A restaurant under siege: Toto in the line of fire
Midnight hours in late June found the Tel Aviv dining room of Toto, the haute cuisine cornerstone led by chef Yaron Shalev, rattled by Iranian missiles brushing the city. Shattered glass told only part of the truth—behind the headlines, life in the kitchen goes on, driven by a stubborn belief that good food can anchor a community through peril.
Through years of pandemic closures, reopened doors, and a wave of protests against sweeping reforms, Toto has endured. When a new wave of turmoil arrived on 7 October, the restaurant felt the tremor again: doors closed, fears of debt and instability, a city navigating both martial and civic crises at once.
The double reality: luxury dining beside a city in pain
Tel Aviv’s Toto exists at a paradox: a crown jewel of refinement—a place where ingredients are meticulously sourced from across Europe, and the dining room feels like a well-oiled machine of precision—paired with a daily reminder that the city itself is under siege. The nearby Chotupim Square, now a symbol of the hostage crisis, looms as a constant, a stark contrast to the restaurant’s carefully curated menus and table settings.
Shalev, 43, has never shied away from carrying the weight alone. Years of growth, crisis, and a near-miss with a multi‑million‑dollar renovation left him with clear boundaries: Toto is a single-restaurant statement, not a brand chasing global footprints. He explains that the restaurant’s strength comes from staying true to a core idea—performing excellent food for a loyal crowd that has trusted Toto for two decades.
Leadership and resilience: a chef’s solitary stewardship
For two decades, Shalev has steered Toto with no backers or partners, weathering every storm—from the pandemic’s economic storm surge to the social upheavals that tested the city’s nerves. He mentions that during the crisis and inevitable uncertainty, he could have pursued flashy expansions, but he chose a more grounded path: small, carefully timed openings, evening service only at first, and a focus on sustainability and craft over spectacle.
In interviews and conversations with staff and loyal guests, Shalev’s philosophy comes through: the restaurant is not a stage for ego, but a studio for cuisine where every plate respects its ingredients and every guest matters, whether it’s a physician, a general, an artist, or a businessperson sealing a deal over a plate of gnocchi or turbot.
The comeback and the costs of staying open
After reopening in March 2022, Toto faced a new kind of trial: a market in flux, a labor shortage, and the challenge of maintaining quality when supply chains and prices swing. He argues against the simplified critique that “fine dining is expensive,” saying the real issue is the cost of living and the value of ingredients, staff, and a dining experience that people trust. “If I priced only by ingredient costs, the menu would be unaffordable,” he says, underscoring a philosophy that focuses on balance and value rather than price alone.
And then there were the human costs. A staff member’s son was killed at a party, a reminder that the war’s shadows extend into every kitchen nook. Yet Toto kept opening, day after day, with the utmost sensitivity toward guests who came for a moment of normalcy amid alarms and sirens. Shalev’s posture is not one of bravado but quiet resolve: when you can help others feel heard or seen in the midst of fear, you do so.
Michelin dreams, kosher questions, and a musician’s palate
There was talk of a Michelin star—a potential validation that Toto belonged among the world’s most acclaimed dining rooms—but Shalev treats such pursuits as a pleasant possibility rather than a strategic goal. He believes the Israeli dining scene is singular, arguing that true refinement in Israel often manifests in authenticity and restraint more than in prestige ratings. He is not swayed by tours or tourist hype; rather, he measures success by the long-term loyalty of those who return day after day.
The restaurant seats around 400 for lunch and dinner, with Sundays reserved for rest. He rejects the notion that Toto is a “kosher restaurant”—citing a preference for culinary freedom and an interest in serving a diverse clientele without umbrellas of ritual constraints. The focus remains on the plate: careful technique, honest flavors, and respect for the ingredients. The ongoing conflict has sharpened his sense of the craft and the price of resilience.
A future beyond Toto?
Where does this lead Toto and Yaron Shalev? He hints at possible future ventures, perhaps abroad, but his priority remains the kitchen in Tel Aviv—an institution that has survived crises while continuing to push the boundaries of what fine dining can be in a city under pressure. In his words, Toto’s resilience is not a triumph over hardship but a commitment to preserving a space where people can come together, even when the world outside is in flux.
Conclusion: Toto as a symbol of endurance
In a city where the horizon shifts daily—from missiles to markets, barricades to boardrooms—Toto stands as a chef’s vow to keep cooking, keep serving, and keep faith with a community that needs beauty as much as sustenance. The story of Yaron Shalev and Toto is a reminder that cuisine can be an act of resilience, a shared ritual that helps people endure even when the future feels uncertain.
