he team behind Bungalow Café, spearheaded by owner Rob Picken, has a King Street pedigree that includes the popular new-rock bar, the Underground Garage. Technically neither a bungalow nor a café (liars), BC (does that acronym already mean something else?), an entirely different creature than its elder, eastward cousin, provides casual, stylish dining for an in-need neighbourhood (gastro altruism?)

Though the Underground has the requisite sweat-lodge stink of a dirt-guitar watering hole, its location and clientele give it a manufactured, incongruent feel (nothing conjures thoughts of Sid Vicious and Jon Bonham like Blackberries). Bungalow, more comfortable in its skin, caters to a similar patronage, though in more honest terms. Devoid of the faux-rock contrivances of its subterranean relative, it embraces West side condo-dwellers and their disposable dinner-income (I considered writing “dincome,” but I thought that it sounded dirty and sad).

Still malleable in its infancy, Bungalow Café’s menu changes frequently. Contemporary chic, with hints of French bistro, Chef Jason Toner’s fare, though not overwhelmingly innovative, is elegantly prepared and presented. Increasingly popular, dinners continue to go later and later into weekend evenings. The freshly unveiled lunch menu (also rotating, shifting, growing, and changing) serves midday mains, like a trusty burger (similar to a Krusty Burger, though not made of ink) option. The appetizer menu boasts a stellar Pistachio and Goat Cheese dish that will entice you to buy your own goat (or at least grow a King-West goatee), while daily soups have quickly garnered a reputation for reliable excellence.

Primarily a Sleeman’s spot, Bungalow stocks the brand in force. A modest wine list, playfully titled “Grape Juice,” toes an impressively accommodating line, neither obscenely ostentatious nor Baby-Duck barrel scraping (sorry Baby Duck, I still love you). The dinner crowd, clad in standard King West, post-work attire, sips its wine in tie-free collared shirts and jeans, while amiable servers stalk the room, quipping without imposing, and sharing their fervent admiration for the fledging food card.

The front façade, an inviting light wood exterior, portends the highly accessible air of Bungalow’s innards (mmm, innards). Because stairs are for plebs and Victorians, as the name suggests, this is a single floor eatery (you will not miss washroom descent).