The Village Taphouse at Park Royal South, a warm and inviting space with exposed brick walls, imposing wooden pillars and an impressive lineup of beer taps, has something else that I’m very fond of: a well-maintained pool table with bright red felt and cues that have usable tips.
It’s a great aspect of that pub and something you don’t see much of anymore. Pool is an excellent social game, in my opinion, and provides a point of entry into friendly, gentle engagement with other patrons of the host establishment.
This is my adult perspective on the matter. It wasn’t always so.
You see, in my 15-year-old head, I had cultivated a pretty decent badboy persona. I had lots of flannel going on, ripped jeans, a choppy, dishevelled haircut and thrice-worn T-shirt emblazoned with the hand-drawn logo of some band so obscure I might as well have made them up. Mr. Shum, who operated the convenience store across from my high school, sold me contraband American cigarettes for $2 per pack. They were filterless, so I had to spit out little bits of toxic tobacco every third or fourth time I exhaled.
My friend Mathieu and I frequented a dodgy pool hall off Montreal’s barren Decarie Boulevard. We’d walk into the place with these cigarettes hanging out of our mouths because we thought it made us look older. We’d then while the evening away playing pool and feeling cooler than we were.
In my 40-year-old head, my 15-year-old persona still needs a good swift kick to the rear. I didn’t look older, I looked like a kid with bad habits, the kind of kid I want my son to avoid becoming. I didn’t look so cool when my mom discovered my lighter and pack of smokes one day and tore a strip off me that left me crying like a toddler. I thankfully quit the short-lived habit and have not looked back since. But the affection for pool remains.
My good friend Gil and I entered The Village Taphouse one recent rainy evening to the mixed sounds of patron chatter, a live musician belting out rousing, but not distracting tunes, and the all-too-familiar crack of a cue ball off the break. We were seated in the lounge section of the room, a space with ambient light and lush, low armchairs.
The Taphouse is owned by the Cactus Club but, in this writer’s opinion, the room is miles removed from that slick and flashy chain. The Taphouse is a comfortable and welcoming space with a service style to match. It is the only outlier room in the Cactus empire and, if I’m being honest, it is far and away my favourite outlet in their collection.
We kicked off the evening with a couple of pints of local beer, Gil selecting the Red Racer Lager and me a Pale Ale from Bridge Brewing. The Taphouse menu, which is co-authored by Cactus Club food concept chef Rob Feenie, features an intelligent and appetizing mix of pub classics and West Coast fare, from Tuna Poke with Sesame-Ginger Vinaigrette to Steak Frites with Truffle Aioli. Pub grub was what we were craving, so we selected two orders of wings (as they were on special for $7.50 a pound, we ordered both salt and pepper and extra hot), Calamari, and Poutine.
All of the dishes delivered exactly what we were looking for: the familiar, satisfying flavours of well-executed, casual appetizers. The calamari was truly outstanding. Yes, we’ve all had the little ringlets and tentacled bits, breaded and deep-fried, hundreds of times. But these were especially lovely with their light batter and the addition of spicy morsels of green jalapeno, strips of red bell pepper, and fresh dill.
The peppers enlivened the dish tremendously, as did a ramekin of tangy marinara dipping sauce infused with fragrant, slightly sweet and licorice-like basil. The poutine featured an eminently delicious house-made gravy and mountains of melted cheese atop sea-salted fries. An additional topping of beef short rib is available for $3.50, but the Montrealer in me wouldn’t permit the corruption. The “extra hot” wings were made so via the addition of thin rings of green chilies, which, while effective, is maybe cheating a little bit; the base sauce was no hotter than you’d find anywhere else offering classic Buffalo wings. The salt and pepper wings were the better dish, so simply seasoned and served piping hot with a generous amount of celery sticks and blue cheese dip.
While we had intended to delve into the entrée section of the menu, the appetizers proved more than sufficient to quell our appetites. We concluded our meals with a cocktail each. I opted to try the Village Mule, a spicy and perfumed blend of vodka, ginger beer, muddled mint and lime, all served in an elegant copper mug. Hearing no clatter of phenolic resin balls, we nodded in mutual understanding. “Let’s rack ‘em up”.
Our meal, which included two pints, a cocktail each and four appetizers, was $91 before gratuity. Village Taphouse, 900 Main St., The Village at Park Royal. 604-922-8882. villagetaphouse.com
Chris Dagenais served as a manager for several restaurants downtown and on the North Shore. A self-described wine fanatic, he earned his sommelier diploma in 2001. He can be reached via email at [email protected]. North Shore News dining reviews are conducted anonymously and all meals are paid for by the newspaper.
