Honestly, I haven't been this excited about a new restaurant opening in a very long time.

CHARCUT Roast House, which has been in the works for in the neighbourhood of 3 years now, is finally open. Yes, it's a carnivore's Disneyland. But there's a lot on the menu for non-meat-eaters too. I already know what I'm going to have first: Romaine and Crispy Chicken Skin with Buttermilk Dressing. (I got a preview of the menu, which will be altered daily - love the hand-written note: because you can't have any salad without meat.)

There are wonderful people at the helm here - a lot of very big hearts. The menu will change daily as they play in the kitchen. You have the option of your own table, a seat at a long communal table (a thick slab of wood that came all the way from San Francisco) or to saddle up to the bar at the kitchen to watch them cook as you eat. Everything is made from scratch. And the prices - cheap, as John puts it - he and Connie are the chefs at CHARCUT, and they just want to feed people - to let them share the experience of wonderful, real food. It seems to me they're going to succeed. (Four friends - two couples - have paired up to make it happen - the founders of CHARCUT are Chef Connie DeSousa, Chef John Jackson, Service Director Jean Francois Beeroo and Carrie Jackson.) Everything in the restaurant has a story, from the reclaimed wood to the communal table and cow painting - I don't want to spill all the beans yet though - I'm doing a story for the FFWD Bar & Restaurant Guide, so have to leave some stuff to the imagination. We went for dinner last week, and had a sort of grazing meal typical of gen Xers who spent their teenage years sharing appies at Earl's. On the table - mortadella: hand-mixed pork studded with pistachios and truffles stuffed inside a whole pig's head and sliced thinner than paper.

There was bone marrow gratin! (top) with garlic brioche toast, and a charcuterie platter with house-cured meats (like shaved heritage duck ham with cave aged Gruyère) and sausage (Winters turkey chorizo with pickled saffron tomatoes):

and duck fat poutine with truffle gravy, a wee pot of Raclette with sweet, soft pull-apart brioche knots, and the crispy chicken skin salad (it isn't just crisp-roasted chicken skin stripped off the bird, but more intensely crispified by way of a light mahogany batter and additional frying) with tender baby romaine lettuce leaves and a peppery buttermilk dressing that reminded me of my Grandma in a way I still can't decipher.

When we found ourselves with plates still covered with gravy and a dish of the buttermilk dressing (I could have eaten with a spoon) we requested a bit more bread and they brought a plate of wee Yorkshire puds and a little pot of chicken gravy to douse them in. I'm going to need bigger pants. Also: Beer I Actually Liked (trust me: this is earth-shattering. I'm not a beer drinker. But I actually liked this stuff. Perhaps I'm just a beer snob?)

For dessert, chocolate chip cookies and a wee vanilla shake and a skillet of warm bombolone; Italian doughnuts filled with homemade (do I detect booze in there?) Nutella. Next time: Saskatoon cheesecake in a jar.