It ain’t the fanciest boîte in town. Nor is the cuisine necessarily the most creative or refined — though it certainly has a large dose of both qualities. But if you asked me which of the restaurants that have opened in T.O. over the past few years were my favourites, The Black Hoof over near Dundas and Ossington would definitely rank high on that list. In a city inundated with ho-hum, run-of-the-mill charcuterie plates and salumi boards, partners Grant van Gameren and Jennifer Agg’s west-side den of gastronomic debauchery was (and still is) like a fresh, cool gust of cold mountain air over a slow-curing Carolina ham to the Toronto foodscape.

Unabashedly carnivorous in nature, with an ever-changing menu of delicious, artery-clogging fare, it deserves distinction if only for causing the words “now that’s some tasty beef tongue” to cross my lips. If there were any true admonition I had for the place, it would be that they went and opened it so far from where I’m living.

And now van Gameren and Agg have gone and done it again, opening the Hoof Café late last year almost directly across the street from their original charcuterie shop in the address formerly known as The Chelsea Room, giving me a whole new reason to be envious of their west-end neighbours. Now, not only do they have one of the most unique and impressive charcuterie joints in the city, they also have the best brunch spot in town.

The menu, as with the sister store across the way, is written out on a chalkboard set up on a wall by the door of the small, comfortably cramped dining room. Food descriptions there are brief, with short, simple monikers such as Wild Sockeye Salmon ($11) and Pigs Tails and Grits ($13). Brevity belies the level of complexity involved in each dish, however, as is evident soon after the plates begin to arrive.

Rabbit Pancakes ($14), while a seemingly odd construction to begin with, get even stranger upon touching down on our table. Laid out on a bed of diced, sweetened celery, a trio of light and airy buckwheat flapjacks topped with tender strips of braised rabbit meat, crisply fried rounds of pancetta-like streaky bacon and blueberry sauce is crowned with a smattering of lusciously light ricotta cheese. It’s the sort of thing that sounds like a punchline from an episode of Kitchen Nightmares; the sort of dish that can either be so right, or so very, very wrong. One bite is all it takes to realize that this one is definitely a case to be filed in the former category: the best, most inventive and delicious plate of griddle cakes going. Period.

A pair of dense (in a good way) biscuits mounded with pulled, natural-tasting suckling pig, nicely poached eggs and stellar hollandaise sauce takes Eggs Benny ($13) to a whole new level of yummy, while a handful of brilliantly dressed, lemon-scented arugula and crunchy BBQ-spiced pork-crackling puffs that come riding alongside add even more interest.

Grits, that much-maligned Southern comfort-food staple, are on par with a finely made risotto at the Hoof — the creamy-smooth porridge is composed of soft, lustrously chewy granules of ground corn. Set in a bowl along with a fresh tomato stew loaded with hunks of malleable smoked pigtail meat, and topped with a nice and runny sunny-side-up egg, the combination of texture and flavour is brilliant, skirting the line between traditional breakfast and light but hearty lunch; between rustic peasantry and high-brow elegance with each explosive mouthful.

Even the toast with jam ($3) gets a jump up, with three thick slices of golden-brown, house-made country bread served with a long, somewhat skimpy pat of goat butter, smoked black salt and a decent pot of blueberry jelly.

They are making desserts here, but they’re only serving them on weekends (and over at the Black Hoof at night). Our visit occurs on a Thursday, leaving my fellow diner and me out of luck on the cherry bone-marrow doughnut that our server tells us will be featured the next Sunday. Thankfully, the French Toast ($9), made with challah and cooked to a perfect golden brown, does the job just fine. The magical scent of fresh-ground nutmeg wafts up from the plate, while wild ginger and peach compote are sweet enough to deter us from bothering with the usual maple syrup. Just to make it a truly decadent experience, we add a massive, rib-eye-sized slab of foie gras ($14) to the mix. A necessary addition? No. Freakin’ tasty all the same? You bet.

Awesome edibles aside, it’s the atmosphere — at both Hoofs — that makes having a meal here so perfect. Service is knowledgeable, but with a laid-back, devil-may-care spirit to it that cuts through any pretension. You may be eating food prepared with care and love, from ingredients impeccable sourced and treated with all the respect and dedication that you’d find in a Michelin-starred restaurant, yet it’s never thrown in your face.

Instead, it’s more like you’re being invited to take a trip into Agg and van Gameren’s own little artisan-crafted world; a world centred around straight-up, no-nonsense pleasure served up whichever way it seems best to do so on that day. And it’s a trip that any meat eater with active taste buds — gourmand or not — would be well-advised to take. Be warned though, once you go Hoof, you may never want to go back.