The mysterious ubiquity of pad Thai on Toronto menus
5 weird places to get it
From the National Post (July 27, 2002)

There are many methods of gauging the spread of what Hardcore Roadshow author Noel Baker calls "World-Class Cityitis." In terms of large-scale projects, there is not doubt that Toronto suffers from an advanced case of the disease. An overbudget, under-utilized stadium? Check. Failed Olympic bid? Check. An ongoing attempt to turn Yonge and Dundas into Times Square? Check.

The symptomatic delusions of grandeur can also be detected in smaller venues. The best example of this may be the menus of Toronto -- an inordinate number of which feature pad Thai, even if they are not a Thai restaurant.

It could have been another dish, one supposes, that received the unofficial nod.

But somehow, through a process that will remain forever a mystery, the combination of World-Class Cityitis and our oft-praised multi-culturalism has conspired to ordain rice noodles, egg and peanuts a litmus test of sophistication. Chefs and owners of all different ethnic backgrounds, perhaps emboldened by the fact that ketchup is a legitimate pad Thai ingredient, have allowed the dish to appear and reappear with conspiracy-level frequency. And by invoking one simple word -- "fusion" -- restaurateurs are able to serve it with unlikely foodstuffs without regard to consistency, logic or even good taste.

Granted, you won't find pad Thai at Medieval Times (a historical anachronism, naturally), or at The Pickle Barrel and Fionn MacCool's. And there is no pad Thai pizza, even at Amatto's -- yet.

But the Rivoli serves it. Ditto the Bamboo. So does Pilot Tavern. Even Golden Griddle is getting dangerously close to capitulation with their Thai Vegetable Stir Fry. One day soon health inspectors will require pad Thai's presence as a requirement for getting a clean bill of health. Until such ubiquity arrives, here are the five most unlikely places in Toronto where you can order pad Thai. This guide (wisely) avoids controversial topics such as food quality, service and presentation, and discusses only the surroundings in which the meal is available. As the saying goes, you have to see these places to believe 'em.

The Hungary Thai Bar & Eatery, 196 Augusta Ave.
If there is one restaurant that has bent the operational definition of fusion to its breaking point, it is the Hungary Thai. Not only are East and West on the same menu, but if you order the Hungarian and Thai Combo (Wiener Schnitzel, spring rolls, cabbage roll and chicken pad Thai), they will be on the same plate. This Kensington Market restaurant features the chic undecor of a Budapest strip club, with the proprietor chain-smoking in the corner of the room, surveying his unholy empire. Why Hungarian and Thai food? Why not?

Vicky's Fish and Chips, 414 Roncesvalles
Sadly it is not served wrapped in newspaper with a toss of vinegar, but yes, you can order pad Thai at Vicky's Fish and Chips. Half the restaurant is Vicky's and the other half is Sue's (who prepares the Thai food), but like the Hungary Thai, it is a combination with neither rhyme nor reason. The cafe features a bunch of plastic bananas dangling from the ceiling along with Christmas garlands in red, green and silver and two tiny plastic palm trees attached the to wall. The menu above the grill give equal billing to haddock and Bangkok, but the decor is definitely slanted toward Thailand, with the only real concession to Captain Highliner being the wood clock in a shape of an anchor. Adding to the nonsensical nature of the place is the fact that the surrounding Roncesvalles neighbourhood is decidedly Polish.

No Frills, Dufferin Mall, 900 Dufferin Ave.
Bathed in the bright yellow glow of the No Frills grocery store inside the infamous Dufferin Mall, down the middle of Aisle 5 you will find a one-kilogram box of pad Thai shivering politely and patiently in the freezer section. Yep, President's Choice makes a version of the dish, an amalgam of tofu, rice noodles, vegetables, peanut and scrambled egg in a mildly spicy sauce. Finding pad Thai in a supermarket might seem unusual, given that all the ingredients required to prepare the dish are located there, too. So a heat and serve, 14-minutes-in-the-microwave version is a category mismatch par excellence.

The Rose and Crown, 2335 Yonge St.
Nothing compliments a perfectly poured pint of Guinness like a plate of ... pad Thai? Traditional British pub fare be damned at the Rose and Crown, near Yonge and Eglinton. Here you can order bangers and mash, or Cornish Pastie, or even shepherd's Pie. But when you're itching to impress your bar buddies by proving the refinement of your palette, the Rose and Crown pad Thai is the way to go. The dish isn't some token addition to the menu either -- every Thursday is Bangkok night, when you can enjoy Thai food via England via Toronto at a discount while you watch the game or shoot some darts.

The Green Room, 296 Brunswick Ave.
The Green Room has been serving cheap food to hungry students in the Annex for many years. There is nothing about the poorly lit restaurant that excludes the possibility of pad Thai on the menu, but nothing suggests it either. The Green Room has always had a mangy charm -- a public rec room filled with old couches and mismatched tables and chairs. The surroundings never inspire much confidence in the food; based on the decor, one might assume the kitchen consists of a hotplate and a chef barely capable of producing Kraft Dinner on command. But not only can you order soups, sandwiches and nachos at the Green Room, but, of course, pad Thai. Bert Archer, a man of many opinions and author of The End of the Gay, describes the dish this way: "It doesn't resemble or taste anything like pad Thai whatsoever, but it's a good meal regardless." The pad Thai at the Green Room would appear to be the next logical step in Toronto's relationship with the dish. A restaurant with no business making the dish creates an unrecognizable version of it, and finds success regardless.

It was once impossible to find pad Thai in Toronto. One day soon, however, it will be impossible not to find it.

More Culinary Incongruity
The Fish House at 144 Front St W also serves pad Thai. As does Fred's Not Here at 321 King Street and The Bamboo at something Queen West near Peter. Also, Living Well at Yonge and Isabella. Finally, the Lava Lounge on College.

Recently (October 2002), the pizzeria/ice cream parlour on Harbord known as "Flip, Toss 'n' Shake" changed its name to "Flop, Toss, 'n' Thai."