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330 Marie-Anne E. Mont-Royal métro BYOB
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RESERVATIONS: 282-6342. HOURS: 6 p.m.—10 P. M. Closed Sun. Mon. NO-SMOKING SECTION: No. WHEELCHAIR ACCESS: No. PRICES—TABLE D'HÔTE: $15. CREDIT CARDS: Visa, Interac.
How can a resto be so funky and relaxed, yet SO good? Read on! For those who imagine that it must be fairly easy not to have prejudices when you're a restaurant critic, picture the following evening:
You walk into Le P'tit Plateau as if you were walking into a dream. It is mid-summer, early in the evening on a Thursday night and you notice that everything is the same, the same old tables—even a (gulp!) picnic table is in the corner for groups—the same chairs, yet everything is somehow altered...
The uneasy feeling that you may have underestimated this place starts with the soup: the gazpacho is fantastic, with the fresh fruit of the tomato not hidden by the subtle spicing; the potage Crécy (puree of carrot soup) is so delicate, deliciously textured, perfumed, creamy, buttery, perfectly harmoniously balanced...
The second course, pannequets de saumon, has us already on our knees—tender chef-smoked salmon slices envelope a salmon tartar and capers filling. Even the obligatory lemon quarter is covered in minutely-sliced rounds of chives.
What is wrong with this picture? This is not the P'tit Plateau we remember from our salad days! Something is definitely afoot, Watson!
The main courses, ordered off the cuisine du marché chalkboard (no printed menu here) like everything else, by the way, will surely make you salivate, especially if you are hungry. A beautifully prepared cuisse de confit de canard (only Le Pégase's chef even comes close), served with—get ready—home smoked, thinly-sliced magret de canard (duck breast) on a mesclun salad mix that boasts one of the better vinaigrettes we've had. And if that weren't enough to convince us that the chef was a master, the desserts of the day, île flottante (just brilliant, subtly flavoured) and the crème brulée (simply our favourite rendition in Montreal—did the chef put an entire vanilla bean in each ramekin?), remove all doubt once and for all.
This resto is not chic to look at, with the exception of the old apothecary stained glass of a mortar and pestle over the front door, and the gorgeous, mint-hued tin ceiling, but make no mistake, this is the real thing.
If it is food that drives your agenda, and you like copious yet fine food that straddles the line between bistro and grand resto, suspend your disbelief and make a reservation here on a Wednesday or Thursday night, when the neighbourhood habitués are eating here.
Chef Alain Loivel is straight from Bordeaux, where he was born, but his cuisine leans towards the southwest (he learned from his mother—what a teacher she must have been! That explains the confit!).
When the meal was over, we asked the chef why there were salt and pepper shakers on his tables. It was that good. Patronize this place, but don't expect luxury surroundings or fine wine glasses. And you know what? Long may it never change! Vive Le P'tit Plateau!
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