I drove 2 hours for Ontario's most unique dining experience and it was so worth it

Living in Toronto, you don't have to go far for a great meal, but that's not to say that it's not worth setting your sights beyond city limits for new culinary experiences. One unassuming restaurant, set inside a Grey County farmhouse, is proof that you absolutely should.

To put it simply, you won't find anything like Markdale's Down Home anywhere in Toronto, let alone Ontario. Hell, you won't find anything like Down Home anywhere else in Canada, precisely because of its rural locale.

The land, and the farmhouse — which doubles as both the restaurant and co-founder Joel and Hannah Harradine Gray's actual home — on it are the heart and soul of the entire experience at Down Home, and it's well worth the two-and-a-half-hour drive from downtown Toronto to find out why.

I'm one of those city folk who has a driver's license for little reason other than to use on the odd occasion I'm asked for ID at the LCBO. I don't own a car, nor have I been behind the wheel of one for nearly a decade, so making my way to a dining experience at the junction of cottage and ski country is not just tricky: it's, more or less, impossible.

So, when I was offered not only a ride but an equally near-impossible-to-get reservation at Down Home, which has been steadily drawing buzz — including a Michelin recommendation — since it opened in 2022, I jumped at the chance. Now, on the other side of the experience, I'm considering taking driving lessons to refresh my skills simply in case I ever manage to get a reservation again. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

Diners, led by Joel Gray, explore the Down Home garden.

Exiting the vehicle after two-and-a-half hours on the road, we're immediately greeted by a wide-smiling Joel, one-half of the married couple that founded Down Home and Sumac + Salt, the pop-up that inspired the whole thing before it.

It's unusual to be greeted by the chef (albeit one who smiles) immediately upon arrival, but, I suppose, it's even more unusual for the restaurant to be located in his actual house.

Hannah crafts cocktails using the seasonal produce du jour — today, it was peas.

Upon settling into our new country digs, Hannah greets us all by name, presenting us with what she called a "pea-tini": a spring green cocktail made with the peas that she, Joel and the team grow on the farm. This, I quickly learn, would become a theme.

You never go hungry at Down Home, if for no reason other than the fact that, with Joel's permission, you can pluck almost anything right out of the garden and have a taste. As it happens, that's exactly how the entire experience begins.

An amuse bouche of tiny, young zucchinis grilled over the live fire that's a centrepiece of the outdoor kitchen area is presented. We're instructed to pluck whichever nasturtium leaf tickles our fancy and wrap the tender little gem in it. Next, Joel appears with a bountiful garden basket that, as it turns out, is full of individual pinch salads made with various greens that grow on the property and a generous dollop of creamy dressing.

Joel finishes the pinch salad amuse bouche with a spritz of herb oil.

We then embark on a tour of the grounds, where virtually all of the produce used on Down Home's ever-changing, hyper-seasonal menu is grown. Here, Joel encourages us to pluck peas straight from the vine; there, he gathers baby field cucumbers and doles them out to the crowd.

It's one thing to hear the term farm-to-table, but another altogether to sample the raw ingredients that will be part of a ten-course meal just moments later when they're still alive.

A high point of the tour is meeting the chickens, which, contrary to what one might immediately assume, aren't there for food — although their eggs, dropped in shades of blue, brown, cream and speckles, with near-neon orange yolks, will be for sale at the restaurant's in-the-works farm shop. Rather, they serve as a live compost system for the restaurant's food scraps.

They're kept in check by Down Home's mascot, Pearl the cat, who has become almost as famous in her own right as either Joel or Hannah or the restaurant as a whole.

Finally, the time comes for the meal. The 10-course dinner menu goes for a cool $200 per person, with seating for just around 16 guests. Much like the drive, it's worth it.

Simplicity is where Down Home hits its stride. Courses like broccoli with pickled kohlrabi and aerated Mornay sauce, a nostalgic ode to broccoli smothered in cheese, or duck breast and duck leg confit with black currant preserve and nasturtium, both of which are kissed by the live fire, are staggering in their straightforwardness and the clear, punchy flavours of their indigenous ingredients.

Venison tartare with cured egg yolks.

"When the land is happy, and the ingredients are happy, you don't need to cover them up with other flavours," Joel says, announcing a course. Indeed.

Anything that can't be grown on the land is sourced from local vendors: arctic char from Affinity Fish, duck from Burdock Grove Farm and venison from Shalom Deer Farm. All paired, of course, with Niagara wines.

More than business partners, the people behind each supplementary farm and business have become close, personal friends of Joel and Hannah's. In an intangible way, it shows.

There's a lot of talk about meals made with love tasting better: so much so that it's become trite and meaningless to say so, but, at Down Home, Joel and Hannah prove that it's true. And when ingredients are grown and sourced with love, it's when things taste the absolute best.

Duck breast with black currant preserve and nasturtium leaf.

Much to my chagrin, the meal eventually concludes. Not only do I not want to stop eating, although the ten-course meal has left me comfortably full, unlike some tasting menus which beget a detour to McDonald's to fill up afterward, I simply don't want to leave.

I find myself, in my duck-pig's head-Arctic Char-pecorino-venison-pea-apricot-broccoli-and-cheese-induced high, thinking about long summer afternoons I spent as a kid at my grandparents' country home. Legs outstretched on the deck, cat at the feet, smoky scent of the fire tickling the nose. Full, both in the belly and, as John Denver would say, in the senses.

This is the real magic of Down Home. Beyond the home-grown ingredients, the unparalleled cocktails and wine pairings, and the downright tasty food, it's the way the experience makes you feel: in touch with the landscape, with the people around you, with yourself.

And, as Neil Young gently trickles out of the speakers, it becomes keenly clear to me that this sort of magic could only happen in Canada. And that is most certainly worth the drive.