque anarchy.

 

I liked the tea, there were flowers in the pot which added a meadowy perfume to the drink, although I found myself picking microscopic petal fragments out of my cup like a passive-aggressive OCD sufferer. The service was friendly and quick, shame about the food though. I was thinking if someone wanted to open a can-opener Vietnamese diner, they should’ve have done so far away from Chinatown, where there are a host of better done Phò eateries.

 

Bach Yen wasn’t horrible, but it was pretty bad. I understand cooking is hard, but customers—put very nicely—don’t give a flying rat’s @$$. If you have a critic light years higher calibre than me, the kind of guy who exhumes pretentiousness and already had a rare truffle dish today, s/he’s not going to care either. You could go to Bach Yen and pay to have someone heat packaged food for you, or you could go to a better chef, or you could whip up your own experimental disaster at home yourself. Either way, I’m not recommending this.

Bach Yen 738 Gerrard St E.