What the Deville?

Downtown’s Deville Dinerbar serves American classics in a space that invokes Betty Boop meets Star Trek

If I had to identify a current trend in the Montreal restaurant scene, I would say there appears to be a proliferation of what I’d call “stylized Americana.” The latest and so far most extreme example is the new Deville Dinerbar downtown.

Deville’s aesthetic invokes a kind of Betty Boop, roaring 20s American metropolis with a hint of Star Trek futurism. The space is dimly lit, with dark vinyl seating, slick black and chrome surfaces and a lot of neon pink lighting. Deville’s overlords must have unloaded stupendous amounts of money on interior design for this cavernous space and on the restaurant’s slick website.

I recently met fellow resto critic Joanna Fox at Deville for a midweek dinner—our first joint review. After sauntering into the somewhat busy restaurant, we were promptly seated at one of the tiny tables for two on its partial upper floor. Finding it a little cramped, we moved to a nearby booth, which turned out to be no more spacious.

The menu is fairly heavy on American comfort classics, albeit with some contemporary twists. Our first appetizer, Philly Cheese-steak Spring Rolls ($13), is a case in point. Beef with onions, pep­pers and molten cheese was encased in what seemed to be wheat tortillas rather than a crispy spring roll wrapper. Four of these tubular beef bombs were arranged vertically on a plate, like smoke­stacks, and scattered with decorative flowers (exactly like at Pat’s or Geno’s in Philadelphia!). They were satisfyingly meaty and gooey, as a cheesesteak should be, but were a tad bland. A little more seasoning, especially black pepper, would’ve been nice.

Our other starter was fried dill pickles ($9), an item I can never resist ordering. These were unlike any I’ve had before—made of sliced, sweet, bread and butter pickles rather than sour pickle wedges. Though this disappointed me initially, I ended up quite liking these—a lot more than Joanna. The batter in which they were encased was a perfectly crunchy golden-brown, without a trace of oily residue. The accompanying maple Dijon dipping sauce was nice.

Our mains, chosen from the menu’s “specialties” section, were rib-themed: “Adam’s Ribs” ($23), of porcine origin, and “Mandeville Jerk-Rubbed Rib Eye” ($29), of bovine origin.

The pork ribs were very tender, so much so that gravity almost pulled the meat off the bone. Her Foxiness found the thick maple flavoured sauce that covered them to be a bit sweet for her taste. My sentiments exactly. The accompanying thin cut fries could’ve been fried stronger, to a slightly browner hue. The coleslaw on the side was made of chopped rather than shredded cabbage, giving it a suboptimal texture. It did not help that the cream-based dressing was bland.

At 16 oz, the beef rib eye was huge. It had been grilled exactly medium-rare, as per our request. I can’t say the garnish on the steak had any resemblance to real jerk, and it was hardly spicy at all. The Foxy one wisely pointed out that this dish had probably been designed to appeal to a broad public, not to jerk connoisseurs. Inauthentic as it may have been, we both found it rather tasty. The so-called jerk garnish was slightly tangy, with bright herbal and spice notes, complementing the robust, beefy flavour of the rib eye.

We were so stuffed after finishing the ribs and steak that we had to decline dessert. The options were very much in the same vein as the appetizers and mains: lemon meringue pie, banana cream pie, apple pie with ice cream…You get the picture. A few original items were a maple, strawberry and ice cream topped pain perdu and New Orleans style beignets.

Overall, we agreed that Deville is a competent restaurant. The food was good—fresh, prepared with precision and care, presented in a clean and elegant manner. The service was friendly and efficient, with food arriving at our table at a good pace. However, our meal didn’t come cheap. We felt that we were paying for the extremely stylized décor, which didn’t charm us at all. Nei­ther of us will be rushing to return. ■

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