I know I'm posting this before my New Year post (which is long overdue) but I needed to write it down before I forgot.
My father had to come down quite unexpectedly to Montreal and on his first night here, he brought Lex, my eldest sister and I to a restaurant.
My father is actually here to visit his grand-father, and trying to be supportive and also erase some of the guilt left over from not visiting him sooner, I offered to join. The only snitch is that I had just come home from school, was at my transfer, and it was 8:30pm when he picked me up there. I therefore did not get to visit my grand-father, who was sleeping, but my father, quite loyal to his habit, brought us to a restaurant on a whim. This time, it was M sur Masson.
Now, every time I go to a restaurant with friends, I describe three aspects of the place: decoration, food, and price. However, my sister is a graduated chef from l'ITHQ and my father is quite a foodie, so critizing the food seems somehow wrong... especially that having lived in Sudbury all my life, and therefore having mostly gone out there, I know just enough of grill and sports bars to know that the deco is generic and the food is mildly bad. Therefore, I don't know what the difference between good and excellent food is. I will, however, describe it to the best of my ability, as well as the rest of the night, starting from the beginning.
As I've mentioned before, it was a total impulse decision, one that was clearly on going when I stepped into the car, my sister and my father whipping out app names and search bars in order to find the best rated, reasonably-priced, open restaurant in the near vicinity. We almost decided on Phuket at that point, because that's pretty much what we were almost all feeling (I have to give credit to my sister on that one, although I did giggle like an idiot for ten minutes and felt the need to put it in here). As it was a quick decision, neither my sister or I were completely dressed for the occasion. Luckily, I'd pulled out a shirt with lace and a necklace that morning and I was almost acceptable, but my sister was wearing a dress over jeans (2003, anyone?), so she stopped by a dollar store to grab nylons and ended up looking quite stunning. Meanwhile, my father and I walked around the block, me resisting going up to every stray cat and my father undoubtedly resisting the urge to get a spray bottle (my father is not a cat person).
When we finally did enter the restaurant, we came nose to nose with heavy, red, velvet curtains. Standing, crowded in the small space, we were unsure what to do until my father pushed them aside and walked in. We followed and found ourselves in a "chic" bistro-like setting. Low lights, dark wood, wooden stairs with spaces between each step, artistically half-painted ceilings and bathrooms that were marked "W/C" printed white on a matted glass door. Clearly, this place was chic. And the people that went there were supposed to be chic. Until it wasn't. I mean, supposed to be all snob like classy. The people there looked like they were quietly enjoying themselves, dressed on the nice casual side (not casual nice - jeans were a little under, but pants on ladies were acceptable) and the waiter that we had was polite but not extravagant. It's a water-is-served-in-a-glass-bottle while there are fake plants (without a trace of dust, mind you) lining the counter behind you place.
We took our time ordering from the two-dozen or so itemed menu. I had the hardest time remembering the specials that had been specified to us, so I ordered something from the menu. My sister and I shared a tripe cassoulet as an entrée, then moved on to the main course. My father had ribs with fried sweet potato squares, I had a steak bavette with fries and my sister had hare ravioli.
I've never been a fan or ribs unless they're barbecued, charred and a summer dish, but my father's dish was good. My sister's ravioli were rich, flavourful (sooo many flavours. One after the other, in your mouth. So miam) and overall delicious. My father said that they were the best meal on the table that night, and he's probably right, but I was craving a steak and fries and my dish was pretty darn perfect. The steak was perfectly seasoned, cooked pretty much to perfection (I had asked au bleu, but it was more of a very rare. Which is what I usually look for, but am too shy to ask because I'm not doing that to any chef, ever. Working in a restaurant changes you). and the fries were oh-so-crispy and just the right amount of oil.
We ended dinner by sharing two pears poached in beet juice, sitting on pistachio paste and accompanied by banana ice cream sprinkled with pure cocoa between the three of us. I'm not really sure what the pistachio paste was doing there, and the pears hadn't been poached or decorqued correctly, but it was still pretty damn awesome, and it's something I'll be trying in the near (hopefully future)
I ate way too much, but I am so glad to have spent time with my father and my sister, both of whom I don't see nearly enough.
Final verdict? If ever you're in Montreal, you can try M sur Masson, but there are tons of restaurants that are "typical Montreal". A little bistro feel with a "chic" environment, polite servers and pretty awesome food. There's always a new one to try, with new items on the menu you've surely never tried. I've never noticed how tired I was of bix-boxed, loud, commercial, bright-lighted restaurants with reheated prepped-two-days-in-advanced food until I met Montreal's greatest charm: little cozy places, where sitting and talking comes naturally.
My father had to come down quite unexpectedly to Montreal and on his first night here, he brought Lex, my eldest sister and I to a restaurant.
My father is actually here to visit his grand-father, and trying to be supportive and also erase some of the guilt left over from not visiting him sooner, I offered to join. The only snitch is that I had just come home from school, was at my transfer, and it was 8:30pm when he picked me up there. I therefore did not get to visit my grand-father, who was sleeping, but my father, quite loyal to his habit, brought us to a restaurant on a whim. This time, it was M sur Masson.
Now, every time I go to a restaurant with friends, I describe three aspects of the place: decoration, food, and price. However, my sister is a graduated chef from l'ITHQ and my father is quite a foodie, so critizing the food seems somehow wrong... especially that having lived in Sudbury all my life, and therefore having mostly gone out there, I know just enough of grill and sports bars to know that the deco is generic and the food is mildly bad. Therefore, I don't know what the difference between good and excellent food is. I will, however, describe it to the best of my ability, as well as the rest of the night, starting from the beginning.
As I've mentioned before, it was a total impulse decision, one that was clearly on going when I stepped into the car, my sister and my father whipping out app names and search bars in order to find the best rated, reasonably-priced, open restaurant in the near vicinity. We almost decided on Phuket at that point, because that's pretty much what we were almost all feeling (I have to give credit to my sister on that one, although I did giggle like an idiot for ten minutes and felt the need to put it in here). As it was a quick decision, neither my sister or I were completely dressed for the occasion. Luckily, I'd pulled out a shirt with lace and a necklace that morning and I was almost acceptable, but my sister was wearing a dress over jeans (2003, anyone?), so she stopped by a dollar store to grab nylons and ended up looking quite stunning. Meanwhile, my father and I walked around the block, me resisting going up to every stray cat and my father undoubtedly resisting the urge to get a spray bottle (my father is not a cat person).
When we finally did enter the restaurant, we came nose to nose with heavy, red, velvet curtains. Standing, crowded in the small space, we were unsure what to do until my father pushed them aside and walked in. We followed and found ourselves in a "chic" bistro-like setting. Low lights, dark wood, wooden stairs with spaces between each step, artistically half-painted ceilings and bathrooms that were marked "W/C" printed white on a matted glass door. Clearly, this place was chic. And the people that went there were supposed to be chic. Until it wasn't. I mean, supposed to be all snob like classy. The people there looked like they were quietly enjoying themselves, dressed on the nice casual side (not casual nice - jeans were a little under, but pants on ladies were acceptable) and the waiter that we had was polite but not extravagant. It's a water-is-served-in-a-glass-bottle while there are fake plants (without a trace of dust, mind you) lining the counter behind you place.
We took our time ordering from the two-dozen or so itemed menu. I had the hardest time remembering the specials that had been specified to us, so I ordered something from the menu. My sister and I shared a tripe cassoulet as an entrée, then moved on to the main course. My father had ribs with fried sweet potato squares, I had a steak bavette with fries and my sister had hare ravioli.
I've never been a fan or ribs unless they're barbecued, charred and a summer dish, but my father's dish was good. My sister's ravioli were rich, flavourful (sooo many flavours. One after the other, in your mouth. So miam) and overall delicious. My father said that they were the best meal on the table that night, and he's probably right, but I was craving a steak and fries and my dish was pretty darn perfect. The steak was perfectly seasoned, cooked pretty much to perfection (I had asked au bleu, but it was more of a very rare. Which is what I usually look for, but am too shy to ask because I'm not doing that to any chef, ever. Working in a restaurant changes you). and the fries were oh-so-crispy and just the right amount of oil.
We ended dinner by sharing two pears poached in beet juice, sitting on pistachio paste and accompanied by banana ice cream sprinkled with pure cocoa between the three of us. I'm not really sure what the pistachio paste was doing there, and the pears hadn't been poached or decorqued correctly, but it was still pretty damn awesome, and it's something I'll be trying in the near (hopefully future)
I ate way too much, but I am so glad to have spent time with my father and my sister, both of whom I don't see nearly enough.
Final verdict? If ever you're in Montreal, you can try M sur Masson, but there are tons of restaurants that are "typical Montreal". A little bistro feel with a "chic" environment, polite servers and pretty awesome food. There's always a new one to try, with new items on the menu you've surely never tried. I've never noticed how tired I was of bix-boxed, loud, commercial, bright-lighted restaurants with reheated prepped-two-days-in-advanced food until I met Montreal's greatest charm: little cozy places, where sitting and talking comes naturally.
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