Tel.: 843-5100.
 Maddening charming pink, that is what Cavalli is to me. Opened in June 2003 on Peel Street, where Mondo Saks used to be, Cavalli is centrally located in the commercial district. At noon, it mainly attracts a business crowd as it clearly too expensive for tourists or the downtown plebs. Lunch for three, without wine and tip, was $109. A bottle of sparkling water goes for $7.50, and Italian or Californian wine by the glass costs between $8 and $14.
The decor is absolutely stunning, built around an award-winning psychedelic pink bar. The high ceilings, the strategically placed mirrors and the transparent vases are designed to provide a feeling of space. Claustrophobics will enjoy dining here. They are warned however not to venture downstairs, where a gloomy corridor leads to creepy cold-marble washrooms, past a dark closed-off wine cellar. The kind of place where incompetent spies meet their destiny — an Italian chef's coltello — and where the blood stains on the opaque washroom doors are quickly hosed off.
 Restospy was accompanied by two classy chicks for lunch on a muggy noon in July. The doors to the street were wide open, so the prize tables were those near the sidewalk. I would not mention this if Berlusconi's skinhead ex-bodyguard-turned-maitre d' had seated us there. He asked us if we wanted to sit in the smoking section, to which we replied "no". So, as is usual in Montreal, we were shown a table in the back of the restaurant. (Don't worry, we will promptly inform the Quebec Minister of Tobacco and Firearms.)
I pointed to a table closer to the street, but "that was in the smoking section". No problem — I told the skinhead that we would love to sit in the smoking section today. But he was good, replying "that table is reserved". So, I asked him if I could sit anywhere in the smoking section, even next to an obnoxious lasagna-bellied gentleman who was kissing the staff and many diners as if he was the grandson of Vito Genovese himself.
So, skinhead replied that all tables in the smoking section were reserved. Aha, we have come full circle — why did he offer a table in the smoking section in the first place? I did not push the issue. We later deduced how the tables are really assigned — it's by dress. Businessmen with Armani suits sit near the street.
Then there are two rows of lesser bankers and sales people, still in suits, and then, hidden from the street view, is the riff-raff in shorts (Restospy wears shorts in 30+ degree weather), some lost tourists, and the T-shirt crowd. Another theory is that you need to be bald to have access to the first two rows. Too bad, because the two chicks with Restospy were dressed for row #1. I wonder where they will seat bankers wearing 2000 Thierry Mugler mini-dresses during Montreal's Annual Gay Parade?
The three-course lunch menu ($22 to $38) is varied, pleasant and classical, but certainly not up to the hype that surrounded the opening of this restaurant. The staff is friendly but inexperienced, having been picked for looks rather than culinary expertise. As our first course, we sampled a carpaccio of white fish, nicely presented but underflavored, and a tasty salad of duck prosciutto and mushrooms.
The main courses were all rather conservative, without surprises: I tried the torchietta noodles ($22) in an excellent veal ragout sauce. Chick #1 had linguine with thinly sliced delicious scallops ($25), while chick #2 opted for a thick grilled swordfish steak ($ 24) on a bed of vegetables. All ingredients were fresh, and the only complaint came from chick #2, who reported that the swordfish did not have enough flavour. The portions were just right, although the main fish and meat dishes would gain from side orders in the cereal group. For the meat lovers, the menu has a selection of about five entrees including filet mignon in Cabernet Sauvignon sauce ($28).
 We concluded with a superb desert, a great crème brûlée, accompanied by a lively sorbet of raspberries, which had a hint of liquor.
I am still learning the spy camera trade, and was caught yet again, this time while making a picture of the pink bar, by our friend, skinhead. When I went to the washroom, he followed me down the doomsday stairs, and waited outside the washroom until I was done. For a second I thought "Is this coltello time for Restospy?" Luckily, we had not paid yet, and they needed our signature on the credit card slip. With all the bankers in row #1, this is a place where money saves lives.
Reviewed by RestroSpy
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