l'Anecdote

801 Rachel @ St-Hubert

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his place has a lot of charm, located on a busy corner with a fabulous children’s used clothing place next door [that I have frequented several times in search of perfect niece clothes]. The front window of the restaurant has attractive lettering, it looks like it’s going to be retro cool laid back kind of place.

Upon entering, I’m greeted to the blue haze of the smoking section, the counter where you can watch the cute guy making lattés and oversee the kitchen staff is reserved for smokers only. So are the nice deep booths that seat four easily and allow for lots of through-the-window people watching. I go up a few stairs and into the back, where the uncool, non-smoking kids hang out. This section is empty.

While I wait for my breakfast guest to join me [she’s across the street paying for my parking], I pull out my camera and begin the longish process of getting the settings ready [yes, I prefer a real camera, a big kick-ass one, with film]. I no sooner have my camera out of its square black bag when someone comes barrelling out the kitchen to see just what exactly I’m taking pictures of. I tell her they’re for my own personal use. She is clearly completely unimpressed.

This doesn’t put me off. Much. [I know Nick is rolling his eyes saying, “Shelley, for god’s sake buy a digital camera, they’re so much more discrete…”]

This Girl from Vancouver is particular. She can make her camera do what she wants it to do. She doesn’t want to learn a new camera all over again. [Oh, by the way, this review is late tonight because I had to wait for the film to be developed. Ahem.]

My breakfast guest arrives and we order just as the fresh herb man is delivering the flats of live basil plants to the kitchen lady who doesn’t like cameras. My decaf Americano is divine, D’s coffee is refilled often.

l’Anecdote is apparently known for its hamburgers but I’m happy with my favourite (La Paryse) so I don’t even venture down that road. No, for a while now I’ve been on a breakfast crusade. It’s a long story that goes something like this: On the best (er) west coast, breakfast is eaten early in the morning by Birkenstock types, available with decaf organic coffee and golden-yolk free range eggs. Breakfast in Montreal, from what I can tell, is ready whenever people roll out of bed (11 or 12) and consists of large quantities of tepid coffee, crêpes or omelettes, most meals have cheese, a lot have a weird dollop of brown beans on the side.

This Girl from Vancouver continues to search for the quintessential Vancouver breakfast. Here’s how she likes it: free range eggs scrambled, but not dry, homemade hash browns, nitrate free bacon [I’ve yet to see this anywhere on a menu in Montréal]. I also like Squirrley bread (very whole wheat with birdseed on top], and homemade raspberry preserves that are runny, not like jam, more like syrup. Bring on all the organic decaf coffee I can take. Cream in a little metal pitcher.

OK. So that sounds like a tall order. The first time I came to l’Anecdote I ordered the 2 eggs scrambled with toast and bacon. It was underwhelming.

Then I decided that I had to leave the west coast behind me and more fully embrace the local cuisine. I return yet again, this time with a friend [so I can eat what’s on her plate as well], and I strive to order something more “Quebec”.

Crêpes with apple and emmental cheese and maple syrup

Three Cheese Omelette

I have crêpes aux pommes with real maple syrup and emmental cheese ($7.85) and D has an omelettes aux trois fromages with a really great side salad and a citrusy dressing ($8.95). My meal was good, not quite hot enough, but full of real apple (not canned pie filling) and the cheese is a hit. I like the maple syrup and whipped cream combination, but who doesn’t? It’s not really “breakfast” by my definition and is creeping into dessert territory as far as I’m concerned. D on the other hand has a great breakfast, I’m completely jealous, and while I would never order an omelette in a restaurant (I really don’t need 3 eggs ever – do they make 2 egg omelettes?) I realize that this is the breakfast I’ve been searching for. It’s eggs not overcooked with a few brown potatoes and a really great salad.

The skies split open and a huge rain storm pours down towards the end of our meal. We sit and drink more coffee. No other customers ever join us up in the non-smoking section, we are alone there the entire time.

On my way out, feeling a bit guilty, I tell the cashier that in fact I was taking the pictures for a restaurant review. She isn’t the least bit surprised. She puts a pad of paper in front of me and asks me to write out the name of the site and asks me for my business card (where is that card that Nick made up for me that says my profession is prestidigitator?). I scribble the website address on her bit of paper and D and I retreat, across the street, under an overhang, waiting for the rain to stop, watching the hunky men build the new Toyota station two doors down.

-- Reviewed by Shelley MacDonald