FAREWELL, LE MAS DES OLIVIERS
Final sittings at Bishop St. institution
Like its low stucco ceilings and wooden beams from another era, its walls will never be showcased in Architectural Digest. Ah, but if the walls of Le Mas des Oliviers could talk, what wonderful tales they would tell.
Jacques Muller won’t share any tales out of school. The avuncular owner and maître d’ — and waiter/busboy/shrink when need be — has presided over Le Mas for the last 40 years. And he vows that the tales he may know of will go to the grave with him: “What goes on in Le Mas, stays in Le Mas.”
Pity. But an even greater pity is that Le Mas — which started under another stewardship 50 years ago — will host its last supper Saturday, Oct. 1.
And there goes another Montreal original. Make that originals — both the resto and Muller.
Located in a basement on Bishop St., Le Mas may not look like much from the outside or on the inside. But it is a Montreal institution, thanks in large part to
the charm, warmth and, yes, discretion of its Brittany-born boss.
The restaurant serves up traditional French cuisine with a few of its own signature dishes: Le Pescadou et sa rouquine (“not just a fish soup, but a ceremony,” as my buddy and former Montreal Gazette colleague Hubie Bauch would rhapsodize), boudin and
chop-chop salad.
Le Mas is old school, but oldschool cool.
Throughout much of Muller’s tenure, Le Mas was the power dining spot for politicos, bagmen, bankers, barristers, brokers, sports heroes, writers, film stars and rapscallions, engaging or otherwise. And who can forget that
night when Quebec’s top cop was sitting at a table next to Quebec’s most notorious mobster — without incident?
Deals were made at Le Mas. Corporate putsches were orchestrated there. Political alliances were hatched and dissolved there. Same with illicit boudoir dalliances. Invariably, eavesdropping journos looking for a scoop were left satiated on all counts.
The unlikeliest of bedfellows would congregate almost daily for lunch. And they didn’t get more unlikely than adversaries Brian Mulroney and Mordecai Richler.
“I loved Mordecai,” Muller reflects. “He was a real provocateur, which we always need. He was honest, not mean.”
When Mulroney and his Conservatives were swept into power in 1984, Muller bought two cases of Cordon Bleu Champagne so they could celebrate the occasion. But while some thought of Le Mas as a sort of Tory clubhouse, Muller didn’t play favourites. Liberals felt equally at home, knocking back bottles of Mumm Cordon Rouge Champagne while fêting their more frequent victories.
Yet regardless of the differences of opinion among diners, there was almost always an element of civility. Yes, strong words were dispensed, but stronger libations ensured there was nary a scuffle among the double-breasted-suit set.
Credit Muller for keeping the peace. Credit Muller for keeping the frivolity going. Credit Muller for keeping insightful conversation going.
If Hollywood were casting for a classic French-restaurant owner (of the non-snooty variety), the moustachioed, ever-grinning Muller would be an excellent candidate. Be it a captain of industry and his or her significant other, or a couple from the boonies, Muller greets all clients the same at the door: “Bonsoir, monsieur, dame,” he sings out.
But at 72, Muller has decided to call it a career. He alludes to health issues. He speaks of wishing to spend more quality time with his wife of 43 years and his two daughters. Plus, the building in which Le Mas is housed was recently sold, and he has little time left on his lease.
“I want to go out on a high note,” says a beaming Muller, holding court at the bar. He appears to be doing just that, as he sips on a superb 1995 Cheval Blanc.
“I am not a rich man — although I can talk like a rich man,” he jokes. “I like good things, but money doesn’t impress me. I could sleep in a simple cot — maybe not my wife, because of her back.
“The truth is, though, that I talk the same way to my dishwasher as I would talk to a bank president. And the truth is that maybe I could have lasted two more years here. But age is catching up with me, and I want to enjoy life while I can with my family. They have made a lot of sacrifices for me, and I want to give them a few good years that I have left.”
Since he announced the closure in mid-August, regular customers as well as the curious have been flocking to Le Mas.
“I don’t want to sound pretentious or anything, but it’s been so emotional for me to listen to people coming back and talking to me about all the special moments in their lives that they shared here,” he softly says. “I’ve learned so much in the process, too. I’ve learned the value of friendship here. Honestly, many were much more than customers. We shared the most intimate of moments together.
“Now they ask me where they will ever find another place like this. But I know, deep in my heart, they will find another restaurant. They will have a martini
and maybe they will think of me. They will think of the food we had. But they will move on. And I will think of them. But everything is replaceable. … This is not false humility. This is reality.”
Muller admits that he is in a sort of “bipolar” state now. “I am very happy. And I am very sad.”
He attributes success to the ambience. “Sure, the food was good — we gave quality and it wasn’t cheap, but nor was it expensive. But, more importantly, we created an atmosphere. We gave warmth. And we had the staff to do that, some of whom have been here almost as long as me. I’ve been blessed with my staff. They knew the customers. They knew the service business. They made people feel at home.”
So much so that it wasn’t unusual to see lunchtime tipplers linger into happy hour, and even dinner hour. Le Mas was better than home for many.
“People came for a good time. This was not a church. If people felt like raising their voices, that was fine. But if they sang, that could be a problem,” Muller cracks.
Actually, Claudette Carter plans to sing on closing night. She’s thinking Sinatra’s My Way. Muller might be too humble to say so himself, but Carter suggests that’s the path he has followed. She should know: she has been a regular for 40 years, having celebrated birthdays, weddings and anniversaries at the restaurant. “There will be a big hole in many of our lives without Jacques and Le Mas,” she says.
Terry DiMonte doesn’t recall doing any warbling at Le Mas. “But this has been my go-to place for more than 20 years,” notes the CHOM morning man, who planned four goodbye dinners at Le Mas after the closure was announced. “It’s kind of like visiting your favourite uncle’s house. There’s that kind of rare comfort level. It’s like family — good family.”
“Yes, that’s what I always wanted to create here: a comfortable family feeling — but one where we take your money,” interjects a winking Muller.
But Muller feels the time for change has come.
“My wife made an interesting point the other night. She talked about a good friend of ours who had really just lived in the past. I don’t want to live in the past. My 40 years here have been rich.
“Like Lou Gehrig said, I’m the luckiest man in the world. I have a good wife, two beautiful daughters, two grandchildren, a good business and a good staff. My life has been fulfilling, but it’s not finished. One door is closing, but another one is opening.”
Curiously, it was never Muller’s dream to own a restaurant. When he moved from France to Montreal as a teen with his family, his hope was to head off to Vegas in some capacity. He spent time in New York City, and got his feet wet in the restaurant business working at the now-defunct Le Vert Galant, another Montreal old-school classic.
“After I close Le Mas, it will be over. My wine cellar will be empty. I will never pass by Bishop St. again,” he pledges. “When I sold my house — which I also loved — I never went back to look at it again. I’m a weird guy like that.
“That’s the only way I can move on. And, frankly, I will have had no regrets at all. I’m not one of these could-have-been, could-have-done people. I made money. I lost money. But I wouldn’t change a single thing.”
Now they ask me where they will ever find another place like this. But I know, deep in my heart, they will find another restaurant. They will have a martini and maybe they will think of me. They will think of the food we had. But they will move on. And I will think of them. Jacques Muller