Nothing to hide

>>Bistro Bienville’s open-plan design and sumptuous food make it one of
the city’s best micro-bistros

by A.J. KINIK

Montreal’s got no shortage of tiny, convivial, neighbourhood bistros, and many of them rank among the city’s finest restaurants. Of course, some people just don’t get these places—they generally find the quarters too tight, the atmosphere perhaps a bit too boisterous for their liking—but for those of us who do get it, dining in Montreal can be something of a field day.

So when Bistro Bienville joined the fray at the end of 2006, they had their work cut out for them. Sure, they had the advantage of one of the cutest, most secluded Plateau locales imaginable, situated as it is on the corner of Mentana and Bienville, but the competition was stiff. If a recent visit is any indication, however, Bistro Bienville may be one of the city’s very best micro-bistros.

The thing is, I’d visited Bistro Bienville once before and felt that something was lacking. I loved the atmosphere and the fact that it’s so small and so open, that they’ve got absolutely nothing to hide—the kitchen, the food prep, the washing of dishes. In fact, they couldn’t hide anything if they tried. The formula was a bit on the precious side, but that seemed fitting, so I was okay with that too. I just wasn’t as thoroughly impressed by the overall experience as I assumed I would be.

Second time’s the charm though, I guess, because this time around, everything made sense to me and, more importantly, everything was spot on.

The way things work at Bistro Bienville is that one half of the menu features dishes that lie in that nebulous zone somewhere between an appetizer and a main, while the other half is composed of larger, more elaborate dishes that are meant for two.

With four dishes to choose from among the petits plats, we started off with the scallop carpaccio ($14) and the bavette de veau ($15). The veal arrived perfectly grilled and accompanied by an assortment of pan-fried vegetables, including cherry tomatoes and baby zucchini, and already we were pretty happy, but what really gave the dish an extra something—making us even happier—was the addition of a few slices of spicy chorizo sausage.

Even better, though, was the carpaccio, which was generous, gracefully adorned with a mixture of finely diced red and orange bell peppers, micro-cilantro and caviar, and elegant in its plating. The mingling of textures and flavours was sensational, and once again a hint of pepperiness—this time from the olive oil—gave the dish a surprisingly kicky finish.

The showstopper, though, was our final dish: a roasted Cornish game hen for two ($30). I’m not sure what the aversion to roast chicken is among Montreal’s finer restaurants. Au Pied de Cochon has its totally outlandish (and totally outrageous) roasted guinea hen, but for the most part, the better restaurants seem to regard chicken as being overly pedestrian. Not Bistro Bienville, apparently (God bless them).

The chefs at Bistro Bienville take a plump, beautiful Cornish game hen, they butterfly it, season it and pan-sear it, before roasting it in the oven and, finally, dressing it with sautéed asparagus and oyster mushrooms in a glorious chicken-stock reduction.

I know, because I watched them from a front-row seat at the counter. We could barely restrain ourselves. I almost pulled a knife on the waiter that brought out the order just before ours. It was late, and those petits plats had gotten me all worked up, but the spectacle of watching them prepare those game hens was almost more than I could take. We knew it was going to be great before our plate even arrived. And it was. Rarely have I had a chicken that juicy, that succulent, and the asparagus and oyster mushrooms accompaniment was a stroke of genius.

Okay, there was one relatively minor misstep—a gingery honey panna cotta ($5) that wasn’t the creamy delicacy it could have been—but otherwise we were elated.

Have you ever left a restaurant already thinking about your next visit? This was one of those occasions.