Historically, the Troubadour tradition began in eleventh century France, and subsequently spread throughout Western Europe. Its translation denotes the composing and performing of music, typically in the Occitan dialect of southern France, and French linguists claim its literal meaning stems from the Occitan term for “finder.”

Today, on the other side of the world, multiple centuries later and ridiculously far-removed from its original meaning, The Troubadour is not so much a tradition as it is a bar, though it does welcome all genres of live music, and if the French etymology is correct, it truly is quite the find.

The place is barely three weeks old, and already, as co-owner Kristy Hollidge puts it, “It feels like my living room. I wanted people to come in here and feel relaxed and at home.” She and her husband, a French Canadian musician, saw the space and immediately knew they wanted to do something with it. “We thought, this space is amazing, and yeah, the start-up cost is going to be nuts, but it’s alcohol — everyone buys alcohol, how can you go wrong?”

You can’t. The Troubadour’s popularity has already caught on like wildfire in this refreshingly tight-knit community, simply via word of mouth. It already teems with regulars (all of whom Kristy knows by name), and the welcoming mosaic glass candleholders that line the window ledges will surely reel in many more. Also, it helps that the place stays open several hours after all the other bars on the strip have closed.

Though there’s still some work the owners want to do, the original tin ceiling and exposed brick are being kept in place. There is an old, upright piano in the corner, and, as a surprisingly eloquent drunk man put it, “everything in here is an insignia of the interrelation between the bar and the history of the neighbourhood.” As it turns out, Heintzman & Co piano company had set up shop along here in the mid-1800s. The man may have been banned from every other watering hole in the area, but he certainly knows what he’s talking about.

“This is the first place here with both character and quality,” he quips. “Before, we’d have to go all the way to fucking Bloor Street to get a drink.” It speaks to the owners’ character that this man is welcome here, when he frequently gets booted from every other place along Dundas West. “We would never not let someone in here,” says Kristy. In fact, the couple has even made a deal with a local homeless man, where he gives them his ID in return for a couple drinks (only micros on tap), and at the end of the week he pays them back. “You won’t find any homeless people in here. Other bars get them all the time, but they know that if you come in here, you can’t get something for nothing. He’s never not paid us back, either.”

Adding to the place’s genuine air of hospitality, Kristy makes all the food herself, from scratch. One of her regulars overhears us talking and opines, “This place has the best French onion soup you’ll ever have.” When we show interest, Kristy promptly fixes us a bowl, and doesn’t even charge us for it. (Note: It really may be the most delicious French onion soup ever.)

Added bonus: There is an organic, fair trade chocolate place across the street called Delight, which Kristy raves about excitedly as she discusses her love for the area. And, as if I couldn’t possibly fall more in love with a place, she goes to her fridge, takes out her last piece of Delight chocolate and gives it to me.

It turns our there are now two ways to my heart: French onion soup, and handmade organic chocolate. The menu may be printed up on a crinkly couple of watermarked computer pages, but if you ask me, it just makes The Troubadour that much more of a find.