I’ve spent a good part of my life chasing something I can’t quite name. I’ve followed it down back alleys and coastal roads, into tiny kitchens and grand dining rooms, across this province and around the world — that one perfect meal. The one that stops time for a moment and reminds you why you set out wandering in the first place. Some people chase sunsets. I chase suppers. And if there’s one thing all those miles have taught me, it’s that the meals you remember forever are rarely the ones you planned.
Which brings me to a night this past winter when snow pounded St. John’s mercilessly, and let loose one of those storms that sends the whole city scrambling for Jam Jams and tea bags. The kind of night where the streetlights disappear into the white out and the wind comes howling up from the harbour like it’s got a grudge against ya. A night when taxis can only take you so far and you have to hoof it on foot the rest of the way. And so I jumped out of the cab on Gower street and trudged down to Duckworth, slid down the courthouse steps and then turned right onto Water Street. The drifts were waist deep. Any sensible man would’ve been home in his slippers with his cat for company.
But b’ys, when have I ever been accused of being sensible?
My destination tonight was down on Water Street, glowing through the blizzard like a lighthouse for the hungry, and sure enough LIV was open. Not just open — buzzing. Music thumping softly against the snow-packed windows, laughter rolling out every time the door swung wide, the whole place radiating warmth into the storm. I stamped the snow off my boots, pulled open that door at 310 Water Street, and stepped out of the gale and into another world.
Donny Love
If ever a restaurant lived up to its name on a night like that, it was this one. Inside, you’d never know the city was being buried alive. The lighting was low and golden, the room full of storm refugees in grand spirits — snow melting off shoulders, cheeks red from the wind, everyone grinning like they’d gotten away with something. There’s a special camaraderie among people who brave weather like that for a good meal, and LIV was full of my kind of people.
Donny Love at LIV. 310 Water Street, St. John’s, NL, Canada
The staff welcomed me in like family, and before the feeling had even returned to my fingers, I had a cocktail menu in hand. I started with the Jalapeño Basil Gimlet — bright, herbaceous, with a slow heat that spread through me like a woodstove catching fire. The perfect antidote to an angry nor’easter, and reason enough on its own to cross a snow drift or two. As I savored my sociable I studied the menu like there would be a quiz.
First on my list was the Tuna Tataki, and what an opening act. Blushing-rare slices of tuna, seared at the edges and fanned out like they had somewhere fancy to be, crowned with bright coins of jalapeño and a silky drizzle of cream. Alongside sat charred brussels sprouts with a swipe of golden purée — earthy and caramelized against all that cool, clean fish. There’s something wonderfully absurd about eating a dish this delicate while a blizzard blankets the province outside, and I savoured every contradictory second of it.
Tuna Tataki
Next came the Shrimp Gyoza – golden, crispy-edged dumplings lined up on the plate like they were posing for their portrait, which, in fairness, they were. Crackling wrappers giving way to plump, savoury shrimp, with a bold swipe of spicy aioli. I’d love to tell you I ate them slowly and mindfully, as the wellness people recommend. I did not. They were gone before the steam settled.
Shrimp Gyoza
Then the dish I’d been most curious about: the Street Corn Rib. Ribs of sweet corn, charred and curling, sitting on fresh greens and drizzled with a smoky-spicy sauce that clung to every kernel. It’s messy, it’s fun, and it’s exactly the kind of thing you want to be gnawing on while the wind rattles the windows.
Street Corn Rib
The Kimchi Spring Rolls arrived crackling — shattering-crisp wrappers stuffed with tangy, fiery kimchi, stacked around a cool, creamy dipping sauce. That interplay of hot and cold, crunch and cream, fire and comfort? That’s winter dining done right. If the storm had blown the doors open at that exact moment, I’d have just pulled the plate closer.
Kimchi Spring Rolls
And then — the sushi.
Now, I couldn’t leave without the Bacon Scallop Roll, and thank heavens I didn’t. This is the dish I’d point to if you asked me what LIV is all about — sweet, tender scallop and smoky bacon, torched until the whole thing glistens, wrapped up with the precision of a Tokyo sushi counter. That’s five hundred years of Newfoundland saltwater tradition shaking hands with Japan, right there on one plate. The scallop tastes like our cold Atlantic doing what it does best; the bacon tastes like every Sunday morning of my childhood. Put them together and b’ys, you’ve got something that shouldn’t work and absolutely, gloriously does — a bit like eating sushi in a blizzard, come to think of it.
Bacon Scallop Roll
Just when I thought the kitchen had shown me everything, out came dessert: the Tree Of LIV. They brought me a delicate bonsai tree made of cotton candy, rooted in a Pistachio Base Dubai Cheesecake with a crispy pistachio konafah dough. I laughed out loud when it landed. It had a spectacular aesthetic and looked like it belonged in an art gallery rather than a restaurant. I sat there a moment, oddly moved by it — this small, sweet, defiant bit of springtime blooming indoors in the dead of winter. And then, I ate it. It dissolved like a snowflake on the tongue, which felt poetic, and the cheesecake beneath was pure decadence — creamy, chocolatey, with that crisp, nutty crunch worth every foot of snow between me and home. If you order nothing else at LIV, order this. It’s pure joy with roots.
Tree Of LIV
By the time I pushed back from the table, the room had only grown livelier — the music louder, the dance floor stirring, LIV easing into its second life as a lounge while the plows struggled past outside like patient chaperones waiting for the party to end. It never really did. Nobody was in a rush to leave, myself included. Partly because of the company and the warmth. Partly because I’d ordered another drink, and abandoning it seemed like the kind of thing a man regrets on his deathbed.
One More For The Road
I lingered there a long while, watching the snow erase Water Street one flake at a time, and I thought about this quest of mine. All these years, all these tables, all this chasing after the ultimate culinary experience — and it occurred to me that maybe I’ve had the thing backwards. Maybe the perfect meal was never a destination at all. Maybe it’s a moving target, and it lands wherever good food meets the exact moment you need it most. A sushi roll is just a sushi roll — until it’s the brightest thing in a buried city. Then it’s a small miracle wrapped in rice.
Walking home that night, snow to my waist and grinning like an idiot, I realized LIV had given me exactly what its name promises. Not just a meal. A few hours of being fully, warmly, deliciously alive — while mother nature did its level best to convince us otherwise.
So do yourself a favour: book a table, bring your appetite, and stay a while after the plates are cleared. And if the forecast looks nasty? Go anyway. Especially then. The best nights don’t wait for good weather — and neither should you.
Until our next meal together,
Donny Love
DONNY LOVE IS THE STAR OF THE ADVENTURES UNKNOWN TELEVISION SERIES, HOST OF THE DONNY LOVE RADIO SHOW ON OZFM, AND A NEWFOUNDLANDER WHO’S RARELY STANDING STILL. HE’S OUT EXPLORING THE WORLD ONE ADVENTURE AT A TIME – AND WRITING ABOUT IT HONESTLY, SO YOU KNOW WHAT’S WORTH DOING AND WHAT’S NOT.
