For more than four decades, Claude Masson stood behind the bar at L’Express like a fixed point in a spinning city. He would anchor the room. With a raised eyebrow, a wry smile, or the gentlest correction about your wine order, Monsieur Claude could make even a rushed weekday lunch feel like theatre.

He died on August 9, 2025 at the age of 78, after nearly 40 years in service at one of Montreal’s most iconic restaurants. And in a place that famously resists change, his absence is seismic.

Masson started at L’Express in 1983, a year after the restaurant opened on rue Saint-Denis. He was first hired as a busboy but quickly made his way to the bar, where he remained a constant presence—refined, observant, and fiercely dedicated to the craft of hospitality. For regulars, he was a man whose discretion was legendary and whose finesse never slipped, even during a Valentine’s Day rush.

“Our role is to listen, not to get involved,” he told Le Journal de Montréal in 2016. “We must keep a friendly distance, a certain mystery.”

Masson didn’t start in restaurants. He studied at Collège Brébeuf, worked briefly as a teacher, and fell into hospitality almost by accident—taking out trash at a hotel in Old Montreal just to stay employed. That job led to another, then bartending school, and eventually to the stainless-steel counter at L’Express, where he quietly helped shape what Montreal restaurant service could be: precise, warm, never showy.

“Being a good doorman is all from the neck up,” he once told Eater. “It’s all in your face.”

In interviews, Masson spoke about service the way some speak about art. Details mattered: a clean glass, a proper vinaigrette, enough bread and water at the bar. He took wine courses into his seventies just to “sharpen his senses.” He had no patience for sugar-coated liqueurs but liked a good Chablis. And he never wanted to retire.

For more than four decades, Claude Masson stood behind the bar at L’Express like a fixed point in a spinning city. He would anchor the room. With a raised eyebrow, a wry smile, or the gentlest correction about your wine order, Monsieur Claude could make even a rushed weekday lunch feel like theatre.

He died on August 9, 2025 at the age of 78, after nearly 40 years in service at one of Montreal’s most iconic restaurants. And in a place that famously resists change, his absence is seismic.

Masson started at L’Express in 1983, a year after the restaurant opened on rue Saint-Denis. He was first hired as a busboy but quickly made his way to the bar, where he remained a constant presence—refined, observant, and fiercely dedicated to the craft of hospitality. For regulars, he was a man whose discretion was legendary and whose finesse never slipped, even during a Valentine’s Day rush.

“Our role is to listen, not to get involved,” he told Le Journal de Montréal in 2016. “We must keep a friendly distance, a certain mystery.”

Masson didn’t start in restaurants. He studied at Collège Brébeuf, worked briefly as a teacher, and fell into hospitality almost by accident—taking out trash at a hotel in Old Montreal just to stay employed. That job led to another, then bartending school, and eventually to the stainless-steel counter at L’Express, where he quietly helped shape what Montreal restaurant service could be: precise, warm, never showy.

“Being a good doorman is all from the neck up,” he once told Eater. “It’s all in your face.”

In interviews, Masson spoke about service the way some speak about art. Details mattered: a clean glass, a proper vinaigrette, enough bread and water at the bar. He took wine courses into his seventies just to “sharpen his senses.” He had no patience for sugar-coated liqueurs but liked a good Chablis. And he never wanted to retire.