efitting a former Vietnamese restaurant, Rok's entrance is unassuming. Once inside, the lurid pink walls and black chandelier lighting gives a flattering glow to the clientele as well as the transformed space. A large (very large), framed, black and white photo of pop/metal rockers Motley Crüe dominates one wall, giving a blatant clue as to the desired clientele. While the Crüe’s trashy glam aesthetic suits the L.A. rock-lounge environment, who suspected that it also portended epicurean delight? (Of course, urban legend does have Led Zeppelin finding novel uses for sushi decades before the craze).

Owner/hosts, Dawn Simmons and Johnny Rude, lavishly transformed the grotty hole in the wall into a luxurious spot for mingling, nibbling and hardcore drinking. Black leather couches line the walls and the tables are designed as much for conversation and people-watching as eating. The bar is small and ringed with stools. The bartendresses effortlessly work the tough-but-friendly angle (one is concerned about an upcoming audition for Playboy magazine; she should have no problem). A narrow corridor leads past the DJ booth and partially open kitchen to a patio that's almost as large as the main room. High walls of corrugated aluminum shut out the noise of the city and the curious eyes of St. Christopher’s House's recovering crack addicts.

With the twinkling lights lit and the Jagermeister flowing, it is a true oasis from the Queen West crush. The music is relentless rock n’ roll, but at a low enough volume that the conversational hum prevails and one has to strain to decide which vintage Kiss or Guns n’ Roses track is currently on deck. In the style of Machinehead and the late, lamented Cherry Bomb Room, celebrity DJs will make appearances. Rockers-turned-spinners like Johnny Five (of Rob Zombie and Marilyn Manson) and members of Skid Row and the Murder Dolls are expected to take charge of the decks. Presumably, the music will be somewhat louder. Johnny Rude himself will frequently spin (to Dawn’s delight. as it keeps Mr. Rude sober) when he isn’t busy meeting, greeting and getting liquored up with the multitudes.

The food (note: the finalized menu is still in flux) is the real surprise. Simmons lured old friend “Bo” from his position at the 360 atop the CN Tower and turned him lose in the kitchen/playground. Giving a chef free reign can be dangerous (Colborne Lane?), but Bo is more interested in flavours and value than in stroking his ego. Mussels bathed in a spicy salsa are served in Oriental soup spoons. Still-crunchy sweet onion fragments soothe the bite of a teacup of Gazpacho splashed with a soupcon of gin. A smoked tomato dip with toasted pita triangles cannot be dished out fast enough to keep up with demand. Perfectly grilled shrimps suffer a little from their bland vinaigrette, but the mystery dipping sauce for the grilled chicken is a hit. Kitchen assistant Jae declines to identify the ingredients claiming he and Bo were just playing with what was available.

Dawn Simmons is eager to keep prices down and the food flowing. A brunch is planned with numerous small plates (the now taboo word “tapas” is scrupulously avoided) so that one doesn’t haven’t to choose between eggs benedict or pancakes; just have a small plate of each. Dessert is likewise bite-size with miniature cheesecakes, chocolate cup kisses, and tiny cakelets from new confectionary, The Short & Sweet Co. The sweets are irresistible and small enough that nascent rock n’ roll stars don’t have to worry about excessive calories conflicting with the de rigueur borderline anorexia.