Restaurant Review: Down Home – A Refined Taste of the Land in Markdale

There’s a moment on the drive from Toronto to Markdale, Ontario when the world begins to soften, where the traffic fades, and the air smells country fresh. Past the hedgerows and rolling fields, a small sign marks Down Home, the Michelin-recommended farmhouse restaurant redefining rural fine dining in Ontario. It’s here, in this patch of Grey County farmland, that chef/owner Joel Gray and sommelier/owner Hannah Harradine (who are also partners in life) have created a dining experience worth talking about.

Down Home feels a bit like a spiritual successor to Eigensinn Farm, though here the eccentricity has been traded for more polish. Guests are greeted not at a hostess stand but in the garden, where the meal begins beneath blue sky dotted with clouds. Wild herbs and edible flowers brush against your legs as Hannah offers a welcome cocktail: apple, cucumber, and mint juice laced with gin — bright, cold, and as green as the view. He gestures toward the garden beds and invites you to pick a single nasturtium leaf, peppery and satin-smooth, to use as a wrap for a torched shishito pepper he’s just lifted from an open flame. The act of foraging your own garnish is playful but grounding, an initiation into the evening’s rhythm. The experience is tactile, sensory, immediate: the smoke from the fire, the sting of mint, the faint hum of bees. By the time you’re ushered indoors after a small selection of amuses bouche, you already feel part of something alive and deeply local.

What follows is an invitation into Joel and Hannah’s home. They live upstairs, quite literally above the dining room. Down Home occupies the main floor of their century farmhouse, and the intimacy of that fact hums quietly through the space. The walls are painted a deep, moody navy blue, creating the feeling of being cocooned within twilight. Light from mismatched antique sconces glows amber against the paint; candles flicker low across wooden tables set with handmade pottery and linen napkins. Every corner bears Hannah’s touch — she’s curated every element herself, from the shelves lined with vintage glassware and family heirlooms to the antique prints, brass candlesticks, and farmhouse trinkets that tell their own small stories. The result is not contrived but deeply personal. It’s a space that feels lived in, loved, and layered with meaning.

If you can, book the chef’s counter — the prime seats facing the open kitchen. They’re the first to go, and for good reason. From there, you can watch Joel move with quiet precision. The intimacy of those seats blurs the line between guest and participant; you feel the rhythm of the kitchen, the warmth of the fire, and the intention behind every movement.

The blind tasting menu is an unfolding narrative of place. It begins with the beef tartare, finely chopped decorated with edible flowers and herbs from the garden. Then, a pea and blue cheese croquette, crisp on the outside and molten within. Sweet potato buns arrive warm and airy, paired with salted maple butter that melts into the crumb like silk.

A dish called “The Garden” follows. A riot of colour and texture that feels like eating the landscape itself. Every petal, sprig, and shoot is placed with purpose. You can taste the proximity — the morning’s dew, the echo of sunlight. The smoked Arctic char arrives next, tender and luminous with potato cream poured around it, flanked by crisp garden beans. The smoke is a whisper, the texture so delicate it barely holds its form on the fork. A seabuckthorn sorbet with buttermilk follows — cold, sharp, cleansing — before giving way to corn and chanterelles, buttery and golden, the sweetness of the corn deepened by the mushrooms’ forest musk.

Then, the main event: Brilliant Meadows duck, its skin lacquered and crisp, the meat tender and perfumed with thyme. A scotch quail egg sits beside it, yolk still molten, a tiny nod to indulgence. A shared Secret Lands Farm Pecorino board is an optional add on for $20. The rich honeycomb and preserves bridge savoury to sweet, before dessert arrives: peaches and cream, reimagined. The fruit is gently caramelized, the cream feather-light, the dish both nostalgic and modern, but the portion was small.

The beverage program is a curated showcase of Ontario’s terroir. The wine list leans local, highlighting small producers and cool-climate vintages from Niagara, Prince Edward County, and Grey County itself. There’s an optional wine pairing for an additional $75, each pour carefully chosen by Hannah to echo the meal’s progression. Local craft brews and ciders, including selections from GoodLot and Duxbury, offer an equally regional alternative.

And just when you think the evening is ending, Joel returns with a red tin recipe box, worn and hand-labelled. From it, he retrieves a card in his great grandmother’s looping script — the source of the night’s final touch: a homemade molasses cookie to close the meal. It’s buttery, spiced, perfectly chewy.
If there’s one minor quibble, it might be the portion-to-price ratio. The meal is exquisitely composed but decidedly restrained. At $190, the tasting menu feels justified for an experience so thoughtful, soulful, and complete — though it’s easy to find yourself wishing for just one more bite of each beautifully executed dish. Still, Down Home isn’t about abundance; it’s about precision and grace. In that sense, it delivers exactly what it promises.

As we depart, Joel presses a small pint container into your hands — fresh garden-picked heirloom tomatoes, and jokes that you can “make a tomato sandwich or something tomorrow morning.” A fitting souvenir from the land that fed you. Joel and Hannah’s warmth extends beyond the plates. There’s an ease in the way they host, a confidence without pretense, that makes you feel less like a diner and more like a welcome guest in their home.

Down Home is what happens when fine dining remembers where it came from. By the time you step back into the night, the fields are hushed, the scent of woodsmoke clinging to your hair. You’ll think about that first bite — the nasturtium leaf you plucked yourself, the flame-kissed pepper wrapped inside — and that molasses cookie passed down through generations — and realize that both were saying the same thing: this is food that connects.

Bisous,

Mme M. xoxo

4.5/5 étoiles

La rubrique de Madame Marie

1 étoile – Run. Before you get the runs.
2 étoiles – Mediocre, but nothing you couldn’t make at home.
3 étoiles – C’est bon, with some standout qualities.
4 étoiles – Many memorable qualities and excellent execution. Compliments to the chef.
5 étoiles – Formidable! Michelin Star quality. Book a reservation immediately.