Hungry in Montreal

On a recent visit to Montreal’s Jean Talon market, mounds of glossy fruit vied for attention with languid lobsters, cured sausages on strings, and tidy stockades made from tinned maple syrup. Not to mention the snacks- after wandering the aisles for a bit, we retreated to a corner table with a bowl of sardines, fried whole and full of slight, crunching bones. Dredged in a piquant blend of herbs and flour, they were delicious, and swabbing them in cool, creamy housemade tartar sauce was a perfect balance to their salty taste. The covered market, unlike the tiny fish, went on and on, so after our meal we dove back into the fray of tourists and locals, tasting apples, sidestepping old ladies trailing wheeled market bags, and reveling in the boisterous sounds of Canada’s largest French speaking city.

Every time I come North, I vow to widen my scope, and I have, somewhat. I’ve roamed the gorgeous botanical garden and explored the modern art museum, but my city time is mostly devoted to eating. And wandering. Wandering while eating. Eating, then wandering until I’m caught by an intriguing shop window, or wafting scent.

As much as I try to branch out, Montreal’s street are irresistible to the hungry, itchy footed traveler. The walkable city center is alternately gritty and bustling or leafy and tranquil, with distinctive neighborhoods. The cobblestone lanes of the Vieux Port are lined with classic stone doorways where uniformed touts call out invitations to touristy bistros, switching fluidly between French and English. A kilometer to the North, a Portuguese neighborhood is dotted with smoky rotisserie chicken joints, some blocks sporting several in a row. (hint: go to the one with the line down the block!).

I try to strike a balance between exploring new places, and visiting my favorites- the following are just a few of the spots I like the best in Montreal . I love to start a city day with a sack of Saint Viateur bagels from their tiny bakery on rue Saint Viateur Ouest, where bakers direct a 24-hour landslide of the classic sesame variety from the wood fired oven into long, polished troughs. The shop has no tables, so I take my treats a few blocks down the rue to Café Olimpico, where a latte in a slender drinking glass goes down well while rubbing shoulders with the regulars- a steady stream of old Italians and young hipsters, comfortably sharing tables and mutual taste in tapered pants.

An amazing stop for sweets is Patisserie Kouign Amann, named for the deliciously chewy, sugary, and flaky pastry from Bretagne. The eponymous specialty is the way to go- I’ve never seen kougin amann at any pastry shop outside of France, and even there it’s a bit off the beaten path. Salted butter give the layers a pleasant tang, and it’s covered with a crisp layer of caramel from the dousing of water and sugar that it gets before it goes in the oven. Mmm!

When I tear myself away from the bakeries, I head straight to Chinatown for dumplings. At 1084 Boulevard Saint Laurent, Restaurant Mai Xiang Yuan serves up huge orders, and they are scrumptious! Last weekend I tried the pork and oyster dumplings, which were a wonderful, super umami combination of briny shellfish, and highly spiced ground pork. I had my first jellyfish at Mai Xiang Yuan, too… very chewy, and sort of what I imagined jellyfish would taste like while poking dead ones with a stick. Hmm.

Leaving Montreal in a car littered with crumpled maps and sesame seeds, I always pass a dozen places that tempt me to stop, even while the calm of home beckons. The odds are good that I’ll polish off the bagels before I cross the border, though, and even gross jellyfish salads are hard to come by in Vermont, so I keep my passport handy- I know I’ll be back.