Marc Polidori
I first interviewed Susur Lee on a freezing January morning in 1990, sitting in his restaurant, Lotus, while our breath formed clouds because he couldn’t afford to leave the heating on overnight. He was a young chef with a unique culinary style, a very personal synthesis of Chinese and European cooking that was starting to astonish Toronto. As a man, he seemed shy, even guarded, until we started talking about Hong Kong. Then nervousness vanished as he brought forth vivid memories of his boyhood on the streets of Kowloon.
The other day, we sat down together again to discuss Lee Lounge, his new project on King Street West. The years have been kind to Susur. He looks much younger than a man of 52 has any right to, slim and limber, his long black hair pulled back in a pony tail. Tennis and yoga keep him fit. And his manner has changed. There is confidence in his body language and a mental discipline behind the answers he gives. You need that kind of self-control when you’re running five restaurants in three different countries.
Lee is the first, and so far the only international superstar chef to emerge from Toronto’s dining scene. Singapore has revered him for a decade, the praise even more lavish since he opened Chinois by Susur Lee, a deluxe fine-dining restaurant featuring his cool modern take on classical Chinese cuisine. His 2008 New York debut with Shang was widely trumpeted, though reviews from the local critics were mixed. A year later, he opened Zentan in Washington D.C., this time with less fanfare and to a warmer welcome.
Each city presents a different experience. “Setting up something in Asia is so easy,” says Lee. “The industry there is so strong, so professional. People compete for jobs and of course labour is not an issue there. My chef at Chinois has been with me 13 years. He’s called Cheung though his kitchen name is Dog and he knows the way I want things. I never have to worry. In the West, it’s much harder if you’re not always in the kitchen.”
Hence Lee’s gruelling travel regime – sojourns in Singapore four times a year, New York at least three times a month, Washington almost as often. But Toronto still feels like home because his family is here – and the new Lounge is all about family. Lee’s sons Kai and Levi are working there. “That makes this very personal and emotional for me,” he says. “This is for them in a way, for them to understand where they come from. I want to combine their youth with my experience and see how these things grow.”
And Lee’s wife, the designer Brenda Bent, is responsible for the Lounge’s dcor, as she was for its predecessors in this space, Susur and, more recently, Madeline’s. She has knocked out part of the wall to connect the room with Lee, the chef’s other, perennially successful restaurant next door, and brought in deep leather sofas where customers can sit and admire the gold-painted walls and posters of winsome cigarette girls from 1930s Shanghai.
“We want it to have an international energy,” explains Lee, “bringing in so many things I’ve seen in Asia.” He points out the vintage painting of a peonie that adorns each lacquered black table. “For example, I found that image in a big pile of papers in an ugly little store in Hunan. The owner sat there smoking a cigarette, didn’t even want to look at me. I bought it and Brenda used it. And in food and drinks too. I’ve been playing with powdered ume, that sour little Japanese plum, and I’m planning to use it in a dirty Martini. It’s interesting – savoury but at the same time fruity.”
Susur Lee as mixologist? Why not. He has always enjoyed taking his customers by surprise. At Chinois he introduced Singapore to the notion of a tapas bar. “Standing up at the bar and drinking cocktails is not really an Asian concept,” he says with a smile, “but they’re starting to learn.” At Lee Lounge the novelty is in the casual approach, something that has puzzled one or two local critics who miss the splendid intellectuality and immaculate execution of remembered evenings at Susur.
Lee gives a little shrug. “Fine dining is not in my head space right now,” he says. “I want to do interesting food, not things that have to be finished with tweezers. Ume powder rather than foie gras.” Toronto allows him to do that. In Europe or Asia the expectation laid onto a chef of Lee’s calibre discourages such informality. “If I tried this in Singapore people would say, ‘You know what, I might as well eat at home.’” It’s not a matter of Toronto dumbing down, he insists. It’s just different, more modern, more dynamic.
But everywhere is different. Zentan and Shang are both the signature restaurant of a Thompson hotel, which necessitates serious glamour and serious food. “D.C. is very international,” says Lee, “and people are pretty open-minded about food. But it’s also very government, very suit-and-tie. Here at Lee, men come in and right away they take their jackets off and start sharing plates, passing dishes around. In Washington, the jackets stay on and people don’t share.” He has become adept at judging what will and will not fly. Zentan customers love steak with lime-and-burnt-butter sauce, but wouldn’t go near steak with sea urchin sauce – one click too far on the weirdometer.
As for New York… Shang did not take the city by storm, despite the fact that high-end Chinese cuisine is notoriously difficult to find there. But it has survived and is now doing respectable business. “There’s nowhere in the world like New York,” muses Lee. “It doesn’t matter if you’re bringing something very new and exciting, you still have to do it their way. Pay your dues. But there is generosity there – eventually. Stick around long enough, doing your thing, and they’ll give you a second chance. Don’t compromise, because if they sense weakness…”
Does he worry about the other restaurants when he isn’t there to oversee them? Never. What would be the point? It would only be distracting. And there’s enough to think about at Lee Lounge, starting with the bar menu. Pinkie-sized spring rolls filled with ground beef and old cheddar. An awesome take on Peking Duck that folds steamed pancakes around char siu-style duck breast, soft foie gras mousse, crunchy tofu “skin” and julienned persimmon. Shigoku oysters dressed with minced shallot, meyer lemon puree and salted chili, all in perfect balance. Lee will be in the kitchen himself when he’s in town. He will also be in the Lounge much more often, hobnobbing, even sitting down with friends. It’s a far cry from the intense, wound-up forays he used to make into Lotus’s tiny, draughty dining room, back in the day.
Lee smiles at the memory. I ask him, if we could go back to 1991 and have dinner at Lotus together, what would you say about the food? Lee laughs. “I’d say, ‘This guy is very focused! He’s way ahead of his time!’”
