A hole in the wall at Sherbourne and King. Step inside and it feels less like a restaurant and more like you've wandered into someone's kitchen — which, near my office, with bánh mì on the window sign, was enough to pull me in on a slow afternoon.
It's owner-operated, and English is limited, but that's part of the charm. I got the fried egg bánh mì — one egg runny, one cooked — for only $7, and that's with tax and the ATM fee. There's a little counter with stools where you can sit and eat.
So how was it? Honestly, this is where things start to fall apart.
The bread is fine, but it's more of a regular sandwich roll than a proper bánh mì baguette — none of that shattering, airy crust you want. There's no pâté and no butter on the bun, and while it's warm, it isn't toasted, so you miss that crucial bit of crunch. There are a few carrots and some cilantro in there, but the whole flavour profile is just off.
The real problem: she put soy sauce on my egg. It adds flavour, sure, but it's the wrong flavour. A bánh mì isn't supposed to taste like that, and once you notice it, you can't un-notice it.
To be fair, 88 Foods isn't technically a bánh mì restaurant. They serve plenty of other things — bánh mì just happens to be on the window sign, and the place happens to be near my office. So maybe I'm holding it to a standard it never set for itself.
Now for the analysis. Is it good value for money? Absolutely — seven bucks is hard to argue with. Is it better than the Bloor Street spots? Not by a long shot. Will I be back for the bánh mì? No. Cuon Cuon remains my go-to in this neighbourhood.
I hate to say it, but places like this are exactly what give bánh mì a bad reputation. If this were the only bánh mì you ever tried, you'd walk away thinking bánh mì is just a regular sandwich — a foreign name slapped on a bland sub. And that's a shame, because it's so much more than that.
Stick to 88 Foods for whatever they actually specialize in. For bánh mì, walk the extra few minutes to Cuon Cuon.
Verdict: Pass
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