Primo vino

>> Bouchonné Comptoir à Vin mixes
great drops with bistro bites

by GENEVIEVE PAIEMENT

While joking around with our waiter and listening to him excitedly describe each wine by the glass (where it comes from, what the soil is like there, who made it), I’m thinking: this guy couldn’t be older than 30 (the average age of those at our table). We are at Bouchonné Comptoir à Vin, the city’s newest upstart wine bar. Dance punk (MSTRKRFT’s latest) is being played loudly on the stereo.

Yes, the world still has no shortage of sniffing, swirling snobs who hold their wine up to the light and squint at it while earnestly muttering about “legs” and such. But it’s as though, in the last five years or so, wine has been quietly transforming itself from an elitist, middle-aged club to something entirely more casual and accessible to the youngins (think of Jamie Oliver’s shaggy, Australian, jeans-and-t-shirt sommelier Matt Skinner, or the cheesily named Wine X magazine, aimed at budding 20- and 30-something oenophiles).

Which brings me to the Plateau’s latest wine bar sensation, brought to us by the folks behind La Montée de Lait: the postage stamp-sized Bouchonné, which opened in early December. With its dark wood, original ornate ceiling mouldings and red banquette seating, the interior feels disarmingly cozy and inviting. Over nearly three hours one recent frigid evening, some friends and I feasted here, sampling several wines and indulging in some serious bistro comfort food.

To start: oysters (Lucky Lime and Raspberry Point, $2.50 each) all very tasty, very fresh, and some of the cutest little devilled quail eggs you ever did see (75 cents a pop), each a creamy, salty delight. Then we discovered the perfect culinary antidote to a Montreal night when the wind chill nearly freezes your face off: the gratin of tripe, blood sausage and Yukon gold potatoes ($7). Rich, creamy, satisfying and perfect for adding that little bit of extra insulation your body needs this season.

Continuing in the organ/offal vein, the chopped liver and marinated onions with butter toasts ($8) really wows—smooth and luscious, the slippery, flavourful onions truly made it sing. And, really, what beats a perfectly toasted piece of delicately crunchy, generously buttered white bread? The perfect accompaniment.

Amidst all the artery-clogging fun, our pal-ly waiter seemed to have forgotten the measly nods to the vegetable kingdom that we ordered: the marinated vegetables ($5) and Greek mushrooms ($5). When I asked about them, he smiled and said, “Oh, are you ready for them now?” It seemed like a bizarre question. Yes, um, ready as we’d ever be. And then, there they were, the vegetables being cauliflower, fennel, radish, all white, glistening, lightly pickled and refreshing after all the richness. The mushrooms were subtly lemony and silky smooth.

As for the vino, four of us managed to taste-test a dozen by ordering six “duos” (pairings of two half glasses), ranging in price from $11–$18. Highlights included a slightly citrusy 2003 Christian Moreau Chablis Grand Cru Les Clos among the whites, and a deep, dark 2004 Sang des Cailloux Vacqueyras Cuveé Lopy in the reds.

Though apparently the cheese platter is the bee’s knees here, our troupe of endurance eaters couldn’t face any more savoury, so we went for some sweetness: three mini chocolate cupcakes with cream cheese icing ($3). Though cute (the icing was pink), they were nothing more than your average, ho hum cakes and the icing was beyond bland. Next time, I’ll go for the cheese.

A few more gripes: the ventilation could be improved (our clothes reeked of cooking smells afterward), a few non-French wine choices might be interesting, and for digestion’s sake, the blaring dance punk could be toned down when it’s early (maybe I’m getting old, but I prefer to do my raving after dinner, not during, when I think mellower sounds work best).

But these small grievances didn’t detract too much from what was a memorable evening of indulgence and merriment in warm and unpretentious surroundings. A welcome addition to the ’hood.