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The little eatery that cooked up an empire
The rich, the famous and the not-so-famous were drawn to the first Swiss Chalet; now it must close, ANTHONY REINHART writes
ANTHONY REINHART
E-mail Anthony Reinhart
At the first glance, the Swiss Chalet restaurant at 234 Bloor St. W. appears faceless, with the stamped-out look of the chain restaurant that it is.
It's the same story inside, where one of the more inviting aromas in Canadian budget dining fills the space between the banquettes and lacquered oak tables.
Look closely, though, and it's anything but. And look quickly, because after tomorrow, it'll be gone.
After 52 years, the original Swiss Chalet barbecued-chicken eatery that spawned today's 191-store chain is closing to make way for -- what else? -- a high-end condominium tower, the One Bedford.
Located on the southern edge of the well-read and highly educated Annex, the new condo is being marketed as "home to scholars, socialites, curators & kings."
The humble Swiss Chalet -- with its prime spot across from the Royal Conservatory of Music, just west of the Royal Ontario Museum's new Crystal addition and a mere tome's throw from the University of Toronto -- could make the same claim, if it were the type, which it isn't.
The late, great literary critic and author Northrop Frye was an early customer, having made his first visit with wife Helen on Jan. 7, 1955, within months of its opening.
"I bought an Imperial standard typewriter for $180," Dr. Frye, who clearly could have afforded finer dining, wrote in his diary that day. "Helen went to a Museum lecture on Chinese silk, & we went then to dinner at the new chicken place on Bloor St -- chicken & finger bowls."
The restaurant made its way into print again in 1988, in the Margaret Atwood novel Cat's Eye.
"For this reason, I've canceled my plans to return to the Muskoka resort, to work as I did last summer," wrote Ms. Atwood, a long-time Annex resident, in the fictional voice of Elaine Risley.
"Instead, I've taken a job at the Swiss Chalet on Bloor Street. This is a place that serves nothing but chicken, "broasted," as it says on the sign. Chicken and dipping sauce, and coleslaw and white buns, and one flavor of ice cream: Burgundy Cherry, which is a striking shade of purple."
While the menu has long since expanded, the most seasoned servers can recall those simpler times, as well as the many noteworthy faces -- Ms. Atwood's among them -- they encountered.
"It used to be chicken on a plate with no cutlery," said Maria Vouzoukos, a 21-year veteran who, like many of her co-workers, arrived as a Greek immigrant with little knowledge of English.
Her first day on the job was "a nightmare. I was so afraid of people," she said, and in those days, there were more of them. Lineups outside were not uncommon.
"They never stopped coming in," she said. "I thought everything was for free."
It wasn't free, of course, but the crispy-skinned chicken and fresh-cut fries offered a cheap option for students while managing to draw professionals, politicians, even Hollywood stars, into the restaurant.
Bob Rae, Preston Manning, Joe Clark, Mr. T., Brian Dennehy and Jennifer Lopez (for takeout) were among many names Ms. Vouzoukos and her colleagues could recall this week.
On that same first shift, Ms. Vouzoukos waited on a pair of professional men who had been gently advised by her supervisor that she was new.
"Two quarter-chickens and two coffees, I still remember," she said, recalling how, though nervous, she pulled the order off without a misstep.
"They left me $35 [for a tip]," she said. "It was a good start."
The servers also came to know the man who, for a time, sat atop their food chain: the late Paul James (P. J.) Phelan, who built an old family business, Cara Operations, into a billion-dollar food-franchising behemoth that includes Swiss Chalet, Harvey's, Second Cup, Kelsey's, Montana's and Milestone's restaurants, as well as a large airliner-catering business.
Just about every day, Mr. Phelan, whom the servers dubbed Mr. Slippers for his choice of footwear, would descend from his office in an old house immediately behind the restaurant and come in for lunch.
"He owned the joint, and [yet] he paid," said a long-time server whose nickname, Sunshine, appears on her nametag under her real name, Dorothy. "He'd buy everybody's lunch who was sitting around him."
Mr. Phelan's death in 2002, at the age of 84, left a succession headache for his children.
Ultimately, his daughters, Gail Regan and Rosemary Phelan, along with their niece, Holiday Phelan-Johnson, prevailed after a family tussle and took the company private in 2004.
Ms. Regan maintained her father's old office behind the restaurant, and often called down to have her lunch sent up. Soon she, too, will have to vacate the site to make way for the condo project.
The restaurant's workers, meanwhile, have been offered severance packages and transfers to other restaurants.
Ms. Vouzoukos, despite more than two decades on her feet, shuttling plates, is among those who chose a transfer over retirement.
That might seem odd in what appears at first glance to be a faceless place, but she has come to know otherwise, from her many customers -- some of whom came in this week carrying flowers and with tears in their eyes, and others who have asked where she's going so that they can follow her.
She doesn't know yet, but looking back, she's proud of where she and her co-workers managed to get on working-class incomes.
"We made a living, we raised kids, we bought houses, we paid our mortgages," said Ms. Vouzoukos, whose husband was a truck driver before an injury laid him up.
"They might say it's a routine, but it's not. It's a life."
areinhart@globeandmail.com
The rich, the famous and the not-so-famous were drawn to the first Swiss Chalet; now it must close, ANTHONY REINHART writes
ANTHONY REINHART
E-mail Anthony Reinhart
At the first glance, the Swiss Chalet restaurant at 234 Bloor St. W. appears faceless, with the stamped-out look of the chain restaurant that it is.
It's the same story inside, where one of the more inviting aromas in Canadian budget dining fills the space between the banquettes and lacquered oak tables.
Look closely, though, and it's anything but. And look quickly, because after tomorrow, it'll be gone.
After 52 years, the original Swiss Chalet barbecued-chicken eatery that spawned today's 191-store chain is closing to make way for -- what else? -- a high-end condominium tower, the One Bedford.
Located on the southern edge of the well-read and highly educated Annex, the new condo is being marketed as "home to scholars, socialites, curators & kings."
The humble Swiss Chalet -- with its prime spot across from the Royal Conservatory of Music, just west of the Royal Ontario Museum's new Crystal addition and a mere tome's throw from the University of Toronto -- could make the same claim, if it were the type, which it isn't.
The late, great literary critic and author Northrop Frye was an early customer, having made his first visit with wife Helen on Jan. 7, 1955, within months of its opening.
"I bought an Imperial standard typewriter for $180," Dr. Frye, who clearly could have afforded finer dining, wrote in his diary that day. "Helen went to a Museum lecture on Chinese silk, & we went then to dinner at the new chicken place on Bloor St -- chicken & finger bowls."
The restaurant made its way into print again in 1988, in the Margaret Atwood novel Cat's Eye.
"For this reason, I've canceled my plans to return to the Muskoka resort, to work as I did last summer," wrote Ms. Atwood, a long-time Annex resident, in the fictional voice of Elaine Risley.
"Instead, I've taken a job at the Swiss Chalet on Bloor Street. This is a place that serves nothing but chicken, "broasted," as it says on the sign. Chicken and dipping sauce, and coleslaw and white buns, and one flavor of ice cream: Burgundy Cherry, which is a striking shade of purple."
While the menu has long since expanded, the most seasoned servers can recall those simpler times, as well as the many noteworthy faces -- Ms. Atwood's among them -- they encountered.
"It used to be chicken on a plate with no cutlery," said Maria Vouzoukos, a 21-year veteran who, like many of her co-workers, arrived as a Greek immigrant with little knowledge of English.
Her first day on the job was "a nightmare. I was so afraid of people," she said, and in those days, there were more of them. Lineups outside were not uncommon.
"They never stopped coming in," she said. "I thought everything was for free."
It wasn't free, of course, but the crispy-skinned chicken and fresh-cut fries offered a cheap option for students while managing to draw professionals, politicians, even Hollywood stars, into the restaurant.
Bob Rae, Preston Manning, Joe Clark, Mr. T., Brian Dennehy and Jennifer Lopez (for takeout) were among many names Ms. Vouzoukos and her colleagues could recall this week.
On that same first shift, Ms. Vouzoukos waited on a pair of professional men who had been gently advised by her supervisor that she was new.
"Two quarter-chickens and two coffees, I still remember," she said, recalling how, though nervous, she pulled the order off without a misstep.
"They left me $35 [for a tip]," she said. "It was a good start."
The servers also came to know the man who, for a time, sat atop their food chain: the late Paul James (P. J.) Phelan, who built an old family business, Cara Operations, into a billion-dollar food-franchising behemoth that includes Swiss Chalet, Harvey's, Second Cup, Kelsey's, Montana's and Milestone's restaurants, as well as a large airliner-catering business.
Just about every day, Mr. Phelan, whom the servers dubbed Mr. Slippers for his choice of footwear, would descend from his office in an old house immediately behind the restaurant and come in for lunch.
"He owned the joint, and [yet] he paid," said a long-time server whose nickname, Sunshine, appears on her nametag under her real name, Dorothy. "He'd buy everybody's lunch who was sitting around him."
Mr. Phelan's death in 2002, at the age of 84, left a succession headache for his children.
Ultimately, his daughters, Gail Regan and Rosemary Phelan, along with their niece, Holiday Phelan-Johnson, prevailed after a family tussle and took the company private in 2004.
Ms. Regan maintained her father's old office behind the restaurant, and often called down to have her lunch sent up. Soon she, too, will have to vacate the site to make way for the condo project.
The restaurant's workers, meanwhile, have been offered severance packages and transfers to other restaurants.
Ms. Vouzoukos, despite more than two decades on her feet, shuttling plates, is among those who chose a transfer over retirement.
That might seem odd in what appears at first glance to be a faceless place, but she has come to know otherwise, from her many customers -- some of whom came in this week carrying flowers and with tears in their eyes, and others who have asked where she's going so that they can follow her.
She doesn't know yet, but looking back, she's proud of where she and her co-workers managed to get on working-class incomes.
"We made a living, we raised kids, we bought houses, we paid our mortgages," said Ms. Vouzoukos, whose husband was a truck driver before an injury laid him up.
"They might say it's a routine, but it's not. It's a life."
areinhart@globeandmail.com