La Banane runs a raw bar, a French kitchen, and a steakhouse out of a single dining room, and refuses to choose among them. A tower of East Coast oysters, Nova Scotia lobster under sauce choron, and Salt Spring Island mussels steamed in Normandy cider can share a table with an eighteen-ounce dry-aged côte de boeuf finished in foie gras butter. The name is French for the banana, and it sets the register before the first plate arrives — this is careful, ambitious cooking that has decided not to take itself too seriously. The dining room opened on Ossington Avenue in 2017 and has run dinner-only ever since.
A meal here tends to open cold and briny. The raw bar carries East Coast oysters by the half-dozen or dozen, a chilled shrimp cocktail, and Hokkaido scallop dressed with brown butter, rum, and lime, with a Petit or Grand Plateau for a table that wants the whole spread on ice. From there the kitchen turns to French technique. Eurobass en Croûte comes baked in pastry under a yuzu beurre blanc; beef tartare is bound in sauce mousseline and set over crispy potato; a foie gras torchon arrives with Coronation grape and brioche, and a seared version with poached rhubarb, pearl onion, and endive. Even the potatoes get worked over — pommes aligot, stretched and glossy with Gruyère and chive.
Underneath the French cooking runs a steakhouse that means it. Beef tenderloin comes with sauce au poivre, braised lamb shank with chestnut and amontillado, and the dry-aged côte de boeuf built for two to split. The luxury cues stack from there: Kristal caviar offered by the scoop or the tin with brioche, crème fraîche, egg, and chive; foie gras in two forms; and a grilled Newfoundland trout with tomato and marcona almond for the table that wants a lighter turn. Little of it is subtle, and none of it pretends to be.
The wine list explains the restaurant as clearly as the food does. It runs deep through the French regions — Burgundy and Loire, Rhône and Bordeaux, Champagne and the Jura — a list built for a long dinner rather than a quick glass. The same care reaches the smaller plates, where a straight fine-dining house might have coasted: French white asparagus dressed with sauce gribiche, charred leeks with coco de paimpol and a ramp mayonnaise, a Japanese sweet potato with nothing more than butter and salt, and a roasted maitake mushroom with garlic, parsley, and crouton.
The restaurant arrived as a project of chef and chocolatier Brandon Olsen and creative partner Sarah Keenlyside, who gave it both its French-luxury ambitions and its sense of humour. The chocolatier's hand is still legible in a dessert list that treats sugar as seriously as the raw bar treats shellfish, and the Michelin Guide has since recognized the kitchen. Whoever works the pass now keeps the original blueprint intact: French bones, a raw bar up front, and a steakhouse working in the wings.
Dessert is where the name finally pays off. The Gâteau à la Banane — banana cake under salted caramel — is the plate the restaurant is named for, and it lands at the end of a meal that has already moved through oysters, pastry-wrapped fish, and aged beef. Around it sit a carrot cake with pecan, fromage blanc, and passion fruit, and the Carré d'Or, a square of chocolate cake with milk ice cream. Reservations run Wednesday through Sunday, evenings only. The banana was the joke on the door the whole time; by the time it reaches the table, it reads as the point.
La Banane is not only a bistro and not only a steakhouse. Its strongest identity is the space between the two: French technique, seafood polish, foie gras, caviar, beef, and a dinner room that wants the group to commit to the night.
The meal has a clear narrative path: oysters, mussels, scallop, lobster, and plateaus up front; Eurobass en Croute and steakhouse mains in the middle; Gateau a la Banane at the end. That shape makes the restaurant easy to remember after the check is paid.
The French wine list, reservation-driven dinner service, and Ossington room give La Banane a special-occasion posture without making the menu feel stiff. It is a polished Toronto dinner built around recognizable dishes rather than a tasting-room abstraction.
Eurobass en Croute and Gateau a la Banane give the restaurant a one-two identity: serious French technique on the main course, then the banana dessert that names the place. They are the easiest dishes to remember after the meal.
La Banane is built for the night when dinner needs a plan: reservations, seafood to share, steakhouse luxury, French wine, and dessert with a little theatre. The room makes more sense as a splurge than as a casual midweek fallback.
The French-region wine program is not decorative; it fits the butter, seafood, caviar, and steak structure of the meal. A strong order at La Banane should let the bottle selection shape the night.
This is a room for committing to dinner rather than slipping through a quick meal. Seafood plateaus, wine, beef, caviar, and a memorable dessert give the night enough movement for a full evening out.
La Banane has the right ingredients for a two-person dinner that feels intentional: booking ahead, wine, seafood, a polished room, and a dessert that gives the night a clean final note. It is more romantic when the order has a shape.
Share the nuances of your visit to La Banane in Toronto — the standout dishes, the room, the service.
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