When one is in Montreal, what else does one do but make a pilgrimage to eat a glutinous smoked meat sandwich? Well it’s not really a touristy thing to do because these stacks of glistening, savoury meat are so good, they’ve made a name for themselves honestly. What I wasn’t prepared for was the roller coaster ride!

I’ve been to Reuben’s on St Catharines Street for Montreal smoked meat sandwiches and they were really great, but this time I went to Schwartz on Saint Laurent. I knew I was close when I saw the line-up of about 30-people deep outside the shabby little restaurant that is divided into two parts; take-out and dine-in.

It didn’t take long before we were inside, seated at the bar – my favourite place to view all the action. Like the left hook that comes out of nowhere, the bar jockey with a strong Brooklyn accent hovers over us, tells us the “way it works around here” and what we should order. In his friendly, turbo-fast rambling of words I heard smoked meat sandwich, so Jon and I agreed to something, we weren’t quite sure, but all we knew was it included a smoked meat sandwich.

I wasn’t even finished shifting my weight on the retro bar stool trying to get comfortable when water, a gargantuan sandwich, a pickle the size of a flashlight and plate of house-cut fries were plopped down in front of me. The top of my sandwich fell over from the mammoth height of it and a few fries fell off the plate due to the sheer speed they landed. The waiter picked them up immediately and like the 2-second rule we all have in our own kitchens, held them in his hand and looked at me, “aren’t afraid of dying are you?” He tossed them back on my plate.

That’s when I realized the roller coaster began, the free-fall down from the tallest height. Without missing a beat, we dove into our food. I removed some of the corn beef from the sandwich that measured 4-inches in height, added more mustard and dug in. Wow, it was glorious, juicy, meaty and so yummy. The room behind us was buzzing with people talking and waiters running. Our Brooklyn waiter kept us entertained as he jogged up and down the bar reciting the same welcome and recommended order to everyone. At the other end of the bar were two old guys with dirty black shirts and grimy aprons. They didn’t look like they could move very fast yet they always seemed to be one sandwich ahead of the orders that came fast and furious. Some wanted extra juicy, others extra lean (yea, right!), one with a hot dog, a few with extra bread (to make two sandwiches out of one no doubt).

Like a roller coaster, there is a fast paced rhythm to this place that whisks you along with it and before we knew it, our food was gone, our places cleaned and a bill was in place of our dirty dishes and crumpled napkins. Wow, we just ate $45 worth or corn beef sandwiches??? Hey, what just happened? We paid the bill, pushed through the line of people hungry for a Montreal smoked meat sandwich and fell into the bright sunshine of the street. The roller coaster had just come to a stop, we’d finished our ride.

As we walked down Saint Laurent Street my distended stomach began to ache of unsettled, greasy meat. Like a roller coaster, my stomach was liking the experience an awful lot less than my mouth did. Jon was feeling a bit of the same as we changed our direction back to our hotel. What followed next was a marathon of movies that drowned out the growling of our stomachs as they eventually settled down.

I love Montreal Smoked Meat sandwiches and enjoy one every time I’m in Montreal for their just no good anywhere else. Most don’t come with the roller coaster ride but if you’re interested, now you know where to get them both together.

Continued from Part I...

The softly lit room is relaxing even with the dozens of waiters running around, busy with their activity. One comes over and I’m asked if there are any preferences or allergies. While I don’t eat wheat or dairy, I say nothing. One of my biggest concerns in restaurant eating today is peoples expectation to opt out of ingredients in a chefs dish, “could I have the cassoulet without duck please?” Aughhh. If we restrict a chef, any good chef, from creating something really delicious then why are we eating out? If not to taste a chef’s food, why are we there? If I’m at a restaurant because I’ve heard great things, then I let them prepare great things for me. I would never ask for substitutions or omissions because by doing this, I would be demeaning the position of the chef.

If I told the chef what he could or could not put in his dishes, then why even have a trained chef in the kitchen? What is the benefit of the culmination of a chefs experience and expertise if not to dazzle me with his culinary talents? If people insist on this behavior, beware, because the food may be devoid of anything you’d get excited about. Also beware, this kind of optional-ingredient dining threatens the very profession of chef.

So the seven course tasting begins. The waiter places a large bowl in front of me. In the centre is a white food the size of a poached egg, but looking more like a steamed meringue. In any event it’s a delicious looking cloud speckled with miniscule red and black garnish. The waiter described the dish as tomatoes and sweet green peas. I had him describe it a second time as I couldn’t wrap my mind around what my eyes were feasting on and what my brain was digesting – total disconnect. That’s when I remembered to trust. I eat the first spoonful of this white cloud and felt it dissipate on my palate, I tried desperately to feel its texture but it was elusive, mysterious. Then without warning my mouth was full of the most intense flavour of summer ripe tomatoes, dripping in their sweet juices and brightened with a few grains of sea salt. I looked down at the white cloud on my plate, it was pure magic. Laprise had done it with one spoonful, I was weak at the knees and a slave to more of Laprises food.

The next course was scallops with daikon radish, lime, green onion oil and a seaweed foam. The Third course was calamari with marinated cucumber, watermelon reduction and coriander. When I go up to use the restroom, I returned to find my napkin perfectly folded at my seat. Last time this happened was when Jon and I dined at Maze, Gordon Ramsey’s restaurant and NOPI, Yotam Ottolenghi’s restaurant, both in London. First class restaurants these are.

The courses were coming slow and steady, plenty of time to sip on our wines – a different one for each course – of course! Fourth course was pan seared Quebec Foie Gras with brioche and peach compote. Fifth course was lamb with an eggplant puree, tomatoes, chanterelles and marinated zucchini. Sixth course was duck with cherry sauce, red beets, green beans and trumpets of death. Before the seventh course came out, our waiter asked us if we wanted a pre-dessert. Pre-dessert? Wow, a dessert to set the palate for the dessert! What an amazing concept! The predessert was a juniper and white chocolate mousse, black currant leaf granite and pink peppercorn meringue. The seventh and the dessert course was a Manjari chocolate cake with cream cheese pepper dunes, berries of the forest sorbet and raspberry compote.

Not even the bill dampened any of the ecstasy we felt as we floated out the door, our feet never touching the ground after the first bite. Jon and I got back to the hotel, our room had been turned down and the music playing was Eddie Money, “I’ve got two tickets to paradise, pack your bags and we’ll leave tonight.”

Toque 
Grand Chef Normand Laprise
900 Place Jean-Paul-Riopelle, Montréal, QC H2Z 2B2
(514) 499-2084
Dinner for two with wine: Expect $500.

Bargain!

Toronto Life Magazine ranked it the best restaurant in Canada, but that’s not why I wanted to go. I first read of Toqué (pronounced to-cue) and Grand Chef Normand Laprise in the book, The Perfectionist by Rudolph Chelminski. The book is about the height of Haute Cuisine in France, the greatest chefs Bernard Loiseau, Paul Boucous, the Troisgros Brothers, Normand Laprise and Claude Perraudin to name a few and the conception of the Michelin Star ranking system.

It’s a story of the chefs struggles to reach the top in an impossible world and the affect it has on a person’s soul; all of this as seen through the eyes of Grand Chef Bernard Loiseau. At the end of the book it talks of Laprise moving to Montreal and opening his restaurant, Toqué. It’s here he has earned the designation of ‘Grand Tables of the World’. Who wouldn’t want to go?

That was it for me. Reading about the greatest period in French cuisine and then realizing that I could actually taste it. The fact that I could actually experience the grandiose culinary feats was too much for me. I immediately googled Toqué and conspired to get there. Finally my opportunity arrived.

Jon took an extra long weekend from work, I’d just filed a marathon of stories and we made a reservation. We jumped in the car and was in Montreal in a matter of hours. Here at last, I could almost taste it. The restaurant was within walking distance from our hotel, no coincidence there. We both brought formal clothes and walked nervously up to the restaurant.

Like the cuisine, the logo is quite surprising, shocking actually. It looks like a 10-foot cartoon image of a metal sunflower with the name, Toqué engraved in the centre of the sunflower. Even though I didn’t know what to expect, it certainly wasn’t the French image of haute cuisine I’d predicted.

We walked through the door and into another world. The hostess, both of them, greeted us with genuine interest and pleasure that put us immediately at ease. One of them walked us to our table and along the way; we were greeted by all of the waite staff. It was like we were emitting a kind of radar and when we got close enough, each of them stopped, gave us their full attention, smiled and greeted us, “bonjour”. We felt like royalty.

There is a different level of service that goes along with top restaurants. Part of it is steeped in tradition and part in luxury. It’s a true fairy-tale experience that matches the affect of the cuisine.

I say the affect of the cuisine because mere food can’t possibly be worth the money demanded by these top restaurants. It’s what happens to you when you see it, when you smell it, when you taste it, when you savour it and when you succumb to it. Toque is the kind of restaurant that takes really good quality food and turns it into something else, something so unrecognizable the affect on the palate is dramatic, intensified, stunning.

It’s food that imprint on your psyche, tickles the deepest corners of your body, caresses your soul and like kryptonite, leaves you totally weak, yet begging for more. The addictive and aphrodisiac powers of haute cuisine are never to be underestimated.

So here we are, seated at the table and here it begins, we’re handed the menu. At Toqué you have a tasting menu ($122) and it’s whatever the chef feels like making that day, whatever food has been at its prime, whatever has tickled his fancy. You can also order a ‘la carte but who would dare? Like others dining in the room, I’m really here for Laprise. Whatever he wants me to eat is what I’m going to have.

Toque, Part II

It was my first taste of Montreal poutine. Yes poutine has been around for a while and so have I, so why haven’t our paths crossed before? Well, I just can’t get past the concept of mushy fries. Yes some people put gravy on their fries but, I don’t. I like my fries crisp on the outside, soft on the inside, hot and neat. But I was seduced by the creative poutine dishes I was reading on each posted menu down Rue St Denis, I couldn’t help but be swept away by the poutine wave.

I tucked into a corner table on the outdoor patio of Saint Houblon, a microbrewery. I held my breath and felt I was at the top of a gigantic roller coaster, ready to take the big plunge – I order duck poutine with hoisin sauce, soft cheese curds and thin, thin, thin fries. I was already eating it in my mind and was orgasmically loving every bite of it, even though I was never one to order poutine before.

When the bowl arrived I rushed to eat the different flavours. I’d take a chunk of duck with a white blob of cheese curd and a few (gravy) untouched fries on the side. It was glorious! Savoury, rich, heavily meated and slightly sweet duck with silky, stretchy, earthy and elegant cheese curds and crispy shards of uber thin, hot fries hardly touched by gravy. Beautiful flavours, eclectic, exciting textures and overall, I’m hooked! I love Montreal poutine!

What I loved the most was the cheese. Instead of squeaky chunks of twisted, dry cheese, these glorious, silken mounds of white floating in the poutine looked more like soft gnocchi in a brown sauce than cheese curds. The texture was succulent, stringy and satiny soft with just enough of an ‘al dente’ texture to make them impressive. They were eating like a gourmet cheese, more like a superior Buratta, you know the silky, soft innards of a good Italian cheese?

But then what I feared most came true. I finished the few fries on the side and was left with the fries in the middle that had died, suffocated in an ocean of too much gravy. It was a soggy mess and I could eat no more. I suppose this is a characteristic of good poutine but it’s just not for me.

It got me thinking that perhaps someone should invent a deconstructed poutine. Fries to one side, toppings to another and in between, a small crock of gravy not unlike the way they serve their frits and mayonnaise – separately. This way the fries would stay crisp, the toppings intact and the gravy waiting until it was needed. In my case it would become the lonely neglected element of a deconstructed poutine.

As much as I can’t overcome my mushy phobia that also includes mushy peas, bread soggied with tomato bruschetta that was too wet or worst of all – brioche disintegrating under the flow of luscious pan seared foie gras juices, I have to say the flavours of Montreal poutine are divine and the quality – wow, impressive! Montreal poutine, get over it cause you gotta try it!