It is a persistent civic theory that good barbecue cannot be found inside the city of Toronto. We went to Golden Horseshoe to test it. The theory, regrettably, held.
Golden Horseshoe is the kind of restaurant that arrives pre-endorsed. It appears on every best-of list the algorithm cares to produce, and has been praised, at length and in portrait video, by an influencer class whose palate is calibrated primarily to what looks good sliced in slow motion. On a Tuesday morning, we were first through the door.
"The most compelling protein on the platter was the cheddar sausage. This is not a compliment; it is a diagnosis."
The most compelling protein on the platter was the cheddar sausage. This is not a compliment; it is a diagnosis. The ribs, in their defense, were fine — decent, even. They had a proper pull, the clean small tear that tells you the cook understood time and temperature, and that the rib had not, as is the fashion in certain Instagram precincts, been coaxed into falling off the bone at the suggestion of a nearby fork. Credit where due.
The brisket was dry. Not on the drier side. Dry. We turned over slice after slice in search of the ribbon of fat that might rescue a bite, and while ribbons presented themselves, they presented themselves next to meat that had finished its conversation with moisture some hours earlier. Brisket is hard. Brisket is expensive. Barbecue is a patient, labor-intensive art, and we are sympathetic, in the abstract, to the patience and the labor and the primal cut. Sympathy does not rehydrate anything.
The room
Golden Horseshoe occupies a corner unit on the south side of Dupont and Christie. You order at a counter partitioned by glass, behind which a heat lamp shines down on a scale and on trays of smoked meat waiting to be weighed. A freezer of discounted takeaway sits off to one side. The ceilings are high, the decor minimal, the bathrooms clean. Beer is available by the can or bottle, if you so choose. The smokers themselves live out back, in a cordoned-off stretch of parking lot obscured by a fence.
The sides, and the rest
The macaroni and cheese is acceptable. It is done in the runny-rather-than-grainy style, dusted with breadcrumbs, and it tastes like mac and cheese, which, to be clear, is praise. The Texas brisket chili tasted like a competent, tomato-forward chili. What it did not taste particularly of was brisket; the beef appears to have been promised in the name and then delivered as an idea. There is toast, too. The toast is toast.
We do not think Golden Horseshoe is a bad restaurant, exactly. We think it is a restaurant that has mistaken the volume of its press for the quality of its smoke. There is decent barbecue in this city, and better barbecue just outside of it, and both can be had for what we paid on a Tuesday morning. The theory about Toronto and its ribs survives to dinner-party another day.
Visit accordingly.
