Worthy Of The Emperor

Story and photos by Benjamin Pomerance

Napoleon Bonaparte hated mealtimes. No six-year-old child ever rejected his food with more force than the Emperor employed in refusing his lavishly prepared repasts. Eating, to Napoleon, was a waste of time. “A man may hurt himself by eating too much,” he was fond of saying, “but never by eating too little.” In adhering to his mantra of self-control, the despotic leader often went for twenty-four hours at a time without consuming a single thing. When he finally did sit down to eat, it was hardly a formal, drawn-out affair. Napoleon rarely spent more than 15 minutes at dinner, gulping down his food with a single glass of champagne or Maderia, taking only coffee for desert, and often leaving his slower-paced guests gossiping in their chairs as he strode off to solve the problems of his empire.

Even after his surrender at Waterloo, Napoleon refused to capitulate at the dinner table. On the voyage to his home-in-exile on the Isle of St. Helena, Napoleon’s eating habits caught the attention of Admiral Cockburn, the man charged with looking after the defeated dictator’s welfare on the journey. The first night of the trip, after the first two courses had taken an hour and a half to serve, Napoleon suddenly rose from the table and went out on deck, leaving Cockburn and the surprised galley staff wondering what they had done wrong. For the rest of the voyage, though, the Admiral did his best to comply with Napoleon’s habits. He shortened the time of sitting at the table considerably, ordering coffee for Napoleon and his staff long before the rest of the company on board had finished their main course — a gesture of efficiency Napoleon greatly appreciated.

Yet perhaps the Emperor would have been more willing to linger over a well-cooked meal had he enjoyed the splendor of a truly fine dining experience — like experience patrons enjoy at the Montreal restaurant which now bears his surname. Restaurant Bonaparte, located in a cozy structure on Montreal’s historic Rue St. Francois-Xavier, is one of the bastions of classic French cuisine in a city which rivals Paris for culinary excellence, a palette-pleasing jewel even Napoleon himself may have enjoyed. After all, how could one deem himself the leader of the French people and yet turn down the creations of Executive Chef Gerard Fort and his staff — dishes of perfection such as wild boar in red wine sauce, duck breast flavored with maple syrup and berries, mushroom ravioli with fresh sage, and veal with morel mushrooms and crème fraiche…just to name a few of the many items adorning the Bonaparte’s menu. No self-respecting emperor could possibly discard such a meal.

Nor, evidently, can any self-respecting lover of French food. Which is why my parents and I found ourselves bound for the Bonaparte one March evening, stomachs eagerly awaiting the tantalizing delights that would be put before us. Arriving early for dinner, we were able to secure a choice table next to the fireplace, warmed by the glow of the flames and pierced by the gaze of the Emperor himself, his eyes staring down at us from where his statute had been placed on the mantle. Sitting in the Bonaparte, one really might expect Napoleon to walk in any minute and deliver a report on the state of the empire. The building itself is steeped in history, built in 1886 by noted French architect Victor Roy in a neighborhood that once was the heart of commerce in Montreal. And the owners of Restaurant Bonaparte have done their part to enhance the sense of the past one feels when dining in this place, decorating all the rooms in the Empire style favored —and demanded — by Napoleon during his reign. Anyone dining in this restaurant feels like they’ve been transported back to a bygone era, early 1800s France with Napoleon securely on the throne, simply by walking through the front door.

Still, while the ambiance is stately and old, the food is distinctly fresh and innovative — and, at times, even daring. You can find on the menu practically any French classic you can think of, but don’t expect the preparation to be the same as any other place you dined at before. Our meal, for example, began with two of the standard staples of the French repertoire: escargots (snails) and terrine (pate), but these two appetizers were anything but typical in their preparation. The escargots were not served in the standard garlic butter sauce which so often accompanies this dish. Instead, a creamy sage sauce was drizzled over the snails, which were delectably tender to the taste and presented alongside lightly-cooked pieces of green asparagus. As for the terrine, I have never had a dish of this nature comparable to Restaurant Bonaparte’s wild game terrine, a house specialty of this venerable establishment. This plate contained more than just a pate; it was a masterpiece. The terrine itself was the centerpiece, enhanced by a delicious sweet onion chutney. Baby green gherkin pickles, sweet baby onions, and thin slices of tomatoes — all of which can be eaten simultaneously with the terrine to enhance the taste — turned this dish into a work fit for Napoleon’s own extensive collection of art. No artwork, however, could ever be as delectable as this terrine was. If the cooks on Napoleon’s ship bound for St. Helena had served him either of these appetizers, the Emperor would have spent an hour and a half on his first course alone — and liked it.

My father ordered a soup for his appetizer, but what a soup it was. Restaurant Bonaparte prides itself in its potage, putting forth concoctions not so rich as to make you too full for the main course, but not so bland as to make your first course forgettable, either. Here, the soup of the evening is given as much attention as any other detail on the menu. In past visits, we have often enjoyed a puree of vegetable — a variety of seasonal vegetables blended together and combined with a tasteful broth and appropriate spices —at our Bonaparte dining experiences. On this particular night, pea soup was the chef’s choice, not as heavy as the standard American soup known as “split pea” but instead light, flavorful, and simply enjoyable — the perfect dish to enjoy with Restaurant Bonaparte’s firmly-crusted, home-baked selection of breads.

Following a suitable interlude, our main meals arrived, and what meals they were. My mother had ordered saddle of rabbit, served lightly braised and accompanied by a delicious Dijon mustard sauce. The rabbit was rich and meaty to the taste, set off nicely by the slightly sharp tang of the Dijon. My father had chosen arctic char, a hearty fish that is a cousin of the salmon, for his plait principal. This, too, was sensational, the fish sautéed and served in a heavenly citrus sauce. Yet the flavor of the sauce, while noticeable, was not so strong as to overpower the essence of the fish itself. Too often, I find restaurants allow their sauces to become so strong that they eliminate any taste of the star attraction of the dish — an error certainly not made at Restaurant Bonaparte.

After a lengthy deliberation, I had finally made the milk-fed veal flank steak my choice for a main course. As soon as I took the first bite of this dish, I knew I would not be disappointed. I have eaten veal flank steak in other very good restaurants, and have occasionally found the meat to be a little tough or chewy to eat. Not here. Served with a sauce of forest mushrooms, this veal was absolute perfection, cooked medium-rare, exactly the way I had ordered it. Rarely, if ever, have I enjoyed veal this tender — or this tasty. As specials of the night, none of these three dishes currently reside on the Bonaparte’s nightly menu, but if they ever are looking to make a change, I certainly hope they will consider adding all three of these plates — the rabbit, the char, and the veal — to their every-day selection.

Yet our meal still was not over yet. A course of sweet endings still remained, three wonderful desserts which did not last at the table very long before they found a resting place in our stomachs. My mother’s crème caramel, a dish commonly referred to as “flan”, was light and airy, with just enough caramel to make it slightly sweet — the ideal placid ending to a substantial meal. For my father, whose lifelong addiction to chocolate knows no bounds, Restaurant Bonaparte’s chocolate mousse was an ideal selection. This dessert was a chocolate lover’s dream come true, the mousse whipped until it was practically floating in the glass dish and prevented from reaching the point of being too sugary to thoroughly enjoy. For me, lemon meringue pie made an ideal finale to a wonderful dinner, so good it brought back memories of one of my grandmother’s favorite desserts. Tart enough to make me pucker, yet not so tart to keep me from smiling, this dish again walked the tightrope of moderation between good and too much of a good thing — a skill the staffof Restaurant Bonaparte clearly has mastered.

We left the Bonaparte that night satisfied and full, a consistently excellent establishment coming through for us once again. With a menu fit for a king, I cannot imagine any customer coming away from Restaurant Bonaparte feeling as if he or she had not had a good — no, a superlative — dining experience. Even Napoleon himself, the fussiest of all eaters, could surely find reason to pause and stay awhile in the presence of such culinary mastery at Restaurant Bonaparte, a place where any diner knows he or she can always find a meal that is truly fit for the Emperor.

Have you ever dined at Restaurant Bonaparte?