This Montreal Jewish Bakery Doesn't Want to Be Called Modern

Jeffrey Finkelstein opened his Montreal bakery and casual restaurant Hof Kelsten on St-Laurent Boulevard just north of Mont-Royal Avenue, a part of town that used to be the city's Jewish heartland. When his grandfather moved here from Russia in the 1920s, he settled down two blocks over on Coloniale Avenue. Nowadays, third-wave cafes, trendy boutiques, and unimaginatively named bars line the main streets here, but if you look past all the disingenuous crap, you'll notice indestructible classics. Schwartz's, Moishe's, Beauty's, and Wilensky's Lite Lunch are all within a few blocks of Hof Kelsten, and are still going strong. If you want a taste of old-school Jewish Montreal at those mainstays, odds are you'll need to be patient and wear comfortable shoes to stand through the wait.

These establishments were opened before the Plateau and Mile End were a thing—back when, according to Sharon Wilensky, they just called it Montreal. In them, you'll receive the same treatment as everyone else, good or bad. There are rules, they can be strict, and they're occasionally posted on the wall. "We don't cut sandwiches, they all have mustard, there's no tipping, everyone's served the same," has been the Wilensky motto for decades now, more or less since Moe Wilensky set up shop in 1932. Sharon told me it's potentially a remnant of the socialist, Eastern European societies these Jewish immigrants were leaving behind, although her family would disagree. In the end, it's just how things were done, and tradition is what survived.

A part of this spirit lives on at two-year-old Hof Kelsten. Its chef, who worked in a handful of Michelin-starred restaurants, created a space in which he "[wants] everyone to feel welcome." But it's more than just a neighbourhood, attitude, and culturally Jewish heritage that Finkelstein shares with the old-timers. His signature bread, the caraway rye loaf, is now the standard in the breadbasket at Moishe's, the upscale Jewish steakhouse that once topped the chef's childhood wish list for a birthday meal. Speaking of which, Hymie Sckolnick, the locally famous owner of Beauty's, knows when Jeffrey's birthday is and drops by Hof Kelsten to get his challah loaf on Fridays. If that doesn't spell "welcome to the club," I don't know what does.

It also works the other way around, like how Finkelstein is indirectly responsible for Wilensky's having a Twitter account. While it might not seem like there's much to tweet about a place that's been serving the same sandwich for over 80 years, Finkelstein's friend jokingly tweeted about Wilensky's now being open on Saturdays. That drew The Gazette newspaper's attention and reminded everyone of the undying interest in the deli. Sometimes small details are a big deal.

That's certainly Finkelstein's attitude toward his own restaurant, where absolutely everything is homemade, down to the pickles in the Thousand Island dressing—made with house ketchup and mayonnaise, naturally—in the beef brisket sandwich. This down-to-the-last-detail devotion is emblematic of the chef's approach to his version of Jewish cooking that he won't call modern.

"It's not so much about updating, but about using modern techniques," Finkelstein tells me. "It's not molecular gastronomy—it's a piece of brisket on rye bread."

Still, it's a thick slice of beef with apples, pickled cabbage, and dressing that puts Kraft to shame, all on fresh caraway rye. Finkelstein has gone back to the basics, swapping out some ingredients, and incidentally bringing poor Jewish staples into the 21st century. When you replace lower-quality oil with butter, people notice. Considering that the bakery is now a part of the Beyond the Bagel Jewish food walking tour, it's safe to say heads have turned.

The space might look modern and minimalistic, with high stools and a green neon sign as the only colour accent, but you can taste Hof Kelsten's roots in every bite. Setting those roots is clearly the owner's goal too. In Finkelstein's own words: "I hope in 100 years it's a similar menu. I don't really want it to change. We have our staples there."

Like at Wilensky's, tradition is what's kept rather than kosher. All-beef products and the absence of pork point to ingrained practices rather than religious law. Sharon Wilensky described herself to me "as a food Jew. Latkes at Chanukah and matzo at Passover. […] If you're not religious, the food is really what ties you to the culture."

When talking about his VLT sandwich made with veal bacon, Finkelstein makes it clear that they're "not kosher, but if you've never had a BLT, then you should. If it's because you didn't eat pork, now you have an opportunity." Cultural cross-pollination is happening here as the definition of what constitutes Jewish food is broadened. On the flip side, the area's now mainly Francophone population is being introduced to Jewish classics like chopped liver, potentially unaware that their apartments were originally inhabited by Russian, Hungarian, or Polish immigrants fleeing their home countries.

One can sense Finkelstein isn't only trying to build something; he's building on something. "We're not a landmark, we're a hopeful future landmark," is how he put it. He might be getting a little help from his friends in that respect. Now, if customers ask Ms. Wilensky where to buy good bread, she sends them to Hof Kelsten for rye or challah. After all, it's just three blocks away.