MISS MOOX: 
Search results for Montreal

THE ROUND-UP:

Food - 4.5 out of 5
Service - 4.5 out of 5
Decor - 4.5 out of 5
Total - 13.5 out of 15

2375 Sainte-Catherine est
Montreal, Quebec
514-522-5105
restolegraindesel.ca
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If you're anything like me, TripAdvisor has become a trusted travel companion before, during, and after a trip takes you out on the road.

TripAdvisor offers more information about hotels, restaurants, and activities in almost any city than you could probably ever read. And more often than not, the information is reliable and straight-up honest.

Until recently, it had been more than seven years since the last time I visited Montreal. I was at a total loss as to where to eat, especially in a city with as many options as Montreal. So, I took the web's advice.

Do a search for restaurants in Montreal on TripAdvisor, and the number 1 result is a little bistro by the name of Le Grain de Sel (at least at the time of writing in September 2010).

Thank you yet again, TripAdvisor, for an amazing night out.

While no one visits Montreal without strolling down Sainte-Catherine Street at least once, Le Grain de Sel is on a stretch of the street that sees little traffic (about five blocks east of the Papineau subway stop).

The main dining room out front is cozy. White linens dress each table with darker colours on the bar and walls.

Staff were immediately welcoming and friendly, offering us a choice of available tables. The menu is completely in French, but our waiter took the time to explain almost every item, mostly without even being prompted.

I think Le Grain de Sel's total lack of pretension is one of its best qualities. The head chef even came out to our table to ask how the food was at one point in the meal. And he looked like he genuinely wanted to make sure we were having a good time.

We ordered the Escargots en Croute and a pair of fresh Quebec Scallops for appetizers. Both dishes were delicious. The escargots came served in a piping hot bowl covered by a thin crust of glazed phyllo dough. Beneath the doughy dome were our escargots, buttery and mixed with wild mushrooms. Mwa!

The scallops were seasoned perfectly with oil, salt, and pepper, and served with a side of corn and red pepper. Not your usual sides, but they were a perfect match for the scallops.

As for main courses, we ventured for the halibut and a duo of haddock and pork belly. The fish was truly delicious and makes me wish that I lived nearer to the ocean.

The pork, on the other hand, was extraordinarily fatty. So much so that once the fat was cut away, just a few morsels of meat were left. When our lovely waitress asked how I liked my meal, I had to confess that I wasn't nuts about the pork. But she made a good point: the fatty pork was intentionally paired with the ultra-lean haddock as a contrast. I still can't say that I enjoyed the pork, but at least the kitchen is thinking seriously about the food it serves.

For dessert, we gorged on a homemade cheesecake, and a cold raspberry and balsamic vinegar soup with fresh doughnuts on top. It was all too, too delicious.

If I had to give Le Grain de Sel a grade, it would be an F++.

Hold on now, that stands for Fresh, Friendly, and Fantastic.

When in Montreal go to Le Grain de Sel. Just go.

Made the long road trip from New Hampshire to Toronto yesterday. The drive was supposed to take 9 hours. It took me 13. Part of it was an unplanned, nearly hour-long stop at a roadside garage in Quebec, just over the border, to get my car window fixed. It had come off the track and was stuck about three inches open, and it had begun to rain. . .the mechanic, a gentle, patient man with very weathered hands and a little more English than the girl at the front desk, deftly fixed it. Albeit a long break for a very animated conversation between him, the girl, and a man who came in with a briefcase, on an unknown topic that seemed very important. My French is non-existant enough that I couldn't make out what it was, but I finally had to reluctantly interrupt to let him know that I had a long way to go and needed the job finished. . .

That part of Quebec, just over the border, is incredibly beautiful, with a sparse, flat, severe beauty. The transition from Vermont mountains to paper-flat Quebec farmland is fairly abrupt. The landscape starts looking more "Canadian", in a way I can't describe. Then just over the border begins long flat fields of corn, dried to brown now it is nearly winter, and bent trees bowed over in long submission to the prevailing winds, like old ladies with a permanent stoop. The farms are marked out by a cluster of barns and houses, with a characteristic blue-green roofing, in the midst of the fields. Little shops and auto repair places, like the one I stopped at, occur with regularity. It is a wild, beautiful, character-ful place. Driving along listening to soulful French tunes on the radio only added to the atmosphere.

The border crossing was so remote there was only one station open and two cars ahead of me. My passport wasn't even asked for. The customs officer, obviously battling between his desire to be friendly and his need to keep an official formidability, told me in response to my inquiries that yes, there was an information booth there, but that it was only open in the summer.

The rain began just over the Quebec border, and continued the whole way to Toronto, with more or less severity. In Montreal and for a ways beyond it was so incredibly forceful I began to think on the evening news we'd hear that Montreal had been washed away in a monsoon. We were forced to slow to a crawl by blinding sheets of rain pounding on the windshield and great lakes of water filling up the roads. The whole rest of the drive was a long and undifferentiated nightmare of going on and on in the rain, the cars spraying it up in white mist on the highway so visibility was severely reduced. Still I kept to about 120 km/hour (75 mi/hour) in a desire to arrive as quickly as possible.

It's difficult to describe the feeling crossing over the Canadian border. Like coming home. I was so happy to see Canada I pumped my fist in the air and blew a kiss to it. It does feel like home; I'm an alien in my own country and at home here, though I don't belong. Hopefully that will change. . .