A Love Letter to Mello’s

It is often said that the sting of an untimely loss will soften over time. Unfortunately, that’s not always the case. This one still hurts.

The restaurant had eras. Early years were shaped by the 24/7 opening hours and the ebb and flow of clients overlapping from post-bar poutines to early breakfasts. Even when the hours changed, the authentic diner feeling never went away. How could it? The short stools were affixed to the floor in front of that low counter permanently. 

Mostly though, as love goes, it was the people that made it special. Leisa ran a tight ship. The egregious error of trying to take a seat out of turn received her proprietary brand of swift rebuke. For those lucky enough to be in her good graces, exact orders were committed to her immaculate memory and were often yelled towards the kitchen before the intended booth was even cleared of the previous meal’s dishes. RIP to a legend in her own time, Leisa Bell.

Modern times caught up to Mello’s in its later years when the pop-ups were introduced. One chef commissioned an entire set of custom Mello’s dishes from a local potter for just a week-long service. Not long after that, Mike Frank took up a more permanent post at the flattop in the evenings. A casual observer might have thought that his strong Asian-influenced dishes were in conflict with his signature Russian-dressing-soaked patty melt. The opposite was true. He and his cooks made a cohesive, flavour forward menu that was both sophisticated and accessible. Complementary to the food, the late shift front-of-house team was warm and affable, creating a space that felt like real community.

Good things inevitably come to an end, though. In what felt like a hostile takeover, a convoluted contractual fiasco ended it all. The restaurant next door launched a coup for the square footage that Mello’s had occupied for decades and somehow won. There were protestations. T-shirts were printed pleading to "Save Mello's". But in the end, the takeover was cemented and the doors were closed. Karma caught up to the greedy, larger restaurant as it shuttered reasonably quickly thereafter; but the damage had been done. Mello’s was gone, never to return.

The memories bring comfort. But you know what would be even better? The ability to walk back into that narrow, mirrored space today, to sit on the vinyl covered benches and to trace the spots of worn formica with a finger while waiting for your usual.

Dearest Mello’s,

You are deeply loved and sorrily missed. The neighbourhood and the city are poorer without you.

Where did your neon sign actually go?

xo Ottawa