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Montreal Gazette

Drimonis: Montreal's cultural diversity a problem? Don't believe the lie

I found myself in Outremont recently lining up for Terraza Luz, a weekend-only back-alley taqueria pop-up owned by Mexican-born chef Juan Lopez Luna and sommelier Lindsay Brennan. It's tucked behind the couple's main restaurant, Alma, recently voted the best Mexican restaurant outside of Mexico by the prestigious Mexico Gastronomic Guide. Alma means soul in Spanish, and there's no doubt that there's plenty of it here. The establishment, nestled on a sleepy residential street in a quiet neighbourhood, offers traditional Mexican cuisine inspired by Quebec products. The focus on Catalan wines throws a little bit of Europe into the mix. This isn't a restaurant review, although having grown up in restaurants, I pay attention to almost everything when I dine out — from the greeting to the ambience, to the way food is plated, to the prices and the products, to how staff (chef included) interact. Of course, the food. But more often than not, the stories behind the food. What struck me that day as I patiently waited in line with my friend to nab a table on the tiny terrasse is how Montreal everything was. Not just Alma's inception — a foreign-born chef coming here after falling in love with a local gal and bringing along his culinary traditions and passions to share with us — but the easy coexistence of it all. Here we were, diners from all over lining up, speaking a multitude of languages, in a back alley of a neighbourhood largely populated by Orthodox Jewish families. On the main streets, little shy kids with Hasidic sidecurls and kippahs were playing in yards, bikes and toys scattered everywhere, while nearby, Lopez Luna was busy hand-pressing one corn tortilla after another. No one seemed to mind the weekend invasion of gentile diners coming for the non-kosher pork belly tacos. The easy mingling of cultures, languages and religions reminded me of how I celebrated Greek Easter in Park Ex this year, at a Greek Orthodox church my community affectionately refers to as 'Panagitsa' (Little Virgin Mary). While not at all religious, I love the traditions of Greek Easter. Especially the ceremonial lighting and sharing of the holy light, distributed by the priest, symbolizing connection and the vanquishing of death. While we gathered outside on St-Roch St. (at the same spot that hosts the Greek festival in August), from the corner of my eye I could see a group of Muslim men who had just left the nearby mosque. Dressed in their long-sleeved, ankle-length thawbs, they were hanging out at the corner talking, unbothered by our gathering. Any longtime resident of Park Ex has at one point witnessed (or heard) Greek Orthodox Easter mass. Across the street, giggling teenage girls dressed in bright yellow saris were lining up for ice cream. A lot of ink is spilled daily trying to convince Quebecers that Montreal's diversity is a constant source of tensions. That coexistence is untenable. That our plurality is a problem. That our city has been overtaken by foreigners unwilling to integrate and live together. It's a lie. A calculated choice to focus only on the problematic exceptions instead of the peaceful co-mingling in our daily lives. On Saturday mornings when I go out on long bike rides by the LaSalle—Verdun waterfront, I always cycle by outdoor tai chi, Zumba and karate classes, where Montrealers of all ages, colours, origins, languages and religions come together to dance, laugh, exercise and just coexist. Some will claim my attitude is naive, but I refuse to let ideologically motivated politicians and pundits — opportunistically seeking any flimsy excuse to divide us — convince me that this city's cultural diversity isn't precisely what makes it so special. Montreal is a marvel of coexistence, and we're so lucky to enjoy all its flavours.