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Toqué

900 Jean-Paul Riopelle Pl., Montreal, 514-499-2084. Dinner for two with wine, tax and tip, $250.

Le Club Chasse et Peche

423 Saint-Claude St., Montreal, 514-861-1112. Dinner for two with wine, tax and tip, $200.

Every decade or so, an American travel publication "discovers" Montreal. Let's face it, all of us who toil at food writing need the occasional epiphany in print, or else we run the risk of appearing out of touch. It's a dirty job, but somebody's got to do it.

The March issue of Gourmet, which showcases Montreal, would have been just another tired restatement of the European-style pleasures of our island city, but for this: Montreal's food scene has recently exploded with local ingredients, a phenomenon of which its serious restaurants are taking full advantage.

Yes, the cobbled streets and beautifully restored stone buildings of Old Montreal do recall Europe and, yes, the French creates a certain exoticism. But edible Montreal merits attention as much for its provenance as for what's going on in the restaurant kitchens. Toronto flies in fabulous ingredients from all over the world, but no matter how efficient or speedy the air freight, a sea bass from the Mediterranean cannot be as fresh in Toronto as a fish caught in the Isles-de-la-Madeleine and served in Montreal.

Why is Ontario not similarly blessed with booming production of artisanal cheese, fowl, meat, veg and fish? Eat foie gras? The duck was raised in Quebec. Crave beautiful baby greenhouse veg in the winter? You know where to look.

On the first page of his menu, chef/patron Normand Laprise of Toqué acknowledges his Quebec suppliers. His stated goal is to "showcase Quebec products," and every dish on his menu is a celebration of them.

Laprise's tasting menu (seven courses for $88; $98 with foie gras) starts with an amuse of two scallops served ceviche style, each atop two tiny pools (emerald basil oil and red blood orange juice) and topped with a dollop of grapefruit foam. Then comes a "sandwich" of Yukon gold potato "chips" (so thin you could read this newspaper through them), between which is a thick slab of gravlax buttered with sour cream.

After that is a slice of bigeye tuna sashimi atop a pile of intensely fragrant baby coriander sprouts on a thin lacy slice of bread crisped in the oven with olive oil, which in turn sits on tomatoes that have been cooked slowly with garlic and oil, making a sweet tomato "jam" that the Spanish call sofrito.

I consider it my civic duty to consume as much foie gras as possible before avian flu shuts down production. Toqué's version, on a ginger reduction, is warm butter on the tongue, partnered with a "dry salad" of stacked crisped phyllo sheets layered with coriander sprouts and raspberries, and strawberries and apricots that have been dried like fruit leather. The foie-gras-free alternative is tender razor clams cooked for 30 seconds and served atop silken potato purée with shiitake mushrooms, topped with foam of clam juice spiked with mustard.

Next, the waiter sets down a small canning jar. Open it, and the sweet sinful aroma of pork rises. Inside are thin strips of pork belly with fresh artichoke slices, red pepper and sweet onions: a tiny stew in light brown sauce -- topped with bacon foam. Foam It's everywhere in Laprise's kitchen. Who needs to trek to El Bulli in Spain or The Fat Duck in England when you can inhale the likes of bacon, grapefruit and razor clam foam in Old Montreal?

Is it my imagination, or has Laprise's cooking made a great leap forward since he moved from Saint Denis Street to Old Montreal two years ago? I found the food at the old Toqué all show and no go, but today, in the fabulous modernist room with great curving wooden walls and double-height ceilings, Laprise is pushing himself all the time, trying, in particular, to find the way to pack maximum flavour into ever-lightening textures.

Hence his "broken" béarnaise sauce on the venison. Chef has "deconstructed" a béarnaise sauce by "breaking" or curdling it and then re-cooking it with shallots, vinegar and fresh tarragon (to intensify the flavour) and fluffing it into a sabayon (with egg whites) to lighten the texture. Very clever, and a sublime accompaniment to juicy venison loin.

Laprise refuses to rest on his laurels. Not content to buy good cheese and serve it as is, he layers Comté with ultracrisp strudel pastry and tops it with tasted slivered almonds and great heaps of baby chives.

For dessert he lays slender ribbons (of frozen yogurt, raspberry purée or tomato "jam") on fragile tuiles. He wraps chocolate pound cake in deep dark ganache and then adds a thin carapace of caramelized sugar. The lily may not need gilding, but who can quarrel with a side of vanilla ice cream sitting on a hill of frozen sweetened cocoa powder? Roll the vanilla ice cream around and think happy thoughts.

As a Torontonian, I am jealous that Toqué seems to trump most of what even our best restaurants offer. A decade ago, there was no competition: Montreal restaurants were stuck in the old French style and we were enjoying modern cuisine from all over the world. But now Montreal is creeping ahead; Laprise is the informal leader of a gang of young fusion chefs who are taking liberties with tradition and playing delectable games.

Foodies are also flocking to Le Club Chasse et Pêche for its excellent kitchen, specifically its play on surf 'n' turf. We have some trouble getting over the decor, which is dominated by a hunting and fishing theme (the restaurant's logo of fish leaping from antlers is everywhere in the dark, dour rooms), but everything is more than all right when the food comes.

While not dazzlingly inventive like Toqué, Le Club is rock-solid and très luxe. The lobster bisque topped with coconut milk foam is long on flavour and short on cream. The lasagna of braised quail with caramelized onions and cheddar is full-bodied in taste, yet somehow light. The kitchen browns scallops till the sweet little critters crunch, but mysteriously keeps the insides barely cooked. They are topped with silken fennel purée and lemon confit.

Snowy cod undergoes the same browning as the scallops. Roasted Quebec duck is red and juicy, and served with its own foie gras, also perfectly rare. Bison is shredded à la pulled pork, and set in a fragile tart with a topping of oven-dried tomato, caramelized baby onions and barely melted raclette cheese.

Even Le Club's desserts are clever: Apple compote is served inside a cooked apple shell, wearing a crème brulée hat. Tart of pine nuts in creamy caramel is what should have happened years ago to pecan pie, and adding rock salt to its accompanying vanilla ice cream builds very entertaining taste and texture counterpoint. Vive le Québec gastronomique

jkates@globeandmail.com