RESTAURATEURS ADD TO CITY’S BYOW SCENE
Gaston is latest creation from Marc-André Paradis and Georges Blais
Years ago, a chef wrote a comment under a Facebook post that caught my attention. The posting was about bring-your-own-wine restaurants and of that he wrote: “Why would anyone review BYOW places? They aren’t real restaurants.” That comment took me aback for I have long enjoyed Montreal’s better restaurants amener votre vin and heaven knows a week doesn’t go by without me receiving a reader request for a “good restaurant, preferably inexpensive and if possible, BYOW.” If ever you want to know how popular this category of restaurant is, try nabbing a last-minute table at places like Quartier Général, Le Margaux or La Colombe. Pas facile.
Yet an experience this week left me wondering how much we are willing to accept in order to save on the beverage part of the equation. I’m starting to think too much. The restaurant that caused such reflection is called Gaston, and it was launched this summer by Marc-André Paradis and Georges Blais, a duo who have more or less cornered the market on Montreal’s BYOW scene.
When talking about restaurant groups, theirs is one of the most prominent, as they have opened — together or apart — close to a dozen such restaurants since 2002. I have reviewed them all, at varying levels of enjoyment, with most falling into the twoand-a-half to three-star range. The first, one of my favourites, was Les Infidèles followed by O’Thym, Les Héritiers, Monsieur B, À L’Os, Les Canailles, Wellington, Lannes & Pacifique, Le Millen and, one of the best, Prince, which opened last year in the former Les Infidèles space. Thus my interest in their latest, Gaston.
Having dined in so many of Paradis’s and Blais’s restaurants, I have come upon a formula of sorts, which usually pays off. The locations are often off the beaten path, the decor is shabby chic. Kitchens are usually open and tableware is higher quality than in most BYOW restaurants, with fine stemware being a big draw over the usual clunker of a wine glass. As for the menu, we’re talking upscale bistro fare, with items like tartares, risottos, foie gras, duck magret and bavette. Prices are high, which is the case at most BYOW restaurants to make up for the lack of booze revenue. Wait staffs are young and cool, but more plate carriers than seasoned pros. In the end, it usually adds up into an evening of good food and fun times.
That is, until it doesn’t. Gaston may be their latest, but it’s also their worst. With so many establishments to manage I wondered why they bothered with this one, which failed miserably at most every turn. Where do I begin?
How about with the room? Upon arrival, we are seated next to a noisy group on one side with a speaker overhead blaring — I kid you not — the music from the bar scene in Star Wars. I request we change seats and next thing I know I’m pulling on a sweater because we’re right beside an air conditioning vent. As with most Paradis restos, the kitchen is open concept, which means we see the chefs in their sweatpants, T-shirts and goofy hats assembling our dishes, and watch our waitress chatting with the cooks instead of taking our order. Worse yet, the dining room air is thick with cooking odours. Note to M. Paradis: your overhead fan is kaput.
I considered calling it quits right there, but watching the bottle-toting customers stream in at quite a clip, I figured perhaps the food would make up for the mess going on around me. The menu certainly looked appealing, even if our waitress started out by telling us two dishes already weren’t available at 7:30 p.m. When I read “fish of the day” on the menu, I waved her over (so sorry to interrupt your conversation with the cooks) to ask what that might be. She then described a striped bass dish with about as much enthusiasm and a surly teenager reading out a book report in class. C’mon lady, that bass deserves better.
Our three appetizers included the best dish of the night, a bowl of skate wing croquettes served with a tartar sauce. The batter was spicy, not too greasy, and the accompanying tartar sauce had a nice kick. Good. I ordered the tomato soup, which turned out to be a gazpacho. It was a good gazpacho, but a gazpacho and a tomato soup are hardly the same thing. And then came the gravlax plate. Served with a chunk of brioche bread, the marinated salmon slices were garnished with dots of sour cream and bits of dill and pickled onion. The beauty of the best gravlax is the juicy/ melting texture of the raw fish flesh cured with salt, sugar and plenty of dill. But this gravlax was cut too thick to be melting, and had zero dill flavour. And the bread just sat there, with no role to play. No love in that dish whatsoever.
And the duds kept rolling in with the main courses. First came a dish of duck magret where the duck was slathered in sautéed cabbage and paired with a greasy gratin dauphinois that tasted like leftovers. I’ve long been convinced duck is a meat next to impossible to mess up, but this kitchen proved me wrong. Not only was this $30 duck breast overcooked, where was the crisp skin that makes it so delicious? Did they slice it off? As for the presentation, I couldn’t help but wonder if it had all been dropped on the floor and put it back on the plate.
Next up, a dish of braised pork. Paired with carrots and endives in an orange sauce, the pork was dry and fibrous, the opposite of what braised meat is all about.
And finally we tasted the “onglet de boeuf de Quebec. ” Served with Béarnaise sauce and fries, this hanger steak was the toughest piece of meat I’ve sunk my teeth into in ages. And it wasn’t even overcooked. Drizzled in mayonnaise, the french fries alongside weren’t bad, but the accompanying beige Béarnaise appeared to be devoid of tarragon, and a Béarnaise sauce without tarragon is like a beurre blanc without butter. Fuhgeddaboudit.
On top of the poor quality ingredients and unskilled cooking techniques on display, came the complete lack of seasonal produce. How can these cooks be serving vegetable accompaniments like endives, cabbage (cabbage!) and potatoes when our markets are overflowing with terrific fresh vegetables this time of year? And dessert was no better. I sampled all three: a dreary vanilla cheesecake with a caramel squiggle, an even drearier fluffy lemon tart with a chocolate squiggle, and a bowl of vanilla ice cream with chocolate sauce and bits of chocolate nut crunch worthy of a four-year-old’s birthday party buffet. When I asked the waiter if he maybe had a strawberry to add to the plate he said, “I’ll see if I can find something.” Where, in the broom closet?
More or less fit to be tied at the end of this meal, I exited looking around me at all the customers crowding the tables. Amazingly enough, they seemed to be enjoying themselves, content with this mediocre food, thrilled to be saving a few bucks on the bottle, and lulled, no doubt, into believing this is all such a great deal.