Laurier Gordon Ramsay

Count me in with countless others who were brought up with dinners at Laurier BBQ in Montreal. An institution for over 75 years, our family often stopped there for dinner on a Sunday night after visiting my grandmother, throughout the 60's. The quarter breast of chicken with fries, coleslaw and sauce along with mocca cake for dessert was my staple.

So it was with interest that we learned that this Outremont landmark had re-opened in August after celebrity chef, Gordon Ramsay, had taken it under his wing (no pun intended).

Since we were already in the neighbourhood, after picking up our cakes at Cocoa Locale, we decided to give Laurier Gordon Ramsay a try for lunch.


Redecorated inside with distressed white walls and a combination of genuine antiques and reproductions, the decor is light and bright and has a cosy warmth, if a bit on the "chain design" side. Some of the distressed bits and pieces look a little like the stuff you find in Winners and HomeSense. But we weren't there for the decor... it was for the food.


The menu retains some of the old favourites: the rotisserie chicken, coleslaw, fries and sauce. And some of the old desserts such as the mocca cake,carrot cake and Hello Dolly squares remain.


The new menu...


On the new side, the water is flavoured with cucumber slices, a unique touch. Jars of pickles adorn each table for you to help yourself to while you wait.


My old quarter breast of chicken, with coleslaw, fries and sauce.


Followed by my old favourite mocca cake for dessert.


The new decor with light fixtures from an old arena...


and the original washroom signs, if I'm not mistaken... after all, my sister and I did spend a lot of time as children exploring the ladies washroom.


I won't critique the food as there are lots of online reviews to consult, except to say that while it was a pleasant dining experience with friendly waiting staff and big in nostalgia... the chicken plate I had was nothing special. Perhaps the new additions to the menu are better. If you're curious to frequent a Gordon Ramsay establishment or feel compelled to relive a piece of your childhood, then give Laurier Gordon Ramsay a try at 381 Laurier Avenue West, Outremont in Montreal.

Butter Pats

Yesterday I mentioned the antique wooden butter pats that were passed down to me from my Scottish grandmother. In case you’ve never heard of butter pats, they were used to mold butter into textured shapes to serve with bread. When we had special dinner guests, my mom would use her slightly more modern pair to make fancy pats of butter to place on the table, and in time I too learned how to do it. The trick is getting the butter the right consistency. Not too hard, not too soft. You roll a cube of butter between the paddles, back and forth, around and around, until the cube is transformed into either a ball or an oval. It takes some time and can be more than a little fiddly. Hand-shaped pats of butter are just one more of those things that seem to have fallen by the wayside.

Where Did I Come From?

I have heart-wrenchingly few family heirlooms. I’m not talking here about valuable paintings, furniture or even jewellery. I am talking about having virtually nothing at all. Perhaps it’s because all four of my grandparents were born in Great Britain. One set of grandparents stayed put in England, the other set sailed for Canada and met each other in Montreal. Maybe nothing made it over the ocean. Maybe they just didn’t bring more than a few clothes with them. The only things I have are a pair of handmade wooden butter pats and a walking stick. And I am so happy to have those. I think my paternal great-grandfather may have carved the butter pats himself in Scotland. The walking stick, from my mother’s side, has been in the family for a least four generations. Worse than not having family heirlooms, I have precious few photographs of my grandparents, none of any great-grandparents, distant aunts, uncles or cousins.

How can this be? I am the self-professed family archivist/genealogist — positively drawn to history, family and otherwise. I must have inherited the gene from someone. Why is it they didn’t keep and pass anything on? Maybe they were so consumed with just getting by that such things were not thought of. Or maybe there is someone else in the family, another branch, who has it all. And it’s not “things” I crave. What I lust for is family photos, journals, and letters — all those intimate sources that would give me insight into the people I came from.

By the way, if anyone can tell me anything about my family's walking stick, I would love to hear it!