Deceptive dep

Dépanneur le Pick Up serves up diner
standards, fancy brunches and some of
the city’s best sandwiches

by A.J. KINIK

When you move in food-obsessed circles, from time to time you hear rumours of these little-known dépanneurs that double as full-service restaurants, hidden gems serving exotic delicacies behind an unprepossessing facade.

Usually the rumours turn out to be bunk, though. One time, I had such a bad reaction to the preservative-laced meal I had at one highly touted Asian resto-dep that I had a total meltdown on a tennis court 90 minutes later (think Luke “Richie” Wilson in The Royal Tenenbaums minus the dope Fila threads).

Lucky for us, Dépanneur le Pick Up is the real deal. In fact, it’s so great, so totally original, that suddenly the whole notion of the dep takes on new meaning. The first time I visited, I came out thinking, “Why don’t we all own deps?” Afterwards, I wasn’t 100 per cent sure what I meant by that, but I think what I was getting at was, “Why isn’t every dep idiosyncratic and full of personality?” (Not that there aren’t plenty of deps with personality out there, but how many actually dare to break the mould?)

What makes le Pick Up so unique? Well, first and foremost, there’s the classic diner counter facing the diner grill. Then there’s the full-service kitchen. Then there’s the outdoor seating, both front and back. Then there’s the combination of dep staples (beer, cigs, chips) with a small but well-chosen selection of health and artisanal foods. Then there’s the decor (the Hawaiian Tropic wallpaper, the 21st-century folk art). And last but certainly not least, there’s the people, on both sides of the counter (we’re not talking Cosmos just yet, but le Pick Up’s only been open for a year—give ’em time).

Le Pick Up was blessed with a pre-existing diner grill and kitchen set-up and something of a built-in breakfast and lunch trade, but they were smart enough to know how to bring in a whole new crowd without alienating their regulars, and their menu is a huge part of this success story. This means that alongside old-school diner standards like hamburgers and deli sandwiches, you have a whole slew of new-school sandwiches, salads and breakfast items.

Le Pick Up’s Chipotle Club ($6) is a pretty straight-up club sandwich, made with nice, big chunks of chicken, iceberg lettuce, tomato and lots of bacon, but the twist comes from the retro charms of some piquant chipotle mayo (as our counterman told us, “chipotle mayo is so 2001!”). Their Steak Sub ($6.50), on the other hand, is essentially a Philly cheesesteak served “Jimmy style.” I’m not sure who “Jimmy” is or what the “Jimmy style” appellation designates, but the sandwich comes overstuffed with plenty of melted cheese and pickled peppers, and it’s another crowd-pleaser.

These days it seems like everyone and their brother has a pulled pork sandwich on their menu, and le Pick Up is no exception here, but how many places around town can also boast an ingenious totally veggie Pulled “Pork” sandwich ($5.25), made with tofu skins and their tangy homemade BBQ sauce?

My favourite, though, is le Pick Up’s utterly seductive Grilled Halloumi Sandwich, which brings together the briny charms of halloumi cheese, a minty coleslaw, a schmear of chipotle mayo and a drizzle of honey, and stacks them between two slices of toasted multigrain. There’s literally no other Montreal sandwich that I crave more at the moment, and that’s saying something.

Breakfasts range from basic but satisfying breakfast sandwiches ($3.75), to totally outlandish brunch specials like the twin French Toast Sandwich specials they had on offer the other day—mine came sweet ($8.25), with grilled peaches, Greek yogurt, dulce de leche and toasted pecans, while my friend’s came savoury ($8.75), with grilled tomatoes, chèvre, caramelized onions and basil—but either way, the value is exceptional.

Actually, specials are a bit of a thing at le Pick Up. One day I walked in and saw “Beaver in a Robot Suit” listed as a $2 special. I forked over my two bucks, placed my order, and the next thing I knew, some dude named “Beaver” was next to our table, doing the robot dance in a low-tech cardboard costume. Vive la différence!