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I can't work out where the food is from. Maybe the Middle East? There's yoghurt, parsley, lentils and lemon on the menu, but also a long list of vodkas. Maybe Ukrainian? Georgian? Inside, a couple are rubbing their bellies like cartoon cats that snacked on a mouse. They beckon me in with vigorous waves. I may as well go. I have been walking along Queen Street, Toronto, and I am hungry. I have come from the Done Right Inn, a homely dive bar with Dead Kennedies on the jukebox. The beaten sofas would have been a great Sunday refuge, but they ran out of food. I walk into Banu and feel I have crashed a party only to discover that I was a guest all along.

"Come in! Have a seat! It's our first day!" It is their first day of business. "Do we look nice? What do you think? You didn't know the type of food?" I love Iranian food. It is delicate and exciting. My Aunt Soori and my friend Andrew's mother cooked it for me when I was a kid. They both left Iran after the revolution. So did the siblings who run Banu. They were toddlers at the time.

I feel like a 17th-century spice trader at a desert feast as they bring me home-squeezed pomegranate juice, yoghurt sprinkled with rose petals, aubergine paste with whey and walnuts and shashlik lamb wrapped in thin lawasa bread with fresh mint and basil leaves. I ask Samarin, one of Banu's owners, about the vodka. "It was the main drink before the revolution. At truck stops, the drivers would stop for a couple of shots and a kebab. We're trying to recreate the cosmopolitanism of our country in the 70s." Samarin is petite, fizzing with gentle energy. Her shirt reads: "Rosa Parks: Tehran Needs You! For I Am Also Jim Crowed." "It's apartheid for women. I went back in 1999 and couldn't stand strangers telling me to cover myself. Iran used to be such a progressive society." There is a flash of pride in her eyes. "There's still a huge counter-culture - 70% of the population is under 30, but see politics as dirty. Bush is a retard. Without him, there would be no Ahmadinejad."

The back of her shirt reads "love" in Farsi. There is a lot of love in Banu: love of food and love of a lost home. I leave satisfied, full of food and hope for Samarin and her brothers and sisters.

· The writer is the lead singer with Franz Ferdinand

Reader, take a seat. Get comfortable. Put your feet up on your ottoman -- or the pilfered California citrus crate you use as an ottoman -- for the story of Banu is a story of love, in all its beautiful and horrible manifestations.

Let us pretend for a moment you have just had your heart hacksawed from your chest by the love of your life and fed to ravenous birds of prey. You are tired. You are tender. Your tear ducts have long since dried up and you are fairly certain they resemble the ancient wisps of yarn hanging off an aunt's whimsical Christmas sweater. You have eaten and drunk everything in your house, including a package of Crabtree & Evelyn potpourri and the remnants of a bottle of 13-year-old cooking sherry.

So off you head to Banu, with its clean lines, tranquil teal and cobalt mosaics, gently streaming water fixture and airy floor-to-ceiling window that catches the odd gust of warm city breeze from Queen Street West.

Samira, Banu's gentle, quietly exacting co-owner, delivers an unfussy, yet carnivorously esoteric menu. With caveats. All cuts come in kabob-form, certified organic from the neighbouring Healthy Butcher. There are nuggets of silky flash-grilled liver ($12) and impeccably seared beef tenderloin filet ($25). There is lamb ($21); there are prawns (market price). And there is heart ($10).

But no. Now is not a time for heart, no matter how fervently you believe in xenotransplantation. Tender heart is what got you into this deathly mess in the first place.

Samira explains that the preparation of these superb lamb testicles ($11) -- or, as they're called on the carte, "urban oysters" -- is difficult. No need to launch into the literal ins-and-outs of the process, but once marinated for two days in premium vodka, grilled and christened with sea salt and pepper, sheathed in warm, pliable lawash bread, and doused with a healthy squirt of lime, you'll wonder why you've avoided being a baller for so long. They are delicate, similar to kidneys, but paler and softer. And you get lucky, because they're served in sevens. (Insert orgy joke here.)

For you chickens, Banu takes the flightless bird to surprising heights -- the wings ($13) are meaty and squidgy, slick from a bright saffron-citrus marinade. The meat lays on taftoon bread, ready for assembly alongside sprigs of basil, mint, a sweet grilled tomato and one eye-popping, pleasingly astringent radish.

And for those seeking to ease into the meal with a little catharsis, the nan o paneer ($9) is imperative -- thick slices of dark barbari bread flanked with fresh jade stems of mint, an artfully carved shallot, dry-toasted walnut halves and generous slabs of smooth, salty sheep's milk cheese that discreetly zings like a Bulgarian feta's sexy blue-blooded cousin. Tears, if available, could have -- should have -- been shed over what might be the best incarnation of eggplant I've ever shoved into my gaping maw: the kashkeh bademjan ($7), a whipped goopy mixture rounded off with whey paste and a beautiful combination of ingredients I was too dazed with magical satisfaction to ask about.

It takes balls to venture into a trade as fickle and unkind as the restaurant business, and heart to survive. Banu has both -- in spirit and on the menu -- which, I hope, means they'll be around for a while.

Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad might not approve, but this four-week-old restaurant's slick white interior, Buddha Bar-soundtrack and extensive vodka menu -- a nod to pre-revolution tippling -- is sure to appeal to scenesters. It's also attracted hipster Franz Ferdinand crooner and food critic Alex Kapronos. But don't let the booze or the buzz distract you from chef and co-owner Amir Mohyeddin's menu -- which features certified organic meat kebabs on taftoon flat bread with grilled tomato and fresh basil, mint and tarragon. Choices include minced beef koobideh ($17), beef "shaped like a leaf" ($23) and exotic offerings such as flash-grilled liver ($12), heart ($10) and lamb testicles ($11).

Tehranto rocks: After one glass of sour cherry juice ($2.50/$5.00) I finally know the meaning of the word ambrosial.

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In all my years on the cutting edge of Toronto's culinary scene, I've never learned of a new resto in another newspaper that I didn't already know about.

That's until I read Franz Ferdinand singer Alex Kapranos's weekly on-the-road food diary in British broadsheet The Guardian (www.guardian.co.uk), of all places. There, Kapranos writes about a west-side T.O. Persian eatery that's news to me.

After spending a few hours at the Done Right Inn, which he describes as a homely dive bar with Dead Kennedys on the jukebox and no food left in the kitchen, he walked into Banu. It was their first day of business.

Since then, two-month-old Banu subtitled Iranian Kabob Vodka Bar has been building a clientele by word of mouth. It's not difficult to guess what caught Kapranos's eye that April afternoon.

From the street, the inviting room looks like a chic lounge, all low, boxy, white vinyl banquettes, tables tiled in turquoise ceramic, a jazzy ethno-dance soundtrack on the CD player that suggests the Buddha Bar by way of Baghdad.

A quick scan of the card reveals that Banu not only has heart (del, $10), but balls. Literally. Banu is the only resto in town that serves lamb's testicles (dom balan, $11). Supplied by the Healthy Butcher like all of the organic meat on the short card of kebabs and marinated in vodka, they're definitely not for the squeamish. If you were to taste them blindfolded, though, you'd probably guess mushy meatballs, which, come to think of it, is exactly what they are.

The heart comes cubed and a bit chewy, not the tender steak-like morsels I remember from El Bodegon. And if that's not an awful lot of offal, how about a starter of braised and sliced cow's tongue (zaban, $9) sauced in a mild curried cream? Thought not.

But it's not all gizzards 'n' guts at Banu. A quartet of thick, meaty lamb chops (shish-like, $21) arrive exquisitely pink at their centres and beautifully fumed from the grill, a pinch of table-side sumac lifting them into overdrive.

A cousin to kibbeh, koobideh ($17) turns out to be two meaty cylinders of smoky minced ground beef, big enough to share at lunch. A generous portion of beef tenderloin (barg, $23) gets cut against the grain and shaped like a palm leaf before being grilled to medium-rare perfection.

All mains come swathed in a large sheet of soft lavash flatbread. Inside, find a grilled Roma-style tomato, lengths of green scallion, a raw red radish or two and leaves of fresh mint, tarragon and basil. Rip off a strip of bread, grab a hunk of kebab, add some herb, wrap it up and and dip into a bowl of yogurt thickened with shallots (mast o mooseer, $5).

The only two desserts on offer are both brought in. But who's complaining when they're only three bucks the first a flaky puff pastry square layered with crème p#226;tissière, the second a sponge cake rollette filled with pistachio cream?

Polishing off the last of our tumblers of pomegranate juice ($2.50 small/$5 large), we lay waste to the complimentary bowl of fabulously salted mixed nuts on our table. About to leave, we ask first-time restaurateur Samira Mohyeddin, who owns Banu with her sister Salome and brother/chef Amir, if she remembers the dapper Scottish pop star.

"When he left, a customer who recognized him asked me if I knew who he was," says Samira, whose family fled Tehran 28 years ago and who's currently taking graduate courses at U of T in modern Middle Eastern history and women's studies. "I don't listen to the radio, so I had no idea.

As every devoted tabloid reader knows, when a celebrity eats in public, the press reports on every last detail—unless you’re Franz Ferdinand front man Alex Kapranos, in which case you do it yourself. The lanky Scottish singer of hyper-addictive hipster anthems recently wandered into Banu, a spanking new Iranian restaurant on Queen West, with bandmate Nick McCarthy. Apparently, the pair really dug the fresh pomegranate juice, shishlik lamb and lawash bread, because Kapranos subsequently penned a glowing review of the spot for The Guardian. “I love Iranian food. It is delicate and exciting,” wrote the Glasgow-based rocker, reminiscing about eating it as a child (Kapranos, a former chef, is moonlighting as a travelling food columnist for the U.K. newspaper during this year’s world tour). Banu owner Samira Mohyeddin says the pair lingered over tea on low-slung banquettes for about three hours, chatting with her about politics, George W. Bush (“He’s scary”) and the Iranian revolution before departing to play a show at the Ricoh Coliseum. Another diner advised Mohyeddin not to charge the musicians for their meal, and to display a photo of them in the window. But she was puzzled. “I’m like, why?” she recalls, scrunching up her nose. “Don’t you know who they are? That’s Franz Ferdinand!” said the diner. But the name of the stratospherically successful four-piece didn’t register: “I automatically thought of the archduke of Austria.”

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Banu Iranian kebob and vodka bar has been open for just two months and it's getting great write-ups already… including one in the Guardian by Alex Kapranos the lead singer of Franz Ferdinand.

Behind the buzz is the pairing of a long list of vodkas and great Iranian fare including some unusual meats.

Although it's their first restaurant, the owners are not newbies to the entertaining scene. For the past 25 years they've been holding huge Iranian New Year parties with 1,000 people attending.

You may be thinking that vodka, drinking and partying aren't pastimes normally associated with Iran, but I was told that vodka bars like Banu were really popular in 70s in Iran and Banu pays homage to that time.

Iran used to make a very good vodka. Samira said vodka was a staple in Iran. You'd have truck stops serving vodka paired with the kind of rustic food you'll find at Banu.

They have great appetizers - eggplant, yogurt based dips presented beautifully with pita that's cut into long strips then folded and wrapped together by another piece of pita. Very pretty.

The entrees consist of lamb kebobs, beef tenderloin, prawns... all organic meat from the neighbourhood butcher.

As well they also serve some unusual items like tongue, hearts, and lamb testicles.

I tried the testicles with a male friend and he definitely had a harder time swallowing them. They are sliced into manageable morsels. And they taste kind of like scallops with a hint of bacon.

Banu Iranian Kebob and Vodka Bar is a very hip looking bar. It's all white with teal accents but it's the kind of place you can linger, chatting with the friendly owners and playing backgammon.

The appetizers are around the $10 mark, the entrees, $20 to $25 and there are 15 different kinds of vodka from $7 to $15.

This tiny Iranian kebob house is a gem. Appetizers we loved include a kebob of ground meat wrapped in Persian flatbread with mint, yogurt and salsa, eggplant spread, lentil salad and salad with pumpkin seeds and rose petals. My favourite main courses were the lamb chop kebobs and the beef kebobs with pomegranate molasses. Be sure to have a drink of freshly squeezed pomegranate juice and try one of the vodkas from around the world. Meat is from the Healthy Butcher nearby.

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On two separate occasions, totally independently of each other, a waitress filled with deep regret tells us, “We are out of lamb testicles. Our apologies.” That’s unfortunate for us, but readers interested in the Queen West spot’s cojones can refer to Kathryn Borel’s review posted back in May 2006.

But even without the balls or heart, this one of a kind hookah/vodka bar and restaurant — whose décor pays delightful tribute to 1970s Iranian nightlife — is worth a visit. Its Persian sign is glaringly obvious among all the English ones, and yet to track down the name of a place with no English to go on is painfully difficult. It’s like that attractive guy you saw on the subway and wish you said something to but didn’t, and now you want to know his name but it’s too late because he’s gone, and also he doesn’t speak English. That’s Banu.

Inside, it’s all about the retro-chic vibe. Hookah pipes and backgammon boards enhance the resto-lounge’s Middle Eastern authenticity, as well as to elevate you above the average dining and drinking experience. Blue-tiled tabletops and sleek white furniture provide the perfect setting for a drink, a smoke and a schmooze. The fruity flavoured “tobacco,” however, is 100 per cent herbal, and not actually tobacco at all. So quit pretending that it’s giving you a head rush, because it’s not.

A quick word to the wise: Don’t be the one who asks the waitress to recommend a tasty Persian beer — your request will be met with a look of confusion that quickly morphs into “Silly Westerner. Alcohol is not permitted in Iran, and thus, Iran has no indigenous beers.” The 17 international vodka varieties on the menu, however, certainly fill this void, as do the non-Iranian beers (although I suppose all beers are non-Iranian). I opt for a fresh pomegranate juice with sour cherry, and it’s the perfect combination of sweet and tart. In fact, the sweet, gem-like seeds are used to garnish several other vodka-based drinks, which makes sense: Banu is like the little pomegranate seed of West Queen West — a tasty gem that complements its surroundings, but is still refreshing in its own right.

Ever since being written up in The Guardian in April 2006 by crooner–cum–food reviewer Alex Kapranos—lead singer of Scottish band Franz Ferdinand—this Queen West spot has been setting off the local hipster radar. An homage to 1970s Iranian nightlife, the “kabob and vodka bar” is owned and operated by the affable Mohyeddin siblings (Salome, Samira and Amir), who decorated the long, narrow room with low-slung white banquettes, teal-tiled tables and fetching water features. Peckish diners can stave off hunger by noshing on complimentary bowls of mixed nuts while they wait for such eyebrow-raising Persian fare as braised cow tongue and lamb testicles. Less adventurous options include eggplant-and-yogurt dips; everything goes well with the 17 different vodkas on offer. Served with a side of fresh juice—pomegranate and sour cherry are favourites—the Saska, made with saffron-infused vodka with pom seeds ($9), can also be consumed on the second-floor mezzanine (perfect for private parties) or the front patio, surrounded by patrons taking advantage of the bar’s shisha pipes and backgammon boards.

"Try the bison grass vodka, and chase it with home squeezed pomagranate juice." - Stephanie Verge, arts and entertainment editor, Toronto Life magazine. A slick and snug, blue-and-white, 70's style boite on Queen Street West; nibbles are toothsome and lusty in flavor (organic meat kabobs on mint and tarragon-dressed taftoon flat bread). 777 Queen St W,tel +14167772268. www.banu.ca