Cheap Eats

Toked Salmon and Stonerwiches:

IT ALL TASTES GOOD AT THIS POT CAFE

Hot Box Cafe

191A Baldwin St., Toronto, 416-203-6990. Dinner for two with tax and
tip, $30.

What is a restaurant critic doing covering a marijuana cafe? If a
Kensington spot lets people smoke wacky tobaccy on its premises, that
isn't my purview. Until they start serving food.

Which Hot Box Cafe definitely does. Actually, they don't do many
things that definitely. For instance, it's never clear when they
close. The website mentions summer hours ending at 8, 9 and 10 at
night, depending on the day. Spring hours? When we call, they say
they're open till 7 p.m., but good luck getting anything to eat at
6.

Me: "It says on the sign on your 'potio,' $2 minimum, one hour maximum. I'd
like to give you some money. Can we order sandwiches and salads from the
menu?"

Guy behind counter: "No, I'm closing the kitchen." I beg. He stands
firm. "I'm cleaning up. No."

This makes me wonder about pothead hospitality. Where is that mellow
attitude where he doesn't care what time it is, and sure he'll throw
together a few yummy sandwiches. After all, the big sign over the
kitchen says, "Munchies." They know their clientele. At least, they
know the effect that their particular ambience is going to have on
them.

Then again, this is a hotbox with rules (as elucidated both in signage
and at http://www.roachorama.com ). Anyone over 18 may smoke his or her
own pakalolo (as the Hawaiians call it). There is to be neither
dealing nor mooching. And all dogs must be well behaved and on a short
leash. Add the aforementioned minimum purchase and maximum stay, and
Toronto's first pot cafe is a straightforward place. They invite you
to either visit the potio to smoke weed, or to ask for your own
plastic tube for inhaling through a vaporizer (one at every table).
Although the vaporizer's health benefits are clear (it filters out the
smoke while delivering the THC), one wonders just how they sterilize
plastic tubing to make it safe for reuse. Fuddy-duddy boomers may be
too old for these high jinks.

The potio, while not a warm place (none of those uptown fancy gas
heating towers for this joint), is funky, as expected. There are
plastic chairs in almost as many colours as the accompanying murals,
and a forgotten garden (with abandoned tools and a knocked-over pot of
dead something) gives living proof to the motto on Roach-O-Rama's
logo: "Serving potheads since ah, I forget."

Roach-O-Rama is the head shop that shares space with Hot Box. They
sell "potty pants" -- briefs with a marijuana leaf you know where.
They also have hemp flying discs, promoted with a hand-lettered sign
reading, "Yah, they fly." Someone asks the woman behind the counter
what the music is. "I don't know," she says with a snarl. "I don't pay
any attention to the music." It's kind of sad to find that servers in
a pot cafe are no more laid-back, affable or helpful than anywhere
else.

But we like the room. The cafe is, aesthetically, exactly what one
expects. Walls are painted in large mindless blocks of many different
and bright colours. Banquettes are bright aqua with a swath of coral
down the middle. There is a large blackboard opposite the counter,
with the specials listed beside a huge blank space. We inquire as to
the possibility of using up some of that space: Power to the people,
we're thinking. But Mr. Nice Guy behind the counter says no. Patrons
are not to chalk on the blackboard.

It is thus unsurprising that, when we finally get our hands on it, we
are not predisposed to like the food. But the food, although
determinedly downmarket, is surprisingly taste-bud friendly.

They could probably serve anything, after what their patrons have been
smoking. But they do food very nicely. Both language and kitchen are
inhabited with a certain aesthetic know-how. For example, on the menu
under Wake and Bake, they list various breakfast foods, served till 2
p.m. There is Oy Veh Toked Salmon (a.k.a. smoked), Blunted Brie
Stonerwich, and the injunction, in the combo-plate section, Don't
Bogart Those Platters.

The sandwiches are quite delightful despite being called Stonerwiches
(not the best image in the Hot Box lexicon). All the sandwiches are
heated and pressed using every young adult's best cooking friend, the
panini press, which makes amateurs look like pros.

The Red Hempress sandwich, of pesto, peppers, chevre and sprouts, is
fabulous -- garlicky heaven with fragrant pesto and good sharp chevre.
Blunted Brie with avocado and sprouts is a triumph of hippie cuisine
(one of the few). The salads are designer greens. Caesar dressing is
both creamy and piquant, but beware the stale store-bought croutons.
Perhaps our friends behind the counter forgot to make their own?

We wonder if they were on something when they concocted the berry and
sweet onion dressings, for they seem to be evidence that they should
a) consult someone unimpaired before putting items on the menu, or b)
never design recipes when they have the munchies. The berry dressing
is hot pink, a colour (and cloyingly sweet flavour) that might have
suited Janis Joplin, but does nothing for my salad. The flavour is
cloying. Sweet onion dressing is radioactive yellow and even sweeter
than the berry one.

Maybe they were too busy getting ready for April Fool's Day, or the
global marijuana march on April 20. As it says on their website: "Come
celebrate stoner new year at the Hot Box. Party will be going all day
until 10 p.m.!!! DJs, games, cake and stoners from all over town. It
should be a rocking joint."

What a surprise, the Hot Box makes fun cookies. Dark chocolate cookies
with white chocolate chips are soft and scrumptious, but regular
chocolate chip cookies (also soft and yummy) are decorated with
multicoloured M&M's. Psychedelic!