méchant boeuf for a night out and a burger
A couple of weeks ago, hubby and I had dinner at Méchant Boeuf, the lively bar-restaurant in Vieux Montreal.
Tall windows define the front of the restaurant, the tiled back wall streams with water. The bar, suffused in red light, runs from front to back. The place is packed with square tables, leather-backed chairs, and, on that Friday night, the nervous energy of young, well-dressed urbanites.
The air throbbed as the DJ, wearing a tuque, goggles and tattoos, cued up the Rolling Stones, followed by the Tragically Hip. Waiting for our table, I smelled oysters.
The food at Méchant Boeuf is French brasserie fare - raw bar, hanger steak, grilled salmon - with a nod to pub food, including burgers and a poutine made with braised pork and Canadian Migneron cheese.
My salad of arugula and goat cheese was decidedly French: half inch slabs of creamy chèvre stacked between rounds of yellow and red beet made a delightful and delicious sculpture.
Eating required deconstruction; in the process I slathered cheese on slices of fresh crusty baguette. The loose pile of peppery greens with grape tomatoes and grated carrot, paired with a glass of Chilean cab, left me satiated, and full.
The burgers at Méchant Boeuf are said to be the best in town, and Ken couldn’t resist. The half pound of charbroiled beef arrived nicely pink at the center (even though our server told us they’re not technically allowed to serve beef rare).
The juicy meat was covered with blue cheese, gruyère, caramelized onion, and two substantial slices of bacon. A warm onion roll contained the dense, smokey concoction. An English pint of Tetley’s cream ale, with notes of caramel and a hoppy finish, was exemplary at its side.
Good as it was, the search for the city’s best burger continues…
Do you have a favorite? Let us know!
sidewalk sales, street fairs, and more
Yesterday was a glorious day to be out and about in Montreal. After four days of rain, the sky was blue, and the city sparkled. I wandered with friends in The Main, the Plateau, the Botanical Gardens, and Vieux Montréal…aahh, what a treat.
The Main - closed to traffic between Sherbrooke and Mont-Royal for the first of three summer sidewalk sales - was in its glory. Street food included chow mein, hot dogs and espresso (with chocolat chaud as a holdover from the preceding rainy days) - supplemented by café terraces, filled to overflowing.
Friends chatted in groups, couples walked hand in hand, and just about every breed of dog padded through the happy crowds. In sidewalk sale tents, prices plunged - and we got two swingy, Georges Lévesque nylon skirts at Scandale for half off.
Ex-centris had a free viral/visual project going. Apparently, there is still confusion about whether the state-of-the-art complex is still open. To promote the still intact Cinéma Parallèle, a friendly, goateed young man invited passersby to peer through a hole in a painted board, kind of like they do with Mickey Mouse at Disney. A professional photographer recorded the images.
I can’t say I understood the visuals (at first glance, a donut, with a bullet on trajectory toward the participant’s head), but I love the place - a cultural treasure, full of fun and surprises all year long.
In the Plateau, it was all about biking. Folding bikes, hybrids, and faithful old road models rolled along with the cars on Ave Mont-Royal. Bikes (and calmly panting dogs) waited in front of stores and cafés as their owners enjoyed the confluence of free time and good weather, shopping, brunching, and hanging out in puddles of sun.
Every BIXI station in and around Parc la Fontaine was empty - and the bike path between the park and the Botanical Gardens streamed with riders. At the gardens, bike parking was easy to come by; cars, packed with families and poussettes, were not so easily accommodated.
We saw a black tandem bike locked to a post, and imagined the couple who owned it: middle aged, helmeted cyclists wearing slim-fitting Pearl Izumi jackets, who had once toured Ireland, Italy and elsewhere under their own power.
Near the entrance, a pair of twenty-something cyclists leaned duffle-laden steeds against a tree, while he took her picture with a disposable point-and-shoot. Not in front of the joyously spattering fountain, or the ruffled yellow snapdragons - but in front of the Olympic stadium, with her left hand raised to shoulder height, and held flat, as if she held the white stadium tip in her palm.
In Vieux Montréal, a long line waited at Musée Point-à-Caillière, in honor of the city-wide Free Museum Day. On the grass near the science museum, aerobics instructors led warm ups for a walk benefiting Alzheimer’s patients.
We watched a parade of snare drummers wearing tri-cornered black and gold hats, and wandered through a food festival featuring lobsters and sugar on snow.
Finally, we staked out a table at Café Serafim, soaking in the sun, nursing lattes, and admiring Chapel Notre-Dame-de-Bon-Secours.
Across the street, wearing period dress, the Musée Marguerite Bourgeoys staff announced the free tour. Eventually we succumbed and climbed the 69 steps to the tower - breathing in the blue sky and the view of the harbor, watching our fellow revelers from above.
