"And I resolved yet again to cut back on Montecristos, medium-fats on rye, single malts, that delicious beef-marrow hors d'oeuvre they serve at L'Express, XO cognac, marbled rib steaks at Moishe's, caffeine, and everything else that was bad for me."Barney Panofsky, “Barney’s Version” I’ve been compulsively reading every novel written by Mordecai Richler the past few months. Not the greatest stylist and his plots are often weak, but he writes magnificent, wickedly funny dialogue that more than compensates. His protagonists are always variants of himself; third generation Jewish kids who grew up in blue collar households in the Mile End/Plateau neighborhood of Montreal, coming of age post WWII. Striving, abrasive, always aching for something indefinable that’s missing in their lives, their mortality always lurking in the background. Loveable assholes essentially. He tells the same story in each of his novels but there’s a universal quality that has really struck a chord with me, a second generation German-American kid who grew up in the 60’s playing hockey in the alleys of Ravenswood. Ich bin ein Montrealer.
My wife and I’ve been here three times before, it’s one of our favorite places. Plus now I’ve got the whole Mordecai Richler obsession going on too, so this trip this past weekend was especially fun.
First stop, as it has been on every trip, was Friday night dinner at
L’Express. This is not the place to go if you’re in search of mind-bending food or innovative techniques, but it’s just solid, solid bistro fare served in an intimate room with an incredible energy and a great professional wait staff. Richler would have been proud of me as I knocked back a CC & Soda at the bar, followed up by a bottle of Burgundy and a couple of XO Hennessy’s to wash down the bone marrow, rillettes and steak tartare.


Saturday was devoted to strolling the Plateau, marching through 5" of freshly fallen snow. Montrealers must be among the most fanciful people on the planet. Despite averaging 2 meters of snow each winter they decided that these ubiquitous lacy, winding exterior staircases were just the right architectural solution to combat the snow. And their public spaces, including the metro and restaurants, have the heat cranked up to 80F. Saw plenty of women out to dinner in sleeveless dresses and halters, so they expect the heat. As if by defying the winter it won't exist. Must work, everyone seemed to be smiling goofily and utterly carefree. State sponsored socialism with subsidized rents helps too I guess. And I fit right in with them - what better winter escape for a midwesterner than Montreal eh?

For whatever reason the Portuguese decided to stop their voyage up the St. Lawrence and called it quits once they reached Montreal and Toronto. Too bad, because there's none of this tasty food is to be found in our parts. Per our bartender's suggestion we stopped at
Chez Doval, which proudly advertises their Charbon du Bois grill.

For lunch we started with grilled chouriços (outstanding), shrimp in garlic sauce (you can never go wrong with this combo) and marinated asparagus washed down with some vinho verde. Followed up by the frango - chicken rubbed in piri piri sauce and finished off over the charcoal grill (picture is of a half order). Mercy!


Trying to walk off this beast of a lunch we proceeded down "The Main", la Boulevard St. Laurent. From Mont Royal down to Sherbrooke is one temptation after another. Fatted ducks and tubs of rendered duck fat on display at this Epicerie/Bistro


Hundreds of coffees for sale and an unbelievable aroma of fresh roasted beans at La Vielle Europe

Slabs of smoked meat on display in the window of Schwartz's, as lovingly arranged as any Marshall Field's Christmas window (forgive me Mordecai, I couldn't find room for a medium fat on this trip)

Dinner was the second seating at 8:30 at La P'Tit Plateau, a BYOB owned by a family from southwestern France. I dunno, a confluence of things made this my least favorite meal of the trip. The place is small, maybe 15 tables so a reservation is a must. The staff was frantically clearing out the stragglers from the first seating and bussing the tables when we arrived. We got seated and opened our wine, and then the owner comes by to ask our name, and then they can't find the reservation. Seems our concierge screwed it up and made it for Monday, which I found quite odd because the request came in writing via email so it would be pretty difficult to misinterpret. So now the owner got all stressed out about this, but they managed to solve it by bringing in an extra table for the late arriver. And then on top of it this place was really hot, after walking from the Metro sensibly layered from the cold I got in here and immediately got soaked in sweat and could never cool off - especially after having to deal with a freaked out owner scolding me in French. And I wasn't really hungry after two supersized meals at L'Express and Chez Doval. So I guess I didn't do the cassoulet much justice, it was tasty enough but I could barely put a dent in it

Sunday was market day. I really envy cities with permanent markets, for the home cook they're fantastic places to shop. We've only been to Marche Atwater on our previous trips. But Jean Talon seems to get all the love by the travel and food writers so we decided to check it out. I dunno, I was pretty disappointed with the setup here in the winter. The display in the main building was pretty weak, and I didn't feel like touring the stores on the perimeter streets. The large fromagerie was deserted, with only one person working the counter - not a good sign. So we popped over to Marche Atwater and stopped at our favorite cheese store ever,
La Fromagerie Atwater. This place rocks, always busy with a large turnover, but you always get all the attention you need from one of the many attendants - you can sample away to your heart's content and they're extremely knowledgeable about the producers. We always make a point of bringing back an assortment of Quebecois raw milk cheeses and pâté, which they are happy to vacuum seal for you to expedite the trip back home. On a side note, this was the first time we got the 3rd degree from US customs re bringing in cheese - I thought they might give me a hard time re the raw milk, but the agent was more concerned about provenance. It seems like they don't have a problem with Canadian cheeses, what they want to keep out are French cheeses. Maybe it's a hangover from the freedom fries thing or something.


Sampling all these delicacies stoked the appetite, so we went over to the
Premiere Moisson shop in the market for lunch. A mousse, a rillette, a baquette, a jar of magnificent pickled Quebecois beets and two bottles of cider cost just 25 CAD and made for an excellent meal

The Atwater metro stop sits under a shopping mall and movie theater complex. I'd been wanting to see Barney's Version, and what better place than Montreal eh? So we pop into the theater, which is in the
AMC Pepsi Forum. Little did I know that this was the site of the old Montreal Forum, home of Richler's beloved Flying Frenchmen, Les Canadiens - tormentors of my childhood heroes, Bobby Hull's Blackhawks. Jean Beliveau, Henri Richard, Yvan Cournoyer, Serge Savard, all the names that rolled off of Lloyd Pettit's silver tongue. Inside the theater they have sections of the original bleacher stands and a recreation of the old center ice, which was tres cool and a most pleasant surprise. I wanted to go to a game anyway but couldn't get buy-in from my Valentine, so this was just as good. btw "Pepsi" is an old derogatory name that Montreal anglophones pinned on the francophones, a dig at their love of what at the time was the half-priced substitute for Coca Cola. Richler tosses it about quite casually in his books, he didn't have a very high opinion of French Canadians. Pepsi has it's greatest market share in the world in Quebec, so ironically they're all over this with sponsorships and so on.
We were pretty wiped out by Sunday night, so we wanted something simple and close to our hotel. So we popped into Les Tres Brasseurs on St. Denis, a chain of microbreweries. Had one of their ales and a tarte flambee, not bad but no need to rush back there.
Our flight was at noon, so on Monday morning there was time to click off the last of my Richler touchstones -
St. Viateur's and
Wilensky's. Wilensky's is especially tricky because they apparently have more than enough business and limit their hours to 9:00am to 4:00pm Monday to Friday only. Took a bus up Avenue du Parc (on a side note, what a fantastic public transport system they have on the island. Combined with google maps mobile, it's amazingly easy to get around the city if you star your locations before the trip) which was like a time machine as you got up to St. Viateur, Hasidim strolling the streets and everything. Got a dozen poppy and sesame to take back home from St. Viateur, hot out of the oven. Snacked on one as I walked over to Wilensky's - tasty, but I gotta say I prefer NY style, these need salt IMO.

Wilensky's Light Lunch was the highlight of my trip. Had never been there before, and it holds a central place in both the book and film, "The Apprenticeship of Duddy Kravitz" (btw, note the "Coca Cola" sign on the shop, this is a cultural signifier - "Frenchie's keep out"). I was hoping to see the Boy Wonder holding court on
Schnorrer's Day, but no such luck. But I was fortunate enough to be the first customer of the day, and the counterman was in a particularly good mood and happy to share some of the history and Richler connections. This is a place that sticks to their knitting. Your food choice is the "special", and your only option is the special with our without cheese. For 4.90 CAD you get a not so glatt Jewish panini: fried bologna, salami and cheese with a schmear of mustard pressed between an onion roll. He declined my American Express card (which I jokingly offered), but he did say he was happy to take US dollars. I came prepared with Canadian money, wasn't taking any chances.

Supposedly has healthful qualities and known to ward of even the worst of hangovers. Loved this place, great little sandwich and exceeded even my lofty expectations. A true classic. "I'm ready for my closeup Mr. DeMille" - the Wilensky special in all it's glory

And with that it's au revoir Montreal, and goodbye to Mordecai. À bientôt, j'espère!