Eating at a bad restaurant is like getting a tattoo when you’re drunk – in the moment it seems like a good idea, you pay, don’t remember what just happened and then wake up regretting it the next morning. I can’t count the number of times I’ve been out to eat, looked at my bill and not remember a thing of what I just ate, pay then shake my fists all the way to the car. That’s why I usually base my restaurant outings on suggestions or buzz I’ve picked up from my restaurant spidey senses. Although I know that not everyone has the same tastes, I’m one to always give something a shot and I love to try new things. That’s why when the senses were buzzing about this new spot downtown I knew something was up, also the fact that someone suggested the place to me and had high praises for it solidified my decision of checking out Deville Diner Bar on Stanley, right in downtown.
Nine letter restaurant name that only has one vowel – Schwartz’s Montreal Hebrew Delicatessen
by Jason
written by Jason
So “A” had been planning her trip to Montreal for a couple of weeks now and I was completely psyched and excited to see her. Being away for three years, there’s been a bunch of places that have popped up such as Icehouse, Osteria Venti, and Biarritz, some awesome new joints that I’m pretty sure that Asia is lacking. So you can guess my surprise when she told me where she wanted to go the most when coming back to town. I picked her up form the airport and even before going back to my place to unload luggage or even give me my awesome snacks, we headed to one of Montreal’s landmarks, a beacon of Montreal history and culinary subculture, the mothership that calls in all returning expatriates… Schwartz’s
Remember in elementary school everyone had one of those awesome snap bracelets? You know the ones that were made of cheap sheet metal that would eventually cut throughout the rad neon coloured material covering this sharp hazard that ultimately inspired some sort of child safety department in government? I remember kids would walk around with slit wrists and pale due to the loss of blood they suffered at the hands of these bracelets and the price of being cool. Regardless of the potential of falling over unconscious in the middle of Homeroom with lacerations and blood squirting from their wrists; remember how if you didn’t have one, you weren’t one of the cool kids – this can be attributed to anything these days anyways. I still feel out of the loop for have never watched Dexter or Entourage, so if you don’t get the snap bracelet reference, DON’T JUDGE ME. For this week’s post, I decided to revisit a Japanese joint that’s been the focus of glares of astonishment, personal ridicule and amazement of wondering what planet you’ve been living on if you still haven’t been to, Kazu.
There’s nothing that pisses my dad off more than the AC NOT being turned on before he gets home, the idiot neighbours who like their park their ugly shitbox in front of our house… and trying to find parking in Chinatown. I have to admit, fighting over parking spots, let alone trying to navigate orange cones, reserved bus lanes and dodging falling concrete overpasses can get strenuous when all you want to do is eat. We were told about this Chinese spot way up-town a few years ago and we have been going there each time hunger wins over the desire to put ourselves through anxiety and headaches.
When I say “pub grub” what do you think of? An old dusty basket packed to the top with gloopy-suaced chicken wings and recycled carrot and celery stick? Fries fried in oil that’s probably as old as the recipe for the stout they have on tap? Now what do you think of when I say “Gasto-Pub”? Contrary to what the name implies, it’s not a place where you’ll get some stomach bug and forced into isolation from friends and family and treated like you own a Clay Aiken album.
My “vanilla couple”, (the ones who like to order the same thing unless I yell at them – as illustrated in my post about dinner at Osteria Venti) and I hit up this spot overlooking the Jean Talon Market. I cornered them and bullied them into ordering different things this time, I refuse to try a new menu and have only 2 different meals amongst three people! We went to check out Le Pourvoyeur – gastro-pub to grub on the menu and try to decide if they were pub, or restaurant, or proverbially, chicken or egg.
If you can’t identify your uncle in this place, than that “uncle” is really your DAD! – Chez Doval
by Jason
written by Jason
If you grew up in Montreal – or Canada for that matter, did you ever have that uncle who had a dry-bar in the basement? You know what I’m talking about, that bar in the corner of the basement, tiled with black tinted frosted mirrored glass, lined with decorative Niagara Falls collector plates and on the shelves were the graveyard where commemorative 1970s’ Presidential spoons went to die? It was facing a floor mounted television with the wickedest set of rabbit ears, buttressed by the most badass four feet speakers with a turntable behind a glass cabinet? This my friends, is the forefather of the revolution in home renovation and committed men sanctuaries; what society regards as the grand-daddy of what we would now call a “man-cave.” The sentiment of the gatherings of testosterone are found as glyphs of a prehistoric man-cave images, etched on the walls of caves… or covered up gyp-rock. If you any idea what I’m talking about, I have news for you… that basement opened a restaurant.
In preparation to the second edition of the Shut Up and Eat Food Face-off, a while ago, I informally polled both my Facebook page and Twitter and asked you guys which is the “definitive” and your favourite “Montreal smoked meat”. The front runner was obviously the famous mainstay on St. Laurent, Schwartz’s delicatessen, followed by random shouts of The Main, and Smokemeat Pete. Montrealers take their smoked meat seriously, and this goes without saying. When asked what Montrealers are passionate about, the things that come to mind are hockey, poutine, bagels, smoked meat and the amount of cleavage Mutsumi Takehashi is showing at 6pm. Okay, maybe not that last one, cos I don’t think about that either. The idea was brewing in my head for a while now; get the “best” smoked meats all in one place, have a bunch of people taste them all at the same time, and find definitively which is the superior meat.
I was planning a welcome back BBQ (if you’re been following the count, it would be #9 in the past three months) for a buddy of mine who just recently returned safe and sound from a tour in Afghanistan. We all take turns hosting parties every summer, and as a result of this circumstance, I told him on the the eve of his deployment that I’ll wait for him to get back to have my BBQ, so he won’t miss out on any of the gluttonous grilling gluttony… little did he know he would get back from the war and find himself in another one; The war of SMOKED MEAT.
A carnivore, a vegetarian, and a vegan walk into a restaurant… – Restaurant Arepera
by Jason
written by Jason
The restaurantscape of Montreal has always been full of variety, providing Montreal great eating options. I’m so pleased with the fact that recently, there have been more and more of my ethnic peoples representing and opening up small family eateries and reminding Montreal that it is us that makes the city rich in multiculturalism and diversity. From restaurant chefs going back to their roots to open up pop-ups serving spicy brochettes typical of those found on the streets of Tianjin, or pub grub found in the 10 seater side-alley bars of Tokyo; the variety of restaurants Montreal is now as extensive as Giada’s adjective dictionary – pay attention to how she describes her food the next time you watch her.
What is your relationship with food like? Do you have a favorite meal that you go to when you’re feeling down? Is there a dish that evokes certain memories and emotions that you can envision yourself in particular place and time? As I’ve come to eat my way across Montreal, I’ve created associations with restaurants and dishes that will either bring back a flood of delicious memories, or the horror and fear of getting stuck in traffic after an unpleasant run-in with a bowl of ice cream and a bottle of diet coke.
Little did I know, I would forge a very special relationship with a restaurant before I even stepped foot in the place; it’s been going on for the last 2 years. Someone suggested to me, Hwang Kum, a Korean spot on Sherbrooke. I went twice to check it out, only to find the place closed both times and I took it as a sign and decided to shun it off my list forever; if I’m not meant to eat there, then I’ll stop trying. Then it happened… from the corner of my eye, like spotting accidental cleavage, I notice the “OUVERT” side of the sign was facing the window, I parked the car and IT.WAS.ON!
If you’re familiar with Montreal, or Quebec for that matter, you’d know that some of the things that we are most famous for are: failed baseball franchises, squeaky cheese, horse shit on cobble-stoned streets, and Celine Dion – things which some may argue are synonymous with each other. So you would probably be just as surprised as I am with the emergence of burger joints around the cty. From high-end places that offer pseudo-kobe beef to the DIY places that let you pick your own toppings, burgers don’t rank high up on the list of Quebec exports, let alone as key culinary icons.
So as these burger places start to pepper the city and pop-up more frequent than the zits on a zit-faced 15 year old living off a summer diet of Redbull and poutine, a buddy and I decided to go check out La Boulette, a neighborhood burger joint that’s been sitting on my list for a few months now.