Lao Lao Bar

Lao Lao Bar began with a restaurant being taken away. When transit expansion displaced Sabai Sabai, owners Seng Luong and Jason Jiang did not simply recreate their former Toronto place somewhere else. They used the closure to make a more direct celebration of their shared Lao heritage, carrying memories of home through a contemporary Church-Wellesley dining room. Sticky rice, fresh herbs, chile and plates meant for passing establish the terms before any single dish does. The change is visible in both name and intent: this is not a catch-all regional restaurant but one organised around Lao habits of sharing, texture and contrast. Lao Lao Bar opened in February 2023, after years of hospitality sharpened that point of view.

The first order should be the Crispy Coconut Rice Salad, or Nam Khao. Fried coconut rice breaks into crisp clusters among cured pork, herbs, peanuts and fried chile, with lettuce turning the mix into small hand-built bites. It is crunchy, rich, cool and sharp in quick succession, a plate that teaches the table how to eat here. Papaya Salad, Tum Mak Hoong, pulls harder in the fermented direction, joining green papaya to crab paste, Lao fish sauce and house-made pork rind. Then Khao Poon Gai changes the temperature: vermicelli settles into chicken-and-coconut red curry with banana blossom, vegetables and herbs. Sticky rice is not an afterthought in this sequence; it is an anchor, an accompaniment and an invitation to use the hands. The meal moves from crackle and acidity into a broth that keeps its perfume to the final spoonful.

Grill and steam give the next round a broader register. Ping Gai brings crisp chicken thigh marinated with lemongrass, galangal and chile, set beside Lao noodle and cucumber salads; Mok Pa folds fish, dill, mushrooms, glass noodles, eggplant and lemongrass into banana leaf with sticky rice alongside. Neither plate abandons the herbs and acidity that tie the earlier dishes together. The same continuity makes the dedicated plant-based section feel structural rather than compensatory. Butterfly-pea tapioca dumplings carry shiitake, preserved radish, peanuts and herbs, while green papaya fritters, curries, fried rice and hand-cut drunken noodles can form a complete shared meal. Fresh rolls let that route begin lightly before the curries and noodles supply substance. A mixed table does not have to split into separate tracks.

Lao Lao Bar’s design extends that cultural argument without settling for decorative shorthand. Marigold colour, bamboo, Southeast Asian antiques and greenery meet historic cathedral windows; the bar takes the form of a playful temple and gives the dining room a visible centre. The effect suits an animated dinner more than hushed formality, especially once several plates and glasses begin moving across a group. A private dining room gives gatherings another way to settle in while the main floor remains deliberately social. Drinks inhabit the same flavour vocabulary as the kitchen: signatures work with Thai basil, tamarind, passion fruit, tom kha spice and Thai milk tea. The list also makes room for classics, wine, beer, sake and zero-proof choices.

The restaurant’s strongest idea is not novelty but continuity under pressure. Luong and Jiang lost the dining room they had built, then answered with a place that names their Lao heritage more plainly and invites Toronto into its communal rhythm. The menu rewards a table willing to order in rounds: Nam Khao first, curry after, grilled or steamed dishes to follow, cocktails keeping pace rather than waiting at the edge. A substantial plant-based route widens that table without diluting its character, and the lively setting gives dinner permission to become the night out. That range also explains why the restaurant can feel equally coherent around a pair of stools or a large gathering. Lao Lao Bar turns a forced move into an act of return. Here, memory arrives crisp, fragrant and meant to be passed from hand to hand.