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The Round-up:

• Food - 3.5 out of 5
• Service - 3.5 out of 5
• Decor - 4 out of 5
• Overall - 11 out of 15

Let's start with the good: Tangerine is a tastefully decorated bistro that has added a healthy dose of personality to the strip of shops on 14th Avenue between Lorne and Cornwall streets. The restaurant seems to be doing a very good business over the lunch hour. Ladies who lunch, business folks, and university kids are all common sights.
Service is very fast - as it should be at a bistro that depends on the lunch hour to survive. My meals have arrived within minutes of ordering during both of my lunchtime visits. Considering that ordering is done cafeteria-style, that is up at the counter, there is no reason for service to be slow.
The menu, written in chalk on a large wall next to the deli case, has a good mixture of proteins, grains and greens, and it changes often. Tangerine also brews coffee and serves up homemade biscuits and sweets. All of this lends an urbane feel to the place - Tangerine would fit right in to New York's Lower East Side or Vancouver's West End. But it's all ours and we should be proud to have it.
As for the not-so-good: Tangerine needs to work on portions and prices. The other day I ordered the $11 Greens and Proteins: a six- or seven-ounce piece of salmon atop a bed of greens with a light dressing. The dish's modest size left me feeling hungry, and that I'd paid too much. Consider that Siam Thai restaurant downtown offers an all-you-can-eat lunch buffet for $9; or that La Bodega serves a mean sandwich with fries for about $12.
As for the salad, I have a strong suspicion that the lettuce mixture I ate was store-bought. This is a bit of a shame in the middle of summer when fresh local produce is everywhere.
Finally, Tangerine could play more heavily on the "food bar" theme that it uses as part of its name. At the moment, the restaurant is open until 7 p.m. on weeknights. But give the place a liquor licence, dim the lights, put on some groovy music, and you could have a very cool evening hangout. Of course, this may come as Tangerine matures. Owner/chef Aimee Schulhauser is wise to take a "walk before you run" approach to the place.
The verdict: give Tangerine a try for your next business lunch, or if you happen to be hanging around downtown on a gorgeous summer day.

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.

The Round-up:

• Food - 3.5 out of 5
• Service - 3.5 out of 5
• Atmosphere - 3 out of 5
• Overall - 10 out of 15

It's slightly gutsy to open a restaurant on a semi-abandoned block in downtown Regina that has seen its share of restaurants come and go over the years.

But entrepreneur Astrid Baecker did exactly that two years ago when renovations at 1822 Broad Street got underway. After sitting empty for a few years, the building was looking in pretty rough shape when things got started. Within a few months Baecker and her team added plenty of shine.

What's now known as Bitten used to be home to Gingerz. Before that it was a satellite location of India House for a matter of months. And wayyy before that it was New Orleans. And that's all the history I know of the place.

The room itself, long and narrow with a balcony looking over the main floor, is an awkward shape for a restaurant. That being said, Bitten has made things work by modernizing the colour scheme and placing high-top tables with bar stools on the main floor that can be easily moved around to accommodate groups of all sizes.

The second floor balcony is cozy and closer to the bar. If drinking is your main reason for visiting Bitten, sit upstairs.

The menu has grown over the last two years. It's now several pages long and covers a surprisingly wide range of cuisines. If you want Asian, Bitten does that. If you want Italian, Bitten does that. If you want Cajun, they do that too. While the variety is nice, the menu lacks focus overall. Some of the appetizers, like the stuffed mushroom caps, seem like a throwback to the '80s.

On the other hand, appetizers come in very generous portions. Some might even find them large enough to be a meal. They definitely make for good sharing in a group.

As for the rest of the food, it's generally good. Some entrees, like a Surf and Turf I had around Valentine's Day in 2009, lacked flavour. However, the pizzas and salads are filling, tasty, and priced just right.

I've been to Bitten five or six times in the last two years and the service has always been good, no matter the server. Service isn't always lighting fast, but it's attentive. And Bitten isn't really the type of place you go for a speedy meal.

I can't finish this review without talking about dessert. Bitten's motto, after all, is "Life is Short... Have Dessert First."

The menu features a whole page of desserts to choose from, all of them made in-house. Bitten does a good job of classics like the Creme Brulee and Creme Caramel. The Mascarpone Toffee Parcels were delish when I tried them a few months back. I haven't had Bitten's version of Sticky Toffee Pudding just yet, but that's next on my list.

My advice: check Bitten out if you haven't been, or if it's been awhile. It's worth supporting a local eatery that's breathing life into our downtown core.

I'm moving yet again this Saturday, which will mark the sixth place I've lived in just over a year. It's getting old, this moving, packing up and roving on when something about the place I'm in becomes unsuitable. Or intolerable. On the other hand, I'm kind of getting used to it, paring my possessions down to the absolutely barest minimum to avoid unnecessary haulage.

But this time, I'm feeling a little bad. And some guilt, or sadness, is creeping in.

It's because of my landlady. Shortly after moving in with her, I discovered her issues with serious depression. She's an older woman who trained for the bar and is a recognized lawyer. Or was. That is, until the creeping, overwhelming sadness took her over and forced her inside, living on disability, lying on a bare mattress all day and all night except when she ventures out for therapy sessions or psychiatric appointments, barricading herself around with hoarded possessions as if they could give her the security she craves. She lives all day in her underwear and a sloppy t-shirt or sweater, her gray hair stringy and unkempt, only trudging around to make herself coffee or something to eat. She rarely if ever cleans and dishes pile up in the sink to sit for days. I quickly learned that if I wanted something cleaned, I'd have to do it myself. Even if it wasn't my mess.

I liked her and we got along well; she is a clever and at times funny person, despite the marked slowness the depression causes in her physical movement and speech. I felt uneasy around her at times—the darkness surrounding her is almost palpable; and the bitterness she spewed whenever she talked about members of her family or someone who'd done her wrong was wince-inducing; but all the same she is a likeable person, markedly vulnerable but at the same time appealing. I brought several friends closer to her age to the house for an Indian takeout and included her, hoping she'd make connections. I invited her to church, but anything outside her proscribed circle was maddeningly fearsome.

I knew there were problems when I moved in; but at the same time, I was escaping an intolerable situation and was glad to find something that was within my price range and close to the town I worked in. I figured that because our living spaces were so separate, and the cleaning duty so light, it wouldn't affect me. Coming after the unyielding expectations of my previous landlord, this one's uninvolvement was a welcome relief.

But shortly after I moved in, my trouble sleeping began. I'd never had difficulty sleeping in my life before; I'd drop off within moments of lying down and sleep like the proverbial log till ten or twelve hours later, if duty or an alarm didn't intervene. Even thunderstorms and other loud noises didn't disturb me.

Sleep became difficult to obtain and light; I'd jolt awake early in the morning and have trouble falling back asleep. Formerly a notorious sleeper-in, I could no longer doze past seven in the morning, even on the weekends.

For a long time, I tossed off friends' suggestions that her mindset could be affecting me; but deep inside I knew better. I knew whatever darkness haunted her had somehow made me a target as well; not consciously but subconsciously, attacking me as I slept. The last straw really came when she bought a place of her own and we moved to a town twenty-five minutes' drive away. For the last three months I've only slept there; carrying my possessions in my car like a nomad for my working, church, and social life which stretches from early in the morning till past nine most nights, and all day on weekends.

I could possibly have tolerated it longer were it not for the practical implications. But too many factors are making it unthinkable to be there any longer. However, now that I'm moving out, a guilt and a sadness are creeping in. I think of her coping by herself. I wonder who's going to clean. Who's going to take out the garbage, or bring in the mail. Who's going to remind her about things that she should take care of by herself. Who's going to take care of the cat when she makes one of her frequent three- or four-day stays at the psychiatric hospital, as has just happened again. The poor cat, a desperately social animal, hates being left by himself, and I'm hardly ever home to pay attention to him. He was pathetically clingy and bouncily joyful to see me this morning, though I barely had time to cuddle him a bit and put food in his bowl before my morning rush to leave for work.

So I'll pray about what to do, leave her a note with my phone number, and take her up on her suggestion that we go out for Indian food one day. I can't help but pity her and wish that I could help, somehow, though I don't think my six-and-a-half month stay with her has made any real difference. I wish that it had. I wish that I wasn't forced to leave.

How many other people like her are out there? How many, living desperately sad and alone, without family and with few friends who are mostly there to pity and provide practical help when needed? It makes me wonder.