September Surf Cafe
The month of September often clings to the last of summer’s warmth, with sun-kissed days and crisp evenings, slowly introducing comforting breezes and sweater weather. As co-owner Mitch Martin exclaims, “It evokes good feelings!” Arguably my second home, September Surf Café embodies just that. Big windows and conversation-filled air make this Little Burgundy nook the ideal spot to gather, soak up the energetic atmosphere, and eat delicious food. The seating is thoughtfully arranged to create a sense of intimacy and community, making it ideal for catching up with friends. Yes, it gets busy. In my opinion, the bustle adds to its warm and friendly charm (and the line moves fast). Pop by on a weekday for a calmer visit. Start your brunch off with a coffee – or in my case, a rich and delicious matcha. Order the Classic Pancakes if it’s the very last thing you do. Golden, fluffy, with slightly crispy edges, the pancakes sit stacked atop a bed of maple syrup, kissed with a pat of butter and a sprinkle of sea salt – they are truly an experience. The Deluxe Breakfast Sandwich is equally as delightful. Fried egg, smoked ham, and pickles make this savoury treat perfectly balanced and satisfying. What makes September Café so special is that it emulates a feeling of calm and excitement – the kind of feeling that comes back at the start of a new season. The familiar sights of friendly staff, scents of coffee grounds and butter, and sounds of ever-changing conversation evoke a comforting feeling of routine while sparking curiosity about what’s to come.

– Lara Arab Makansi, Social Media Editor

SavSav
“If you know, you know. Ceux qui savent, savent,” says Felix Lam, co-owner of SavSav and former project member of well-known Montreal classics, BarBara and Crew Collective Café. With seven-meter-high ceilings, long plywood communal tables, and funky eats, this Saint-Henri hidden gem is becoming less and less of a secret. SavSav hides at the end of a corridor in an unassuming office building on Brewster Street. Despite its concealed location, this café is a vibrant and eclectic spot that captures the essence of creativity. At first glance, you’ll find people studying, chatting, and relaxing on the comfy velvet couch. The large central island houses a tempting array of pastries, ready to pair with locally roasted coffee or a beautiful ceremonial-grade matcha. Giant windows flood the room with light on sunny days, and the picturesque gold ceiling piece is truly an eye-catcher. Be sure to check out their unique food menu as well: my favourites include the Chicken Salad Toast on crispy brioche, Breakfast Sando with homemade sausage, and the SavSav Bowl with spiced yogurt and thyme-marinated berries. Looking for fresh ingredients and creative chefs? You’re in for a treat. Savsav is the young, modern spot for your next study session or a midday work break. You may get lost on the way and need to ask for directions, but it’s worth it. A true hidden gem!

– Lara Arab Makansi, Social Media Editor

Pizzeria Napoletana
One cannot visit Little Italy without dining at an Italian restaurant – it would be akin to visiting New York and not eating a bagel (or Montreal, for that matter). The charming neighbourhood lives up to its name, and the extent of Italian restaurants is large. However, it would be difficult to go wrong at Pizzeria Napoletana, a restaurant started in 1948 by some of the first Italian immigrants to Montreal. If the mile-long menu frightens you, let me suggest a few courses: start with the burrata, a recipe originating from Bari, Puglia. The decadent ball of burrata is laid on a bed of creamy olive-oil-infused artichokes and ringed with charred red peppers, all of which meld together into a light, bright, and balanced flavour to adorn the complimentary bread knots. Napoletana’s namesake pizzas are modest with their toppings, pairing a few quality ingredients atop thin Neapolitan-style crusts. If pasta strikes your fancy, their Cannelloni Caruso is a stand-out dish: pasta tunnels encasing a meat and ricotta sauce, topped with mozzarella and thick smoked prosciuttino. One cannot dine at an Italian restaurant without capping off the night with a cannolo. If you weren’t aware, the singular form of cannoli is cannolo, though I doubt you’ll be ordering just one. The restaurant is bring-your-own-vino, made easy by their next-door wine store, Miss Napoletana. One could spend a lifetime trying all that Pizzeria Napoletana has to offer – judging by its history, it will continue to remain an institution in Little Italy.

– Luxe Palmer, Copy Editor

Le Santropol
At the end of Duluth Avenue, Le Santropol stands unassuming on the corner, beckoning you in with the aromas wafting from the wood doorframe. Inside the tiny storefront is a deceivingly large treasure trove of little nooks and crannies for you to make yourself at home. The restaurant was founded in 1976, saving a building slated for demolition, and has been a beloved institution ever since. The plant-forward menu of soups, salads, and sandwiches makes room for all types of eaters, vegetarian and vegan included. The Duluth sandwich – sliced pears, cheddar cheese, caramelized onions, arugula, and lettuce stacked atop two slices of the softest brown bread – is intimidatingly tall, yet unexpectedly light and refreshing. The Thai vegetable soup, part of their soup du jour rotation, is the kind of soup you dream about on a cold day or while lying in bed under the weather. The savoury broth is just the right amount of spicy – enough to reinvigorate a weary soul, though not enough to make the nose run afresh. Santropol’s chai is perhaps one of the best chais I’ve had outside of an Indian restaurant. It is clear that they use a homemade spice mix made from whole spices. It is balanced flawlessly: not too milky, richly flavoured, and paired with a sharp kick of ginger that many chais shy away from. It is served in a glass-handled tankard, which is now what I want to drink all my chais from. Le Santropol’s original foundation as an act of love lives on in the attention they give to every detail, from the carefully crafted menu to the warmth and homeliness of the restaurant itself.

– Luxe Palmer, Copy Editor

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Come for the viral demon carousel horse, and stay for the heart-wrenchingly beautiful love story. We Live in Time (2024) knits together the stories of Almut, a flourishing restaurateur, and Tobias, a drifting divorced Weetabix salesman. Their meet-crash (the first in romantic dramedy history, perhaps?) leads to a decade-long saga of enduring love that persists through both the monotony and the drama that life contains. The story is woven in a nonlinear fashion, apropos of the title itself. The film frames the macrocosms and microcosms of time found in ordinary life with heartbreaking grace and intimacy. Life-defining events – career milestones, birth, and death – are boiled down to the small moments that make them up. We experience the long minutes of waiting and false alarms in childbirth, the long minutes of waiting and difficult conversations in death. The film’s magic lies in the little scenes within Almut and Tobias’ life. While the chaotic birth scene in the petrol station was an equally horrific and a beautiful testimony of the goodwill of humanity, it is eclipsed by the quietly touching scene in the bathtub during Almut’s labour, in which she and Tobias share a comically large pack of Jaffa Cakes that sit atop Almut’s pregnant belly. The instant is delicate, intimate, and ordinary; we view these characters in their real lives, intruding on their shared moment. Interludes such as this place the most importance on the smallest memories in one’s life. Time is shown in all different sizes, from Tobias’ stopwatch counting labour contractions to the looming countdown at the biennial chef championship, the Bocuse d’Or. Time  intrudes into everyday conversations:

“Whether we like it or not, the clock is ticking.”

“What’s the rush?”

“Because I’m worried there’s a very distinct and real possibility that I am about to fall in love with you.”

Love is seen in its most desperate and revelatory moments; in its simplicity, served alongside eggs at breakfast; and in carefully choreographed and well-placed scenes of intimacy. 

In the hands of another production, Almut could have easily fallen into the Manic Pixie Dream Girl trap, dancing into Tobias’ doldrum life with her funky hair, spectacular omelets, casual bisexuality, and resolutely independent charm. Florence Pugh obstinately refuses that categorization, bringing incredible life and depth to the character. Almut is not defined by her relationship with Tobias – she has a deep history, defined goals, and is marked by her ambition and drive. Pugh grounds Almut’s headstrong spirit, however, allowing her equal moments of vulnerability and strength. The film’s central question of quality over quantity of time is most apparent in Almut’s recurrent battle with ovarian cancer, which she must face while attempting to balance her family and her career as a chef. Though she views her invitation to the Bocuse d’Or as the pinnacle of her culinary career, Almut’s competitiveness is backed not by selfish aims of obtaining money and fame, but by the desperate desire to leave behind a legacy that her daughter can be proud to claim. 

It is, I believe, objectively impossible for Andrew Garfield to be anything less than the most charming and lovable character in any film he stars in, with We Live in Time being no exception. Tobias joins a long line of Endearingly Nerdy and Bashful Boys who Wear Glasses (joined by Neil Perry, Milo James Thatch, and, of course, Peter Parker). Divorced, living with his father, and working at Weetabix, Tobias meets Almut when he needs her most (as the story always goes). While Almut is defined by her career, Tobias is defined by his unabashed love. He goes all-in on the relationship, accidentally scaring Almut with questions about raising children far too early. As Tobias and Almut fall in love with each other, the audience cannot help but fall equally in love with the two of them. 

Pugh and Garfield, as usual, wholly embody their characters in their signature modes of perfection. Pugh lends an earnestness and profound passion to Almut. Their shared love of food, particularly in how it creates connection and community, is a running theme throughout the film. Garfield embodies Tobias’ earnest love and devotion in an unobtrusive, yet firmly present manner, allowing Pugh to shine without getting lost in her shadow. However, at times, the characters felt slightly formulaic, with their traits and flaws feeling more like stock checklists for the audience to count on their fingers: 

Tobias: 

1. Is organized, devoted to his lists, and most thoroughly a Virgo (he and I are twin souls in this sense). 
2. Has anger management issues and occasional violent bursts of passion.
3. Prioritizes family over career ambitions.
4. Wears glasses (this is a defining character trait of his). 

Almut: 

1. Cooks (quite well).
2. Fights against feeling tied down or limited.
3. Defines her life success by her career achievements.
4. Has cool hair.

The film’s culminating tension falls into the standard trope of frustrating miscommunication and concealment. Almut attempts to hide her participation in the Bocuse d’Or, the stress of which may interfere with her chemotherapy treatment. Tobias cannot fathom her prioritization of her career over their family. The discord between their ideas of a “successful life” leads to one of Tobias’ characteristic outbursts of anger and a dramatic fight that seems to be a requirement for all romance movies. The film avoids overbearing melodrama, however, offering quick resolution and a patched relationship that makes the ending all the more heartbreakingly tragic.

While the film is not as revolutionary and wheel-reinventing as, say, Aftersun (2022), it derives its charm and power from its ordinariness. The emotions evoked feel familiar, delivered in a frame of warm colour and comfort. The events witnessed (except, perhaps, the international cooking competition and the incredible speed at which Tobias healed after being run over by a car) are both joyfully and painfully common. Though a more dramatic and gut-punching sequence could have aided in the final impact of the film, the ending is quietly devastating: as Almut gracefully skates away from her family, the agony is felt in what is unsaid. The audience is nonetheless banded together in their grief, sharing sobs as the soundtrack plays to the rolling credits.

The Daily gives We Live in Time 4.25 out of 5 stars.

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