Restaurant Review: Linny’s – A Deli-inspired Steakhouse with Deep Roots
Restaurant | Linny’s |
Address | 176 Ossington Avenue |
City | Toronto |
Telephone | 647-390-1836 |
Website | linnysrestaurant.com |
@linnysrestaurant | |
Dinner for two with wine | $350 |
There’s a stretch of Ossington Avenue where the city’s tempo softens, and Linny’s, the new restaurant from David Schwartz, waits like a memory half-remembered—warm, familiar, yet reawakened with thrilling clarity. Tucked into the space where a Home Hardware once stood, Linny’s hums with its own quiet rhythm, a kind of whispered reclamation of the past. You won’t find drills or garden hoses anymore—what greets you now is the sizzle of hanger steak, the gentle pop of corks, and the soft flicker of candlelight on polished wood.

Schwartz, already known to Toronto diners through the cult-favourite Mimi and its sister spot Sunny’s Chinese, has taken an entirely different turn here—one that veers away from the punchy swagger of wok hei and toward something more personal, more ancestral. Linny’s is named for his late mother, Linda—known affectionately as Linny—whose spirit, it seems, lingers in every corner, from the framed pages of her handwritten recipe book (visible when you enter, and yes, even in the washrooms), to the reverent interpretations of Eastern European staples.
On a recent Friday night, I surrendered to the chef’s weekly $125 tasting menu, a generous survey of the kitchen’s proudest efforts. It’s a fabulous opportunity—not just for value, but for how it captures the soul of the place in seven or so perfectly pitched movements.
The Challah Service, glossy and golden like a Toronto sunset in early fall, arrives with a ramekin of tangy fresh cheese, a seasonal jam, and house butter. The bread was everything it should be—pillowy, faintly sweet, fragrant with egg. Yet the pickles, while vibrant, felt a touch underdone, as if their bath in brine had been cut short.
There’s something almost unfair about the Ora King Salmon and Dill—creamed cheese, herbs, and a crisp potato latke forming a holy trinity of texture and temperature. It’s a dish that tips its hat to the lox-and-schmear canon but ends up somewhere more elevated, more exacting. This was where the kitchen’s light touch felt most pronounced—generous without being rich, clever without showboating.
Then: the Chicken Liver Toast. A triumph. Velvet-rich liver on thick, crusty sourdough from Dear Grain, crowned with a curl of cured egg and a halo of fried onion. The acid of pickled shallots offered a welcome foil. I’ve eaten chicken liver in Parisian brasseries that charged double for half the boldness. One minor note: the toast itself leaned toward the overly sturdy side, its thickness just on the edge of overshadowing the lusciously smooth liver.


Linny’s House Salad might seem like the throwaway course, but you’d be wrong. The gem lettuce was pristine, like it had been lifted from a secret garden, crisp coins of cucumber snapped under the bite, and the bulgar offered chew and ballast. A whisper of champagne vinaigrette elevated it far above its station—humble, yes, but as considered as a paragraph in a great novel.
The mains come on like a one-two punch: first, The Romanian, a hanger steak charred just past medium rare, humming with garlic. This steak is not the austere, Instagram-model type—it’s robust, ruddy, unapologetically meat-forward, yet finessed. The second act, Linny’s Cut Pastrami, is a miracle of salt and time. Hand-sliced and served with sharp mustard and pickles from Martin Family Farm, the pastrami melts with zero resistance, the result of a painstaking seven-day cure that reads like a love letter to deli tradition. If anything, a few slices had veered slightly dry—perhaps plated too soon or too long—but the flavour, bold and balanced, more than carried the weight.
Sides are more than afterthoughts. French Fries are hand-cut, expertly salted, and served golden and defiant—like they know they’re better than whatever else you’ve been calling fries. The Broccoli, a sleeper hit, was roasted and tossed with white fish, caper, and mustard green—an unexpected composition that works, somehow, like jazz in the hands of real musicians.





The wine list leans classic, but confidently so. Reds and whites are balanced, thoughtful, and fairly priced. Our server, while technically proficient, felt somewhat removed—polite but aloof, as if delivering lines from a well-rehearsed script rather than engaging in genuine dialogue. Wine recommendations were solid, yet lacking the warmth or curiosity one hopes for in a restaurant so clearly rooted in familial spirit.
And just when we thought the meal had offered up all its poetry, dessert arrived—not an exclamation point, but a soft ellipsis that lingered long after the plates were cleared. A chocolate babka, still warm from the oven, its lacquered top cracking delicately under the knife, revealed an interior laced with dark chocolate ribbons and the subtle perfume of cinnamon. A generous scoop of homemade vanilla ice cream on top, which our server encouraged us to smear it across the warm babka before diving in, and we were glad we listened. It was tender yet resilient, each bite offering a slow, generous sweetness—the kind that unfurls rather than shouts. It was a pure, honest finish that felt like a benediction. Ahhhh!
The space itself mirrors the menu’s spirit: classic and intimate, echoing the soul of an old-school New York steakhouse but without the testosterone or pretense. Dark wood, candlelight, and soft upholstery give the room a hushed dignity. Tables line the back of the room beyond the bar, near the open kitchen, where the quiet choreography of the pass plays out like a warm, familiar waltz.




There are restaurants that open with a whisper and those that demand your attention with a roar. Linny’s doesn’t do either. Instead, it welcomes you in with the certainty of something already beloved. This is a restaurant that will be here for the long haul, that will mature like a great story—adding chapters, deepening character, never straying far from its roots.
Bisous,
Mme M. xoxo
4/5 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.