Chez Jean-Paul has the casual sophistication that great Montreal restaurants are known for

Back in January, a friend of mine who happens to be a winemaker and well-known Montreal sommelière posted a picture of a plate of veal tongue topped with a rich-looking sauce gribiche. It looked simple and delicious — exactly the kind of thing you’d get from London’s Rochelle Canteen or St. John. It’s also exactly the kind of food that I’m interested in eating these days. Straightforward, well-cooked dishes that rely on great ingredients cooked with knowledge and care. No fussy stuff.

When I inquired, she revealed the dish was from a lunch she had recently enjoyed at Restaurant Jean-Paul in Villeray. At that moment, I felt like I was gifted with an insight into one of the city’s hidden gems. I thought I was discovering a Chez Doval-type spot — a local favourite that’s been around for ages but hardly ever finds itself in the spotlight. Turns out, I couldn’t have been more wrong. The day that dish caught my attention was only a few weeks after chef/owner Isael Gadoua and front-of-house manager Laurent Blanchet had opened their doors.

Chez Jean-Paul is named in honour of Gadoua’s late grandfather, the man he credits with igniting his love for food and drink. While I might have been wrong about the restaurant’s age, I wasn’t wrong about its hiddenness. Save for the decal on the door, the storefront, which is at the residential corner of De la Roche and Bélanger, could easily go unnoticed. Inside, the room is simple but charming. It’s clear there wasn’t much of a design budget but it’s also evident from the pressed tin ceiling, elegant light fixtures and wainscoting that folks with taste put the room together. Combine that with the fact that our lunch reservation happened to be a beautiful late-spring day with the sun shining through the picture windows to a soundtrack of Thelonius Monk and I could already sense we were in for a special lunch. 

Joining me for lunch was my dear friend Will Weston, the former owner of Paradiso and a long-time cook with years of experience at Taverne Monkland, McKiernan, Joe Beef and Liverpool House, the latter of which he spent time working alongside Gadoua. Though I had never heard of Gadoua, Will reassured me, “He’s an incredible cook.” Good enough for me. In my research, I found that Gadoua cut his teeth at Joe Beef, McKiernan and, most recently, Paloma — one of my very favourite restaurants in the city. Blanchet, for his part, comes to Chez Jean-Paul by way of the recently closed Pullman. Great CVs all around and the kind that should reassure any diner that when it comes to food and drink, they are in good hands. 

Blanchet’s list is concise but very well constructed, a mix that covers the old and new world and is dotted with well-known and sought-after producers, but also some who are decidedly lesser known. With a list this compact, Blanchet is able to confidently stand behind each of the wines. As I flip-flop between a lightly macerated Jacquère from cult Savoie winemaker Jean-Yves Péron, hearty Romorantin from the Loire’s Hervé Villemade or a classic Pecorino from De Fermo, Blanchet takes charge and suggests a textured Pinot Blanc from Austrian producer Harkamp. With notes of bright lemon curd, white pepper and white flowers, the wine’s defining characteristic is its briny salinity, which offsets the fruit and begs to be paired with food. A fine selection.

Our lunch began with a plate of assorted homemade charcuterie: coppa (pork shoulder), lonza (pork loin with the fat cap), pancetta (cold smoked pork belly) and bresaola (beef loin). The lot was served with a focaccia-like bun, which was beautifully puffed, crisped and topped with a heap of shaved parm and chives — the McKiernan influence peeks through a bit here. All the charcuterie was delicious, but before describing the standouts, I should express that the plate was correctly served at room temperature. Too often, charcuterie is served fridge-cold, meaning the fat is hard and congealed and the subtleties of the flavours are entirely obscured. This plate was excellent but the pancetta, which was supple, silky and gently smoked, was by far the best charcuterie I have had in recent memory.

The next course, a plate of marinated arctic char, is an old recipe of the restaurant’s namesake. Gadoua remembers going fishing for char with his grandfather, who would then prepare it in this style. Gadoua remembers his grandfather as “a man who lived well”— a man who hunted, fished and drank good wine. Though slightly refined and served with a side of chicharron, the recipe is essentially unmodified. Plump slices of char are mixed with lemon juice, good olive oil, shaved fennel, white onion and a delicate dollop of crème fraiche. It’s a simple dish, but thanks to pitch-perfect seasoning, along with a balance of fat and acidity, it achieves something much greater. Delicious.

Next, the veal tongue that launched 1,000 ships — or at the least the one that launched mine. No longer served with gribiche, the braised and seared tongue was now accompanied by a sharp and herbaceous sauce ravigotte and some roughly chopped green asparagus. Sitting in a pool of vibrant green oil, it was an evocative sight. For the squeamish, allow me to assure you that tongue is delicious and exceptionally approachable. Hearty and meaty, its texture is not unlike a tender brisket or short rib. Married with the sauce ravigotte, the tender meat is enlivened with herbs and vinegar in much the same way a steak is brightened by chimichurri. It’s a dish that has me grinning from ear to ear. It was an excellent match for the wine, too — moving from meat to fish and back to meat, the Pinot Blanc held its own quite well.

The least remarkable dish, both Will and I agreed, was a cacao pappardelle with morels and sage. The cacao in the pasta, you might be surprised to hear, wasn’t the problem. Chocolate and mushrooms are one of those odd gastronomic pairings that just work together. The problem was the pasta itself. Cut far too wide (nearly an inch and a half) and far too thick, the noodles felt overly weighty and stodgy.

The meal was set back on track with a plate of perfectly cooked sweetbreads sitting on an island of creamed spinach in a rutabaga and smoked butter sauce. This was phenomenally good. Crisp sweetbreads, tender greens and a complex butter sauce that was somehow light as air. It reminded me of all the great simple dishes I’ve had at restaurants like Paloma or Salle Climatisée that show exactly how good ingredients and tactful cooking can create something spectacular on the palate that might seem less than exciting on paper. We both also agreed that this dish was the very best pairing for the wine, which managed to go the distance.

For dessert, two deeply browned beignets filled with strawberry and rhubarb sitting in a silky puddle of strawberry something or other — somewhere between a purée and a sabayon. Garnished with fresh verbena leaves, it was both indulgent and fresh and brought to mind the best of summer fruit and McKiernan’s damn delicious donuts.

Lunch is my favourite meal. There is something about relishing decadence in the light of day that feels especially freeing and luxuriant. Lunch at Chez Jean-Paul, whether simple or elaborate, embodies those feelings and does so with the style of casual sophistication that great Montreal restaurants are known for. While it may not have been a decades-old neighbourhood institution, Chez Jean-Paul has the makings to become one. ■

For more on Chez Jean-Paul (1141 Bélanger), please visit their website. This article was originally published in the July 2024 issue of Cult MTL.

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