With Maven, Chef Shauna Godfrey’s first restaurant carries both reminiscence and revelation to a dynamic stretch of Harbord.

Godfrey’s bubbe Rose would share stories while they cooked together. Now, in a sunlit room with warm wooden tables, cheerful pops of primary colours, and Rose’s own knick-knacks given pride of place, Godfrey celebrates that legacy and builds upon it.

A veteran of Toronto supper clubs and an alum of Momofuku Kōjin, Godfrey folds her Polish-Jewish roots into dishes shaped through technique and affection. Skewered half-moons of all-beef salami buckle at their circumference, lightly scorched and lacquered with Kozlik’s mustard and apricot preserves. The chicken schnitzel is thick, brined, and fried until the crust gleams like a Coppertone ad. It is slathered with lacto-fermented plum compote and stretches across a pool of brown butter, it not so much gilding as it is counterpoint.

Horseradish-laced Green Goddess slicks cucumber in the Seder plate salad; parsley and celery add slight bitterness and bite. The double-fried crispy potatoes are as advertised, their accompanying Mensch sauce an instant favourite. Spaetzle is tender to the point of fragility, a breath of caraway rising from the plate. The coleslaw appears unbidden and disappears just as quickly. You never ask for more; it simply arrives. The recipe is Rose’s, printed on a card clipped to the bill. And the cheesecake—Rose’s, again—is exactly as it should be: creamy, fresh, lush.

Rose was the one once called “Maven,” Yiddish for expert. With every plate, Godfrey commemorates Rose’s talent through the fullness of her own. There’s a reverent hospitality at Maven, passed from one generation to the next, where the food speaks profoundly and with care.