Raised by a long line of New York Jews, I always assumed New York City was the main artery of the North American diaspora—just try and get your hands on a Zabar’s babka after 11 a.m. on a Saturday and it’s not hard to see why. But to my surprise, there are major, diverse outcroppings of Jewish culture in less obvious locales, including Montreal. An integral part of the Québécois fabric since the construction of the city’s first synagogue in 1768, Montreal’s Jewish influence is seen in cuisine, music, architecture, and language. Look no further than the food item that knows no borders: the bagel.
93 Avenue du Mont-Royal Ouest
Montreal native Hymie Sckolnick died this year at 96, leaving behind a 75-year legacy of hangover-cure-grade omelettes and heaping plates of fresh lox and capers. The child of Russian-Jewish immigrants, Sckolnick and his wife Freda opened Beauty’s in 1942, and the couple found immediate success slinging their hearty Eastern European victuals. Even after Sckolnick’s death, the thriving Beauty’s maintains its appeal for old-school patrons and millennials alike—it’s a scene as nostalgic as it is Instagrammable. Go for the Mish-Mash omelette, which features a mix of hot dog, sausage, green pepper, and fried onions.
3895 Boul Saint-Laurent
My grandpa, a proud Brooklyn Jew with the accent and dark sense of humor to prove it, has preached the gospel of Katz’s Deli my entire life. While other grandparents might be itching to take their grandkids to the Statue of Liberty or the Natural History Museum on a trip to New York, my grandpa’s purest expression of love comes with a side of coleslaw. That’s why I felt immediately at home when I stepped into Montreal’s famous Schwartz’s Deli, right at the tail end of the lunch rush. Though I came in with a group, I don’t remember talking to anyone or looking anyone in the eye. At the counter, instinct took over; I sat down, spread my legs, and slumped over my plate of smoked meat like a lioness over her kill. Luckily the waitstaff was well-prepared with water refills—after just half of a smoked-meat sandwich (their signature) and a side pickle, the sodium intake hits hard.
263 Rue Saint Viateur Ouest
Montrealers know that their bagels are special because of one key ingredient: honey water. While a New York bagel is best for a savory palate, this version has a hint of sweetness—a subtle variation on a universal classic. When you walk into St.-Viateur bagel shop off of Rue Saint Viateur Ouest, the first thing you notice is the warmth: you can smell it in the air and feel it on your skin (for one thing, a giant, gaping oven serves as the welcoming committee). I strolled in just as one of the owner’s three sons, Robert Morena, was training a new bagel-roller, teaching him the precise art of stretching the dough just right to achieve the divine synthesis of airiness and density that makes St.-Viateur famous. I looked on as the dough was coated in sesame seeds and laid out on wooden baking panels, long and thin. For the bagel master stationed at the oven, the timing of the bake was simply muscle memory, like a B-flat scale to an expert trumpeter. I snacked on the doughy, seedy bread fresh out of the oven—no cream cheese necessary.