Old Montreal's losing its soul and we've got to get it back

I opened The Coldroom in 2016 on a side street in Old Montreal that most people walked past without noticing. That was intentional—I wanted to create something that felt discovered, not advertised. But I didn't anticipate spending the next nine years watching the neighbourhood around me slowly forget what made it special in the first place.

Let me be clear about something upfront: I’m not nostalgic for some imaginary golden age in the past, and this isn’t about shitting on every decision the city's made. Old Montreal, at its best, is a backdrop of cobblestone streets and 18th-century architecture where you can stumble from an award-winning dinner into a bar serving best-in-class cocktails in North America.

This is about watching this neighbourhood of genuine historic and cultural value get slowly hollowed out by short-term thinking, and we're running out of time to course-correct before it's too late.

We paid millions for the wrong answer

When Montreal dropped $2.1 million to bring Michelin inspectors to the province, the city was making a bet on prestige. What we got back was a mere handful of stars and a clear message: Montreal doesn't really fit the Michelin mold. And you know what? That's fine. Michelin represents a very specific style of hospitality—formal, predictable—which has never been Montreal's thing.

If it were a music genre, Montreal hospitality is the grunge of the global restaurant scene. We do things our way. We've always been humbly ourselves—good service, but we're going to dress how we want, run our spaces how we want, and not really care about conforming to someone else's rulebook. People come here because of that attitude, not in spite of it.

Then 50 Best released their North America list, and suddenly Montreal shows up strong. Mon Lapin at number two, Montréal Plaza at 22, Le Violon at 29, Alma at 43, and Beba at 50. These awards get what makes Montreal interesting—they're looking for the cool, hip spots that aren't just about white tablecloths and uptight service. They're about craft, creativity, and spaces that feel alive.

But here's my point: we shouldn't need international validation to understand what we have. And we definitely shouldn't be watching our most tourist-heavy neighbourhood of Old Montreal slowly turn into a shopping mall while we wait for awards to tell us we're doing something right.

The problem isn't one thing, it’s everything at once

Old Montreal should be one of the busiest, most vibrant neighbourhoods in the city. It's where virtually every tourist starts their visit. It's got the history, the architecture, the waterfront. It should be impossible to fuck up.

And yet.

Let's start with access. The metro stops running at 1:00 a.m. and 1:30 a.m. throughout the week—we're one of the only major cities in the world where that happens. You want Montreal to be a nightlife destination? You want people going to bars and restaurants? Then explain to me how someone from Laval or the West Island is supposed to justify spending $80 on round-trip Ubers before they've even started their night. Parking is a nightmare. Construction projects that should take six months drag on for two years. Streets are blocked off with no clear reason why.

This isn’t just anecdotal: downtown foot traffic across Canada's largest cities remains 50% below pre-pandemic levels, even with return-to-office mandates.

Then there's maintenance. I've watched tourists twist their ankles on broken sidewalks that the city's been ignoring for five, six years—documented complaints, photos, paper trails, nothing fixed. In winter, Old Montreal is one of the last areas to get plowed. The garbage situation is disgusting. We're asking people to visit what should be a premium destination, and we can't keep the streets clean.

The landlord situation is maybe the worst part. When I signed my lease for Coldroom, my landlord understood something important: we were in this together. His building does well when my business does well. That's how it should work. But the new generation of property owners—especially over the last five to seven years—they don't see it that way anymore. They're demanding rents that only franchises can afford, then acting surprised when the neighbourhood loses its character. 

I’ve seen a 1,450-square-foot space on de la Commune—that waterfront street that should be one of our busiest—recently listed at $8,000 per month, plus nearly $2,000 in operating expenses. That's $120,000 a year before you've paid a single employee or bought any inventory. For an independent operator, you need to generate over a million dollars in annual sales just to make the rent pencil out. Ground-floor spaces on Saint-Pierre are going for $38 per square foot, putting even modest storefronts out of reach for anyone without corporate backing.

Think about that: we have a waterfront street that should be thriving—every other major city in the world as far as I’m concerned has vibrant waterfront retail—and spaces are sitting empty because the fundamentals are broken.

I understand rents need to go up—I'm not naive about real estate economics. But when the only businesses that can afford Old Montreal are franchises with head office support, we've priced out exactly the operators who made this neighbourhood interesting in the first place.

Even as Montreal's retail availability rate has dropped to just 2.0% and demand exceeding supply across the city, landlords in Old Montreal remain fixated on chasing the highest bidder rather than the right tenant.

Furthermore, as and demand exceeds supply across the city, landlords in Old Montreal seem determined to chase the highest bidder rather than the right tenant. When retail space is this tight, every storefront decision matters even more.

Old Montreal is starting to look like every other gentrified tourist district in North America. Dairy Queen. Ben & Jerry's. A&W. An SQDC. I'm not saying these businesses are inherently bad, but when they're replacing independent operators who actually give a shit about the neighbourhood's identity, we've got a problem.

Quebec City understands something that we don't

Here's something that's going to sound strange: Old Montreal should look at Old Quebec for inspiration.

Quebec City takes care of its historic district. The city enforces bylaws that keep landlords maintaining their buildings properly. They're strict about what businesses can open and how they present themselves. There's a colour palette you have to choose from, rules about signage, standards that preserve the area's character. You can argue that this is too controlled, too Disney-fied—but at least they understand they're protecting something valuable.

Montreal had similar bylaws at one point. We just stopped enforcing them. You've now got landlords who'll just pay the fine and do whatever they want anyway, because the penalty is cheaper than actually respecting the neighbourhood's heritage.

Old Quebec is a UNESCO World Heritage site. Montreal's Old Port isn't, and probably never will be at this point. But that doesn't mean we can't act like we're protecting something worth protecting.

Trying to make it work

It's not all bleak. There are still people fighting to keep Old Montreal interesting. Capisco is doing real Peruvian-Italian cooking. Felix Boutique is bringing in young blood with a fresh perspective. These are the kinds of independent operators who should be filling the neighbourhood, not getting priced out by landlords chasing quick corporate money.

But here's what's wild: The city doesn't seem to notice that these are the businesses actually holding the neighbourhood together. They're so focused on big campaigns and international awards that they're ignoring the operators who are doing the work on the ground, in the trenches, every single day.

You want to know what happens when a tourist comes to Montreal for one of those 50 Best restaurants? They don't just eat dinner and leave. They bounce around, they hit bars, they visit museums, they walk through Old Montreal, they spend money all over the city. These award-winning spots are engines for the entire hospitality economy.

So why aren't we taking better care of the neighbourhood where most of that activity is concentrated?

Here's what needs to change

I'm not going to pretend I have all the answers, but I've spent nine years watching this neighbourhood shift and change, and I've got some ideas about where to start.

• First: Make it easier for locals to actually visit. Right now, tourism fatigue is real—locals avoid Old Montreal because it's a pain in the ass to get to and navigate. So: More parking. Better public transit. Finish the goddamn construction projects. If we want this to be a neighbourhood and not just a tourist trap, we need to make it accessible to the people who actually live here.
• Second: Enforce bylaws that protect the neighbourhood's character. Landlords should be required to maintain their buildings properly. There should be restrictions on what kinds of businesses can open in certain areas—or at minimum, requirements that franchises adapt to fit the neighbourhood's aesthetic. The Keg is a franchise, but it fits Old Montreal beautifully because they actually gave a shit about the space. That's the standard.
• Third: City upkeep. This is non-negotiable. Old Montreal is one of the most trafficked areas for tourism in the entire city. It should be the cleanest, best-maintained neighbourhood we have. Instead, it's got potholes, broken sidewalks, and garbage piling up. That's embarrassing.
• Fourth: Lean into the neighbourhood's actual identity. You know what Old Montreal is missing? Christmas markets. Carnival events. Outdoor concerts in Place Jacques-Cartier. Winter festivals that aren't just Igloofest. We've got the space, we've got the history, we've got the foot traffic—why aren't we activating this neighbourhood the way every other major city activates their historic districts?

And here's the big one regarding franchises: Set standards so even franchises need to adapt to the neighbourhood's character. The neighbourhood shouldn't be adapting to the franchise, and right now, we have it backwards. Old Montreal should be a showcase for Montreal's best chefs, best bar owners, best creative minds. It should feel like an open-air concentration of the absolute best we have to offer. We don’t want a strip mall with cobblestones.

An election-year conversation

We're heading into municipal elections, which means this is the perfect time to start asking candidates: what are you actually going to do about Old Montreal? What's your plan for infrastructure? For supporting independent businesses? For making the neighbourhood accessible and vibrant and worth visiting?

Because here's the reality: every business owner I know—not just in Old Montreal, but across the entire city—will tell you they're "doing fine" if you ask. But dig deeper and you'll find out their foot traffic is down 20 to 25 percent compared to a few years ago. The only reason revenue looks the same is because prices went up to match inflation. Once that levels out, we're in trouble.

Montreal has always been a city that does things differently. We're scrappy, creative, unpretentious. We don't need Michelin stars to tell us we're good—we already know. But we do need to start taking care of what we have before we lose it entirely. Operators like myself are ready to work with the city, but we need real commitment and real change.

Old Montreal is a living, breathing neighbourhood that should be the crown jewel of this city. Right now, we're fumbling it. 

We can do better. We have to.

Kevin Demers is the owner of The Coldroom, El Pequeño Bar, Bisou Bisou, Bar Bello. He's been operating in Old Montreal since 2016.