Swatow

My favorite Chinese spot in Toronto

Living in Toronto taught me that people will actually notice when I don’t include the precious letter u in the word favourite. I was always surprised with how quickly people could tell I wasn’t from there. Sure, the obvious signs of being a Toronto Mans like sporting a stupid puffy Canada Goose or constantly sprinkling “fam” at the end my sentences weren’t there, but out of curiosity and a desperate need to understand on a atomic level why exactly I don’t fit in, I dug deeper.

Of all the answers I’ve gotten from my friends, the one I like the most is, “you just have a different flow.” And I think that’s the best way to put it. I talk different. I move different. I dress different. I think different. I’m from a city that operates with a PNW/West Coast specific flow so plopping myself on the opposite end of North America is bound to feel like I’m the only one who took my shoes off before entering the crib. Naturally, I had to switch up the flow to survive. Might as well learn the rules of my new city while I’m here right? One change I was happy to accept was a new mode of dining.

Going out to eat in Seattle is an organized science. Places to go are so far apart and segmented, which makes dining feel redundant. A car is almost certainly involved, whatever restaurant we go to is bound to be in 1 of 5 neighborhoods, and everyone looks at the menu beforehand to premeditate which dish they want to commit murder on. Whether the post-dinner activity is dessert or drinks, the order of operations is formulaic and calculated. If we eat in Chinatown, there’s no doubt we’re getting boba afterwards. And depending on if we want something fruity or the milk tea vibe, that narrows down the options even further. We’ll drive back to our suburban homes and call it a day.

Moving for school was the first time I had lived on my own. My place was by Bathurst and Bloor Street which put me right in between Koreatown and Chinatown. Every couple of days I’d make my rounds going to different stores in the area to stock up on whatever I needed. In similar formulaic fashion, the flowchart of where to get what got established early on. Kimchi, frozen dumplings, and packs of Samyang noodles were best from PAT in K-town. Bigger cuts of beef, produce, and Milkis were better to stock up at T&T in Chinatown cause it was way cheaper. And Italian deli meats, cheeses, and bread from Kensington Market cause Sanagan’s had capicola and Blackbird Baking Co. had good sandwich bread.

These excursions were done on foot which was new to me being used to the car lifestyle back home. In downtown, people don’t have cars like that and the softest I was willing to go was taking the streetcar on the way back if my two bags and backpack stuffed with groceries were weighing me down a little tooo much. But I was really WALKING out there. Countless hours spent each week just walking and to be honest, I wasn’t complaining. I’ve realized walking is the best way to experience every nook and cranny in a city. There are places I would’ve never thought of checking out if I hadn’t walked by to catch a whiff of whatever’s cooking or peep through the window to see what’s going on. Sometimes, I’d just be curious and hungry. Stopping in to eat was an excuse for me to put my bags down and color in an unexplored place on the map. Most of the time when easing my curiosity, I’d find the food to be mediocre but rarely, I’d find a gem. My favorite gem I’ve stumbled into is Swatow.

Peep these noodles.

Put yourself in my Blundstone boots for a second. It’s bone chilling cold out. You have a stupid thick puffy jacket on running around carrying tote bags full of stuff your mom kept in the fridge growing up that you’ve decided you like enough to buy for your own crib. On your way up out of Chinatown, you find this place off the corner of Spadina and Dundas Street and decide to give yourself a break from braving the cold. You’re met with a stressed out Cantonese man in Tony Leung Wong Kar Wai attire glaring at you waiting for you to state your business. He sits you down, slams a menu on the peeling vinyl tabletop, and leaves without ever making eye contact with you. No wasted motion. You’re here to eat, and he’s here to make a living in this country by getting you in, fed, and out as efficiently as possible. You’ve become a customer in this man’s IRL diner dash game. I preferred Papa’s Taco Mia growing up.

During my first time in, I remember looking around the tables and seeing so many different types of people. There were older finance looking gentlemen making their monthly post-work field trip to a place of culture. You can always look at these groups and tell which one of them said the infamous line, “guys, I know a spot.” It’s usually the guy who’s talking the most. I’ve seen FOB’s with AirPods in watching videos on their mounted phones, a full-fledged Russian family reunion, tables full of old Chinese dudes in hats like my grandpa has who’ve been sitting for hours just talking and drinking tea, and people like me who come in to relax my shoulders and chow down on some of the best Chinese food you can get downtown. One thing I love is that they profile you HARD the moment you walk in the door. And that’s just to streamline their business. They make the assumption that I’d like hot tea with my meal instead of ice water simply cause I’m Asian and I don’t blame them lol. They’re right so who cares! Doesn’t matter if you’re a student like me, an old head who’s been here a thousand times, or a Toronto Mans that’s maaad marved. You don’t need to fit in here. You don’t need a specific flow. You’re gonna get appropriately judged the moment you walk in, the waiters might yell at you if you’re holding up their operation, but you’re still gonna get blazing hot plate of amazing food plopped on your table that fills your soul.

Mmmm just like home.

I order the noodles w/ black bean sauce and beef and it always hits. Just look at the photo guys. The noodles have pockets of being soft from the sauce but also crispy bits that were kissed by the broiler. The sauce has the right amount of heat and unctuousness that isn’t too heavy allowing me to demolish the entire plate. AND it has green peppers so I know the next time my parents call me, I can reassure them that yes, I have indeed been eating my vegetables.

This restaurant holds a special place in my heart cause I remember sending photos of Swatow to my friends back home who’d be curious about me and check in to see how I was doing. I had a full on ugly cry session in this restaurant cause when I finally had the chance to bring my best friends here, and we’re eating the food I used to eat by myself when I would miss them, there was this warm full-circle feeling seeing the people who got me through it enjoy the food that got me through it. My friends definitely thought something was wrong with me for completely losing it like a psychopath in the middle of dinner on vacation, but that moment made me really happy.

Swatow introduced me to a new genre of restaurant I never thought I needed. It’s reliable, consistent, and accessibly located, which is a quality I only started to value after living in a city like Toronto. Spots have to be situated in areas that make them easy for me to use and lean on for any occasion. My basement apartment could flood, I could hear from my parents that my grandparents are having more health problems, or I could just be homesick. I can go to Swatow and know they will hold me down. Places like this anchor you. I’ll eat those noodles, sip that tea, and tell myself things will be okay.

In a city where restaurants try to win you over with cutesy graphic design, social media gimmicks, and a so-called “vibe,” it’s refreshing to go to a place like Swatow where they win you over the old fashioned way with amazing food, and good, honest hard work.

So s/o Swatow.