The Business of Belonging

Inside Piano Piano, every detail tells a story. The same can be said for its founders.

Before anyone places an order, Piano Piano has already made an impression.

At the Colborne Street location in downtown Toronto, cheetah-print wallpaper stretches across the dining room. The bathrooms are drenched in bright orange. Downstairs, a vintage carousel surrounds the bar, giving the room the feeling of an old carnival reimagined for dinner service. Every corner feels intentional, playful and unmistakably Piano Piano.

When Victor Barry and Nikki McKean walk into the room, they somehow feel like part of the design themselves. Nikki arrives in a leopard-print jumpsuit that could have been pulled from the wallpaper, while Victor's floral knit shirt mirrors the warmth and personality of the restaurant around him.

Spend an afternoon with them and it becomes clear that none of it happened by accident.

Piano Piano has grown from a single restaurant into seven locations across Ontario, but throughout our conversation, Victor and Nikki rarely talked about growth for the sake of growth. They talked about experiences. About consistency. About people. About creating spaces that guests genuinely want to return to.

Photo: Piano Piano

That philosophy shows up in the smallest decisions.

Ask Victor how he'd improve a slow Monday night and he doesn't start talking about discounts. He talks about giving people a reason to come back. Half-price wines. A lasagna that's only available one night a week. Small rituals that become part of someone's routine.

"We're trying to build something that's going to last 20, 30, 40, 50 years," Victor says. "Location is important, but people have to keep coming back."

For Nikki, hospitality begins long before the food reaches the table.

As parents of young children, they often think about what makes a restaurant feel welcoming for families. Sometimes that means creating an incredible experience in under an hour. Great hospitality isn't measured by how long someone stays. It's about understanding what they need in that moment and making them feel like they belong.

Photo: Piano Piano

That balance between practicality and experience seems to shape almost every decision they make together.

Nowhere is that more obvious than with one of Piano Piano's most recognizable pieces.

Standing proudly inside the restaurant is a vintage carousel horse sourced from a collector in Miami. Before it was installed, Victor immediately started calculating what it would cost. Two seats would disappear from the dining room. Thousands of dollars in potential revenue would disappear with them.

Nikki saw something else. She saw a story. A conversation piece. A reason people would remember the restaurant long after they left.

The horse stayed.

It's a funny story, but it quietly captures how the two founders think. Victor naturally gravitates toward systems, operations and long-term sustainability. Nikki sees atmosphere, emotion and the feeling guests take home with them. Neither perspective wins. The business is stronger because both exist.

As Piano Piano expanded, those perspectives became even more important. "The second restaurant shows you every flaw," Victor says.

It's a lesson many founders eventually learn. What works when you're in one room every day doesn't automatically work across multiple locations. Culture has to be built intentionally. Consistency can't rely on memory. Leadership has to exist long before the founders arrive.

Today, much of that thinking has become part of Piano Piano's operating system. Pasta is produced in one commissary kitchen to ensure every location serves the same product. Leaders are developed from within. Every new challenge becomes another opportunity to improve the playbook.

Photo: Piano Piano

"The systems that are in place right now took time," Nikki says. "Restaurant one to two is huge because it shows you all of the flaws. From there, you really start to systemize what's working, what's not working and where you need to change things."

If Victor often talks about systems, Nikki keeps returning to people. When we ask what leadership skill she'll spend the rest of her career improving, her answer comes instantly.

"Listening."

"Am I just waiting to talk, or am I really listening? There's a huge difference."

It's a simple answer, but one that seems to underpin everything they've built. Listening to guests. Listening to employees. Listening to what a neighbourhood needs before deciding what Piano Piano should become there.

Victor approaches decision-making with a similar balance. "Data is important," he says. "But always remember that data is looking backwards. You use it as an educated guess, and then make your gut choice."

Perhaps that's what makes Piano Piano feel different. Every room is imaginative, but nothing feels random. Every system is intentional, but nothing feels rigid. The business has grown without losing the personality that made people fall in love with it in the first place.

By the end of our conversation, it was difficult to separate the founders from the restaurants they'd built. The warmth. The creativity. The attention to detail. The structure behind the scenes. Every one of those qualities reflects Victor and Nikki as much as it reflects Piano Piano.

Seven restaurants may be the headline, but it isn't the story. The story is about two founders who continue to approach hospitality with equal parts discipline and imagination, creating places that people don't simply visit. They return.