A homey atmosphere and a wide selection of baguette sandwiches have made Finch’s Tea & Coffee House popular for more than just its namesake beverages.

Credit: Doug Shanks

ON THE PLATE: Simple comforts keep ’em coming back to Finch’s

Finch's Tea & Coffee House
353 West Pender, 604-899-4040, FinchTeaHouse.com
Food: 3 stars / Service: 3 stars / Atmosphere: 5 stars / Value: 5 stars (out of 5)

With the economy not exactly hot to trot and our federal government doing little to allay the nation’s jitters, I know I’m not the only one who’s losing his appetite for spending big on restaurants. These are delicate times. As such, I’ve been gravitating more toward the cheap-and-cheerful joints, seeking out the affordable and the delicious and, with luck, finding both under one roof.

Fortunately, Vancouver boasts an abundance of eateries to fill that bill, so I haven’t had much trouble. Finch’s Tea & Coffee House, sitting like the rock of ages at the northeast corner of West Pender and Homer, fits both mood and moment.

Though its name suggests some shortcomings on the food front (a “tea and coffee house,” as a general rule, isn’t known for its culinary prowess), the limited menu at Finch’s carries some gems — it’s written up behind the counter, on a jumble of gold-framed chalkboards of different sizes and shapes, by a strong, ornate, borderline-illegible hand (see their website for a more readable version). The focus is almost entirely on baguette sandwiches, of which there are some 15 different options to be had, plus five salads, a daily soup, and a basic breakfast of organic whole-wheat toast, two medium-boiled eggs, tomatoes, cucumber, and avocado ($7.95).

But there’s more to Finch’s than just consumption. What struck me during a visit with my brood last week was its all-season soul. Whether freezing in winter or boiling in summer, the air within remains of genuine respite. The omnipresent queue, the gorgeous old communal table, the reassuring smell of coffee (fair trade, organic, made with purified water), and the lack of a credit-card machine (just debit and cash) all combine to burn an image of comfort on the brain, as if it were a café set up in your mom’s living room or on a Frank Capra set. It has the feel of a genuine inner-city haven, with the whole package saying in earnest that it wants to take care of you. (That is, once it’s your turn.)

It’s a small space, with about 20 chairs in total, but each table seems its own little world. Over the years, I’ve probably sat at them all, but the choicest seats are at the three window tables for two, all incubated from the rest on raised platforms, and semi-shielded from the street by neatly tied curtains. They’re like little peripheral pods, perfect for quiet conversation, reading, or idle daydreaming. The old hardwood floors give Finch’s a solid base of creaky character, while the dozen or so leafy plants, the dilapidated state of the ancient walls, and all the aged cabinetry, mirrors, light fixtures, and various bits of ephemera and bric-a-brac throughout lend it an open-faced honesty. There’s nothing the least bit slick about the place.

And then there’s the food, which begs the question: Is there anything more comforting than a quality baguette stuffed with gooey Brie? The answer is: Yes, a baguette loaded with blue Brie, sliced pear, roasted walnuts, and prosciutto, all wrapped up in brown paper ($8.95). Its flavours are in total lockstep with each other, with the sweet crunch of the pear, the salty softness of the ham, and the sharp ooze of the cheese making it a textural delight as well. The bread was warm, not too doughy, and not at all gum-shredding. Side-saddled by a steaming bowl of soup — on this day, a creamy tomato bisque for an extra $2.95 — the combo turned what was supposed to be a hurried lunch into something worth savouring. Even my normally hyperactive kids seemed to slow down, charmed as they were by their eggs with toast soldiers ($4.75) and the waiting promise of cheesecake capped with chocolate syrup and blackberries ($4.25). My wife’s baguette saw too many ultra-thick slices of applewood-smoked cheddar dominating the attendant cucumber, lettuce, tomato, and Dijon mustard ($8.25), but after a little hands-on surgery (the removal of three superfluous slices of cheese), it hit the sweetest of spots.

Ours were two of the most complicated sandwiches on offer, so if you’re into blissful simplicity, aim for the one with just brie and raspberry preserves ($7.25): a sweet and creamy ticket for your palate to ride. It’s nowhere near to approaching cuisine, and it’s not meant to be, but it’s a solid, well-constructed lunch at a good price.

Save for the line-up that often reaches the door, there are few things that frustrate the Finch’s experience. Whether you’re last in the queue or second from the front and wearing powerful spectacles, you only get a good gander at the scattered menu when you arrive at the till. This sometimes causes delays from the first timers and their “Um, I’ll have...” moments, but thanks to the high number of regular customers and take-away traffic, it’s never too bad. I would have loved to have been able to pair my sandwich with a cold glass of Viognier, but there’s no license for the strong stuff, I’m afraid (pity, as coffee doesn’t pair so swell with blue cheese). Still, in times like these, with so much to complain about, Finch’s is a break that can be counted on.