Dinner for two: $90.
Hours of operation: Mon-Tue 5pm-1am, Wed-Sat 4pm-2am, Brunch Sun 11am-4pm.
Wheelchair accessible: Yes. Reservations: Recommended

This may come as a surprise, but there are differences between churches and Church Street.

Granted, both frequently reference the polychrome aesthetic (I'm sure if you ask any prominent theologian, he'll tell you that 19th-century Gothic revivalism was a major influence on the design of the rainbow flag), and both celebrate gatherings of large groups of boys who enjoy singing in unison. In churches, there are statues of men made from cut marble. On Church Street, there are statuesque men who look like they are made from cut marble.

But an example of a glaring difference -- at least up until just recently -- was the inability to access the blood of Christ at Slack's: a major disappointment if you're planning an evening at Church (street or structure).

After a lengthy renovation, it took Slack's five months of time-biding and patience for the clouds to part and God (or, in this case, the Liquor Control Board of Ontario) to hand the restaurant its liquor licence, which may explain why it's taking the flock a little while to, well, flock there. On a visit early in the week, the gaping dining room was sadly bereft of the congregation it so clearly deserves.

The strength of the Slack's experience lies in a Holy Trinity of restaurateurship. One: utter lack of corner cutting (the beautiful, syrup-like aged balsamic and superlative olive oil for bread-dippery, the high-quality cuts of meat, the interesting cheeses and balanced sauces). Two: attentive, genuinely gracious and decisively helpful service. Three: menu accessibility in the form of tarted-up spins on the predictable, in portions occasionally large enough to fill a small throw cushion.

Your typical amorphous mass of soggy poutine fries are swapped with a crispy sweet potato julienne, covered in cranberry gravy, brie and duck confit ($9). Duck appears in their slightly over-mayo'ed but otherwise gratifying "DLT" ($12), weighted down with fat bits of double smoked bacon and lightened up with fresh, supple baby greens. A chicken breast is dressed up in a pistachio crust and served with a smooth coconut red curry sauce ($19).

The kitchen manages to add points of interest to the city's ubiquitous spinach salad ($9) by lightly wilting the leaves, drizzling them in sweet balsamic, adding a handful of lovely toasted pignoli and crowning the lot with a crusty golden quenelle of airy goat's cheese and buttery fried shiitake mushrooms.

Equally interesting are the chubby coral mussels luxuriating in a glossy bath of gouda cream ($9), punctuated with salty little bands of thinly sliced, pan-fired pancetta.

A bourbon-marinated pork tenderloin ($18) is initially terrifying in its sheer volume, eight juicy slabs of pig fanned out over a long tangle of butter-fried carrots and zucchini, but ultimately pleasing thanks to a light jus made with candied shallots and dried fruit.

Desserts zig and zag off course: a troubling over-crystallized mango gelato ($5) appears to have been languishing under a protective layer of ice, enough to make it a cryonic specimen. But Slack's corrects itself with a perfect caramel torte ($7).

The troublesome passages in the Book of Slack's will surely be ironed out in time, once news of its reincarnation gets evangelized and the kitchen hits its stride. Let there be food.

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