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| - I can't say definitively whether St. Viateur makes the best Montreal bagel but I can claim that they have been- from childhood to now- THE Montreal bagel for me.
New Yorkers and other non-Montreal denizens take note: these bagels are neither puffy, non-holey nor heavy. If your heart is betrothed to an Ess-a-bagel or H&H prototype then it's best to check your notions at the door. I don't mean to impair any existing relations but.... frankly speaking...Montreal bagels are holier and more compact, sweet and better. They are a reasonable bite instead of a gaping Big Apple mouthful. You don't need to drown it with cream cheese to enjoy, it's perfectly delicious unadorned. In short, they represent my ideal ring shaped bread product.
Strangely enough despite being situated nearby, I have not tried Fairmount's version so I can't chime in fully on how St. Viateur holds up to the local competition. That debate and loyalty test awaits a future review. And I've come to understand that St. Viateur's delights can be consumed in a myriad of locations these days, including New York. But for me, nothing quite beats procuring one straight from the source. It's almost a must do when I'm in town.
Open 24 hours since 1957, with their bagel-making production splayed out for all to see, St. Viateur was artisanal before it was a buzz word amongst DIY'ers. A lovely warm, sweet aroma blitzes you upon entering. The bagels are hand rolled and boiled before being baked in a wood burning oven. Each bagel has a bit of character because of this process.
In New York I like everything bagels. But in Montreal, sesame is de rigueur. Try to get one from the pile that has been pulled recently from the oven. Note the little nooks and crannies in the dough; no perfectly machine shaped abominations here. Some will sport more tanned marks than others. The crust is a little smokey, a little nutty and it won't be long before you hit the chewy, toothsome interior. Do you want cream cheese? Pfffttt. These are fine on their own. But if you must indulge they have tubs or little packets of philly in the fridge on the side. Lox? Pas ici.
Oh yeah there's no seating. So what do I do? I pick up a dozen on my midnight run and I briskly walk back to my Grandmother's apartment. Sometimes (okay every time) I will take one out and munch on it as I navigate the intersections on my route back.
I like to think I was teethed on these bagels.
And when I reach my destination point, at the bottom of the stairs as before, a sliver of light streams out as she makes her way to the the top. "Aiyaaaa..why out so late??!!!" she mutters while she prepares another hasty rebuke. But then she hears that familiar crackle of paper and takes in the sweet yeasty odour making its way up.
"Okay. Let me go put on my dentures."
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