Reaching for the Eby Street Bodega’s door handle evokes a slew of memories. If this were a movie, the montage would linger on the version of me that worked here. A Brio-guzzling, prosciutto-stuffed delinquent with a penchant for reading during lull periods and hand-writing orders and a secret knowledge of the exact formula to satisfy a Thursday or Saturday regular ordering ‘the usual.’ In those days, the Bodega I knew was a curated selection of speciality grocery items and a steady current of sandwich devotees. We’ve both grown up a little—that is, until you find us vying for the last slice of Brown Sugar & Sour Cherry Rhubarb cake.
Co-founded by Anna Staszewska and Dino Trtovac, the Bodega’s origins are intertwined with the family that runs it. It’s a tale as old as time: boy met girl; girl and boy opened a restaurant. Time passed. They welcome a full-time stagiaire to their team—their son Elio.
From its inception, the Bodega has understood the delicious satisfaction of a mélange: business and family, recipe and plate, and, for a few years, grocery and restaurant.
Although the hoagie joint may have learned its knifework from Nonna’s kitchen, it can’t resist the temptation to leap out of her cookbook. Sandwiches that began as ‘Saturday specials’ are now their bread and butter—no pun intended. Dino glides around the kitchen during the lunchtime rush, intensely focused and unflinchingly reliable. He’s a grandmaster behind the stove, a porter in the pauses and every other member of the kitchen brigade except the pâtissier. That’s where Anna shines. Her evocative creations are several trays in length, dutifully triaged from their home to the kitchen before opening.
“The North American bodega is defined by whatever the community decides it should be,” Anna said.
“When we began serving food, the demand outweighed the grocery component of the business. We went with what people wanted!” she continued.
“Customers were so patient with us. I want to pay that kindness back.”
Her eyes lit up as she described a memory from the week in July filled with wildfire smoke.
“I thought nobody would come in, and I didn’t blame them. I was at my computer, [suddenly distracted] by the door to the restaurant continuously opening. It sounded like a party! There were two guys on the patio drinking wine and talking. Even in a hard time, they decided to live joyously. It was one of the many moments I thought, ‘yeah, we’re actually part of the community.’”
The shop is a stone’s throw from the Kitchener market–both a dependable supplier and a muse.
“It reminds me of so many European markets we’ve been to. It’s not commercialized or sterile. It’s fully alive.”
She chuckled while we discussed the cultural rough-and-tumble between Kitchener and Waterloo.
“Honestly, I think Kitchener has such a romantic charm,” she said.
Downtown is a web of cafés, bookstores, and untapped ingenuity that the pair feel lucky to call home.
In Anna and Dino’s eyes, life is a vibrant laboratory and the dining table is its sacred, slower exercise in pleasure. The humble sandwich made with thoughtful local ingredients is powerful. It commands the senses. Their culinary expeditions have illuminated the beauty of a midday break.
“In Italy, you’ll see one guy behind a counter. He’ll slice your porchetta and [toss] it in a bun. With a plate and a glass of wine, you’ll sit outside and people watch for hours. The meal might be a five-minute experience, but you spend an hour there because the food is inseparable from the feeling that comes after it,” she said.
“We want people to stop and enjoy lunch. You deserve to spend some time for yourself. You deserve a nice sandwich.”
Their restaurant is built on exactly this principle of meditative nourishment.
Besides food, Anna and Dino carry several projects in their grocery tote. Their relentless creativity includes pursuits like the Eby Digest—an in-house independent publication—and the Supper Club—a love letter to the couple’s more adventurous, conceptual dishes.
“When opportunities come at you, you say yes! [Even with] a baby in one hand,” Anna remarked.
“I am a little bit nuts—I enjoy a challenge!” Anna laughed.
“Life is fun when you’re delusional. I am just spellbound by this need to explore and discover what’s out there.”
Anna’s curiosity doesn’t bother with compartmentalization. Inspiration is universal, indiscriminate of food or other artistic mediums. The family travels often, exploring their private syllabus in the Big Wide World, on weekend getaways, or simply by venturing into new locales.
“We love walking around and doing nothing without a plan. Most of my inspiration isn’t from food, it’s from feeling. A nice day at the museum can tingle a part of my brain. I’ll come home, flip through cookbooks, and revisit ingredients with a new perspective,” Anna said.
In summertime, a classic like the Sitting Poolside—roasted peaches and lemon-zest burrata, doused with chili crisp honey and basil balsamic on a bed of delicately oily focaccia—appears when peaches at the Kitchener Market are gloriously ripe.
“If we were making the same food every day, I’m not sure if it would have the same level of passion.”
Near the end of our conversation, the door to their home swung open and sweet, energetic little Elio bustled in, accompanied by a mellow-looking Dino. I asked him the natural question: what’s next? He began to answer but stopped to search for the right words. Anna picked up where he left off.
“I know what he means,” she said, and mentioned their ongoing redesign.
They hope to expand the dining area into “a beautiful, ambient, space with enough privacy to have a long conversation with friends.”
They dream of someday opening another community hub, still rooted in food service. Maybe they’ll even change their name—“Customers come in asking about groceries—a bodega is supposed to have them!”
For now, on some random Wednesday, an unsuspecting first-time customer will order a sandwich. Weary from the midafternoon sun, they might stretch into a wicker French bistro chair in the shade outside. Just beyond their eyeline, a plate is carefully assembled. A sandwich appears on the pass. It’s carried to the front of house, served through the window overlooking the patio. The first bite will bring wonder. The second, satisfaction. Crumbs will be cleared away. The door handle pushed open once more.
Leave a Reply