It’s a truism that the hip factor of any restaurant is directly proportional to how ultra-super-top-secret its location is. Some go so far as to omit signage, others have you entering through grotty back doors. In the case of the Gilead Café, it’s a hidden Corktown laneway that leads triumphantly to the cool cafeteria of culinary impresario Jamie Kennedy.

Formerly an industrial kitchen used mostly for Kennedy’s catering functions, Gilead is a really just a glammed-up coffee shop that happens to also serve some mighty fine baked goods and deli items. And with more magazines strewn about than actual tables, there is plenty of take-out traffic.

Even if you happen to be one of the lucky ones to snag a seat during the brisk lunch rush (Gilead is not open for dinner), you’d still have to walk up to the counter to place an order and, in our case, placing it with a guy who doesn’t seem to know about the apparently square health regulation requiring hand-washing. Even while ordering, he couldn’t stop fussing with his hair, actually trying to eat it in some cases. We get the whole security blanket thing, but please, please wash before picking up a slab of paté with your bare hands or playing sword fights with someone else’s baguette.

If you can get past that, the experience is rather a pleasant one. The deli case is filled with everything from charcuterie items like terrines and marinating steaks to baked savoury tarts, artisanal cheeses and mini fruit pies. A shout from behind the counter tells you when your order is up. This system might work better if trays were provided, since not all customers are experienced waiters who know how to manage multiple plates at once.

The house-smoked pickerel ($2.50 per 100 grams) is phenomenal; its tender but firm flesh inspires confidence in its freshness. A manly sheep’s-milk cheese tart ($5), loaded with broccoli and plump cherry tomatoes, though dry, shows off a perfect cookie-crisp crust; a non-alcoholic birch beer makes it go down easily.

A seasonal mélange of apple and turnip is balanced by sour cream and toasted sunflower seeds for a hearty soup du jour ($5). And though an overly oily pulled pork sandwich ($9) impresses less, at least its ciabata bun is generously stuffed — plus a nice fried-green-onion mayo and a side of carrot and orange slaw with caraway seeds leave some trace evidence of flavour.

But, no surprise, the Yukon Gold frites ($4) really get our engines revving. Remember that it’s Kennedy who is almost single-handedly responsible for making fries a culinary art statement. Superbly crisp potato sticks are plentiful, but even more divine when dipped into a tangy lemon mayo. A death-defying oxtail poutine ($8) is equally stellar: a pile of said frites under meltingly tender shreds of meat rife with scallions and artisan cheese in a lustrous, jus-style gravy is nothing short of outstanding.

With few desserts to choose from, we are faced with an open-faced tart ($4.25) filled with plums and berries. This refreshing repast finisher is perfect for those who want something less sweet. A yummy delicious white chocolate and cranberry foccaccia bun ($1.50) is alone enough to make Gilead a destination, but before you leave, don’t forget to take home a loaf of red fife sourdough bread ($5). Of course, you’ll have to try to resist cracking into its dense, bran-flecked goodness as soon as you get outside.

Without breaking the bank, you get an honest-to-goodness meal at a restaurant owned by a celebrity chef who stood for food inspired by local suppliers way before it became trendy. Assuming more front-of-the-line staff training, Gilead is really the perfect haunt for these troubled times.