There was a time when a restaurant being closed on a Monday felt like a footnote. Now, it feels like a given. In Ottawa, the seven-day dining week is quietly disappearing. Places that once ran full tilt from Tuesday through Sunday are scaling back. Five nights. Four nights. It’s

Not every good restaurant is on a main street. Some of the best ones in Ottawa are tucked into neighborhoods you’ve only driven through. They don’t get foot traffic from office towers or lineups of day-drinkers. They get regulars. They get intentional visits. And they make it worth

Online reviews aren’t about food anymore — if they ever were. They’re about parking. About service that was “fine, but not friendly.” About someone’s birthday being ruined by the lighting. They’re about expectations, not experiences. Vibes, not taste. A perfect croissant gets three stars because the café

It’s flour and water. Why does it cost $38? There are two kinds of people who order the pasta: those who know exactly what they’re getting, and those who are about to find out. Because here’s the thing: pasta is cheap. Not just inexpensive — but fundamentally inexpensive.

Every restaurant has a past. For some, it’s a dish. Maybe it was the scallops that landed them on Canada’s 100 Best. Maybe it was the mushroom risotto that got them their first standing ovation in the comments section of a food blog. Maybe it was the thing

There’s a restaurant you used to love. You told your friends about it. You took dates there. You remember the first time you tried that one dish—how surprising it was. The texture, the acidity, the balance. You remember the server recommending a wine you’d never heard of,

On the menu, some words mean less the more they’re used. There are certain words that open wallets. Not because they mean much anymore — but because they sound like they should. “Sustainable.” “Foraged.” “Heritage.” “Duck-fat.” Each one carries the shimmer of care, like a promise cooked into the menu.

You just can’t hear it from there. People like to describe Ottawa in broad strokes. Safe. Conservative. Quiet. They say it like a verdict — like a city’s identity is something you can sum up from a few brunches and a stroll through the ByWard Market. But the silence

It's almost always empty. Ten tables, two dozen seats. It doesn’t invite settling in. Utility chairs fold around bare wood. The lights feel halfway between hospital and hallway. It’s the kind of place you find once and forget how you got there. It doesn’t ask

It’s easy to talk about food. Harder to actually say something. There’s no shortage of language: “elevated,” “crafted,” “modern take.” Descriptions have been sharpened until they don’t cut anymore. Menus speak in italics. So do Instagram captions. But the taste of a thing — the real taste, not