In Montréal, an Eating and Drinking Tour Always Ends with Poutine

It’s 2 a.m., and I’ve landed in the more bougie side of Montréal, indulging in the requisite late-night snack at Poutine La Banquise, tucked in the heart of the Plateau. A sip of beer cuts through the grease in the air I just breathed in. Locals swear this rendition of poutine is the best in town, and I won’t argue. On golden paper, fries, cheese curds and gravy sound deceptively simple, but here in Montréal they are like nowhere else. Dammit Montréal, you hold me hostage.

Arriving in Montréal earlier that day meant connecting almost immediately with my bestie, Gilbert Lemieux—a name in this city’s bar scene that is treasured royalty. You can find him at Maison Boulud in the Ritz-Carlton Montréal. Sit at the bar, order a martini and burger and life’s problems melt away.

We first met a decade ago at a wine “throwdown,” swirling glasses of Chave Hermitage ’01, toasting like we were born to do just this, and it feels like yesterday. The vibe is unpretentious, surprising and never, ever forgettable. Just like the Montréal scene. Whether you’re in a Michelin-starred restaurant or a hole-in-the-wall, this place celebrates a deep love for local ingredients, honest craftsmanship and genuine hospitality.

The cherry on top? The exchange rate. Armed with 1.4 USD to 1 CAD, I feel like I’m stealing. Once my girl math kicked in, I ambitiously devised a whirlwind tour of the city’s delights.

9:00 am-ish that morning: A Light Breakfast

Gilbert kicked off our day much as we are ending it—with local decadence: a plate of fluffy pancakes smothered in maple syrup straight from his brother’s trees—it’s dark, rich and complex. The lighter stuff? Toss it, it’s tourist trap nonsense. To balance the sweet, he cuts me a slab of Comtomme, local cow’s milk cheese straight out of Compton—from the Eastern Townships of Québec, that is. It ages like a fine Comté, all deep and nutty.

The chaser: a glass of Polisson’s Baumier, a local cider with balsam fir added during fermentation. The savory punch it adds to the maple syrup is insane. This is the stuff you polish off in 10-minutes flat. Simply irresistible.

Later, channeling his inner Shania Twain, Gilbert belts out: “Let’s go, girl!” Translation: The day has officially begun. Breakfast was just the warm-up.

1:05 pm: Repeat Offender

We hit up Le Petit Alep, right across from Jean-Talon market, this rustic Syrian and Armenian spot where scents greet you within a 20-foot radius.

Dropping $100 a head feels like a crime you’d happily commit again. Scan the menu but don’t even think about skipping the hummus and muhammara—walnuts, Aleppo pepper, roasted bell pepper and pomegranate molasses. Pure heaven.

Kabobs are also a must tenderloin or chicken, depending on the wine du jour. Garlic here is gospel—every bite you take, every breath you take, I won’t be kissing you. Gilbert orders chicken kabobs with a bottle of Pierre Frick Riesling Rot Murlé 2022—j’adore! High acid, mineral-laden juice with inviting complexity that tangoes beautifully with all the spices and richness.

4:00 pm: Amari Hoarders

Apéro time, baby! Because nothing goes down smoother after a solid meat sweat than a crisp, bitter drink. To kill time before Mon Lapin opens, we hit up amari and vermouth kingdom Bar Bello, just a four-minute walk away. Think ’90s Italian with bright, punchy colors but with a sleek Brooklyn-Williamsburg vibe without trying too hard. The star here? A wall of vermouth and amari so stacked, it’s like they’re hoarding liquid gold. Pair anything with their no-frills menu of croquettes, fromage and charcuterie. Always go for the olives—salty, briny little flavor bombs that amp up each sip.

5:00 pm: Next Level

Next, we head to Mon Lapin, where walking in feels like we’re crashing a secret VIP party. Low lighting, moody wood, banquettes tucked away: You’ve unlocked some secret level. It’s been awarded Canada’s best restaurant, but still is trés trés laid-back and unapologetically cool. Homey with mismatched plates, like Grandma’s holiday dinnerware collection. Just right for serving comfort dishes like le croque-pétoncle, a scallop purée sandwich, that makes you feel like a kid again—but one at a fancy pretend tea party. As for the wine list? It presents like it’s the love child of all of Canada’s sommeliers put together. Just lock me in their cellar with a corkscrew, please.

8:30 pm: While You Wait

Gilbert makes the call for an Uber. Using that time to recover, we quickly find ourselves steps away from Crocodile for cocktails. I raise an eyebrow. Formerly a summer pop-up, this spot is an ode to both Montréal’s rawness and craft.

Tucked behind a nondescript backroom door of Alambika, Montréal’s high-end cocktail supply shop, Crocodile feels like a well-kept secret for a reason.

10:00 pm: Way After 8

I can never leave Montréal without swinging by Monopole—my favorite wine bar since it opened
in 2017. Forget paper menus or QR codes—the wall is the wine list. You scan the bottles and pick whatever strikes your fancy. The team greets us like old friends, pouring something to catch up. I’ve always loved Monopole, but when the night stretches into the early hours, that’s when the magic really happens. It’s never the same experience twice—and that’s exactly what keeps me coming back. Each visit, I beg for their seasonal After 8 cocktail—think liquid Thin Mint, but dangerously sluggable. It could also probably cure my garlic breath at this point.

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