The Teahouse’s standout dish: Rack of Australian lamb glazed with a glossy red wine demi.Laura Leyshon
As the setting sun slinks behind the mountains, casting silver shimmers over the ocean and streaking the blue sky with tufts of dusty rose and tangerine, I feel as if we've been painted into a tourist brochure. There are worse fates.
Everyone in Vancouver has a few favourite spots to soak up the city's natural splendour. This one is definitely near the top of my list, right here in Stanley Park, perched high on Ferguson Point at The Teahouse - as this venerable restaurant is now simply called, having recently dropped the cumbersome "Sequoia Grill" from its name.
Though there are no truly bad seats in the house, my heart definitely does a little tap dance when the hostess leads us into the conservatory and seats us at a rear window-side table with a spectacular view of English Bay, unobstructed by the patio.
It's a shame that the roller blinds have been pulled over the domed glass ceiling, blocking out the leafy backdrop of surrounding forest. The expansive side windows, however, are completely unadorned and cracked slightly open, allowing a gentle breeze to blow in.
I try to tear my gaze away from the tankers idly anchored offshore and concentrate on the menu, only to fall under the love-struck spell of a nearby couple, formally dressed in a suit and floor-length evening gown. An engagement? On the elevated back tier of tables, three generations of family sing Happy Birthday to a grandmother.
The Teahouse, which turns 30 this year, has always been known as a special-occasion restaurant. Even after the owners tried to rebrand it in 2004 with a new name and more contemporary Asian-inspired menu, it never became the kind of place that people would just pop into for a cocktail and quick snack.
No matter how enticing the view from the newly installed heated patio, you still have to drive all the way around the park to get here.
The short-lived new name, Sequoia Grill at the Teahouse, was confusing. Many people couldn't even pronounce it. Some thought that the ownership had changed hands. (Brent Davies, who also operates Cardero's, The Sandbar and Seasons in the Park, has owned it since 1979.) And as the new general manager later tells me by phone, there were many long-time regular customers who hated the changes and simply refused to come back.
So now the Teahouse has embraced its roots, reverted to its original name and reintroduced some of its traditional menu items, including the rack of lamb, New York steak and Sunday-night prime rib dinner.
Executive chef Carol Chow, who was recently hired for the retro revamp, could take the half-hearted concept a few steps further (or back, you might say).
The menu is a generic crowd-pleaser that covers all the bases - Caesar salad, pastas, roasted breast of free-range chicken, surf and turf. And the regional specialties - Okanagan goat cheese, steamed B.C. mussels, Queen Charlotte Island halibut - are decently represented.
Yet there are only a few dishes that stand out - for worse and for better. I can kind of understand what the spicy wok fried squid is doing here. It's a wildly popular item found at all of Mr. Davies's restaurants.
But why the sesame-crusted albacore tuna with green papaya salad ($14)? It feels like an oddly misplaced relic from the restaurant's failed pan-Asian experiment, with little redeeming flavour. The fish is firm and fresh, but the papaya is limp, the chili-lime dressing lacks astringency and, curiously, the chili seems to have lost its heat on one side of the plate.
The Teahouse mushrooms stuffed with crab, shrimp and mascarpone ($10) are far more compelling. This is baked nostalgia in rich, creamy caps that takes me right back to the seventies when I was watching Julia Child on a black-and-white television.
This dish has been a stalwart on the Teahouse menu for 30 straight years. It could probably benefit from a little freshening, perhaps a sprinkle of tarragon or splash of olive oil to moisten the mushrooms.
But I would think that this is the type of bygone classic that keeps Teahouse customers coming back.
To celebrate its "return to tradition" the restaurant held a Tales of the Teahouse contest. The winning reminiscences talked of young tomboys being forced into scratchy lace dresses, lost loves and gastronomic awakenings over a plate of escargot. (My personal favourite, although never submitted, is the story of a friend now living in Toronto who worked here as a busboy and fondly remembers losing his boyish innocence to a much older waitress on a pile of dirty laundry bags in the basement.) The point is that almost everyone in Vancouver has a story about the Teahouse. It's a landmark, emotionally as well as physically.
Wild sockeye salmon ($29) hits some nice notes with its firm ruby-red flesh and robust minerality, complemented by pillowy pockets of lemon ricotta gnocchi (a lighter cousin to potato) and a brothy wild mushroom ragout.
But it's the rack of lamb ($35) that really makes our memory taste buds sing, especially my partner who has ordered it every single time he's been here (five visits in the past 20 years).
In years past, the rib bones were trussed into a miniature crown. They've now been let loose and glazed with a glossy red wine demi. The Australian meat is tender, although the chewy fat caps could be trimmed a bit more without sacrificing much of the full-bodied gamey goodness or perhaps seared a bit longer.
We pass on dessert, but plan to come back as soon as baked Alaska and the legendary pastry swans filled with rum custard make their glorious return (as our very capable waitress promises they will). Where else can you get baked Alaska?
The food here isn't outstanding, but the ambience is spectacular. I would say it's the only waterfront restaurant where you can take out-of-town visitors and not be embarrassed by the cuisine.
But why wait for the relatives or a special anniversary? Julie & Julia opens in theatres next week. I can't think of a better way to warm up to the classics.
The Teahouse: 7501 Stanley Park Drive; 604-669-3281
Alexandra Gill