Double you. Tee. Eff.
A friend and I were meandering aimlessly (Shawn Micallef styles) down the Esplanade when we both remarked that neither of us had visited the Old Spaghetti Factory. Heck, we were both hungry so why not give OSF a try? “What could possibly go wrong?”
We came for the pasta, but what we got was an unapologetic visual assault. From the grizzly bear-sized gumball machine in the foyer, to the 1:1 scale carousel in the dining room, to theriomorphistic depictions of famous Toronto Blue Jays as sheep rendered in stained glass (seriously, read that last part again), this place is truly a family-oriented, good-taste murdering, cautionary tale of a resto decor job.
That said, my goat cheese agnolotti wasn’t half bad. Not worthy of ire, at least. All entrees come with salad, bread, spumoni and coffee, so for less than $15 plus tax and tip you can eat like a king. The king of a demented, gawdy, carnival, stained-glass kingdom of Dr. Moreau, but a king nonetheless.
Obligatory Title Pun: SPAG-edelic, baby! Yeah!
Menu Readability: The menu is a broadsheet printed on the thinnest newsprint I have ever felt. Includes old-timey clipart. Whee!
Need to mention: Bring your kids, not your boss, and never a date.
What this place teaches me about myself: Spaghetti is a poor substitute for Ritalin.