Last weekend I went to Montréal for the second time. The first time I flew; this time I drove in a silver Mustang convertible, a delightful though unasked for upgrade, up and up interstate 87 into Québec “je me souviens.” The drive to Québec from New York is about six or seven hours, and it takes the driver through the Hudson Valley and the Catskills, then through the Adirondacks, the Champlain Valley, and into Canada. The road opens up as you drive north to reveal the beautiful and unsullied Adirondack Mountains, and in the far reaches of upstate New York, Québecois stations become as frequent as American ones as you spin the radio dial, and “sortie” is printed below “exit” on the road signs.
My love affair with Montréal is about two years old and dates back to the day Martin Labelle walked into the wine store. Martin is a natural wine importer by night and an engineer by day. His company is called “Glou” (after the popular French expression for quaffable natural wines: “glou glou”), and he works with many producers that are familiar to us here in New York: Frank Cornelissen, Philippe Bornard, Angelino Maule, Eric Pfifferling, Thierry Allemand, Bruno Duchene, Jérôme Lenoir, to name just a few. Once I had met Martin, I quickly began to meet others: Cyril (also an importer) Jack (Martin’s partner and owner of Le Comptoir), Xavier (co-owner of Les Trois Petites Bouchons), their respective girlfriends and friends, all great tasters and excellent people. Continue reading









