Jane and Finch. That’s Torontonian for “poverty & crime”. I had never been.

Toronto’s outer ring is an uninspired sprawl of dealerships, high rises and strip malls. I parked at the right address, but first impressions weren’t promising. The door was open, and a hand-scrawled scrap of cardboard had an arrow pointing to a deserted main floor. But there was noise  downstairs, and I finally arrived at the Panafest Spot.

White tile floor, orange sherbet-coloured walls, empty save two women and their young daughters at a table, a small bar, an NBA playoff game blasting from the wide screen. I walked up to a small service window, peered through a wall of fried chicken at the kitchen staff – three African women giving me a look as if I must be lost.

I explained my quest. Eyes widened, mouths smiled, and soon came a plate generously heaped with Jollof rice and friend chicken. Jollof is a typical west African preparation of rice, spices, tomatoes and onions. It went down well, matched with Fanta Orange in an old-style bottle that the server explained was also common in Ghana. The Panafest Spot is more of a take-out place, and throughout my meal, Ghanaians came to pick up their orders. It will be packed for the World Cup.