Serra in Italian means hothouse, and this place is so hot that by 6:30 p.m. there's a lineup. Reason is, the food is fabulous. Thinly sliced fresh bread and a bowl of fresh tomato and basil salsa, a menu that reads like it just blew into town from New York or L. A., and prices about $3 less than they ought to be. Move fast. They may rise at any time.
Pizza is a fact of life. The idea of pizza is almost boring, but now, as the server places a big, thin-crust pizza in front of me, and the scent of smoked chicken, pesto, cherry tomatoes, smoked jalapeno, and mozzarella cheese wafts up to kiss my nose, I am regenerated. I look around and take note of my surroundings. A handsome flagstone floor, subdued "adult" lighting, pumpkin and ochre walls, a frantic open kitchen, and a long bar. Servers stay cool, polite, and friendly, even under pressure. Seats in front are a mixed blessing: a window on the passing Bloor Street parade, but a blast of frigid or hot air (depending on the season) as the door opens. Pastas are intriguing, but not large – but then again, neither are the prices. The salad of mixed field greens glistening with balsamic vinegar and virgin olive oil with crisp sun-dried tomato toasts is gorgeous, as are appetizers of mussels steamed on white wine and the house carpaccio. If you love tarte Tatin, order the superb apple tart with ice cream. Yes, life can still offer wonderful surprises.
~ Sara Waxman