Are we into Montreal's new Western bars?

This story originally appeared on September 6, 2024 in URBANIA, an online magazine based in Quebec focused on pop culture and society.

My legs are weakening. The floor sways from one side of the room to the other. The nausea is overwhelming. I bitterly regret having accepted a ZYN pouch that a urban cowboy was so kind to offer me. I'd chewed tobacco before, but didn't recall there being any drop in blood pressure.

Why did you accept this offering of nicotine on a Sunday evening at a small western event on Saint-Laurent, anyway?

It all started with the observation that country music was becoming popular among young people in Quebec, thanks in part to streaming platforms. At the time in 2024, several artists had joined the rodeo: Beyoncé, Post Malone—I even heard someone say they were impatiently waiting for Céline's country album.

It's a wave that's spread to Montreal's bars. Has the era of microbreweries and fancier spots been dealt a blow? A tour of Montreal's new Western bars was necessary to gain a close understanding of this new Klondike.

Two cowboys, one mission

Being still a novice, I couldn't accomplish this quest alone. So I called in my good friend Phil for help. He, in addition to having grown up surrounded by horses, is also a former rodeo barrel racer. As soon as the expedition got underway, my companion quickly made me realize that my outfit was missing a crucial element: a beautiful hat like his.

A stop at a Montreal institution on Saint-Hubert Avenue, which has been around for 36 years, is a must. Johnny, owner and salesman at Boulet Bottes Western, welcomes us with open arms into his business.

"Do you sell hats here by any chance?"

"Come on, guys. There are only boots here."

Despite this disappointment, I quickly understand why his business is so popular. The secret spice is Johnny himself. He saw the wave of country coming long before anyone else.

The businessman has owned the building since its inception and his passion for quality leather boots keeps him working seven days a week.

Plus, the store is just a minute's walk from Spaghetti Western. What more could you ask for?

Unfortunately, my quest for a hat got off to a bad start. Taking pity on me, the shoemaker let me leave with one of the makeshift hats he used to decorate his window display.

"Come back anytime, boys! Don't forget to bring me my hat."

This will be the last time the hat sees him, it just doesn't know it yet. Bye bye, mon cowboy.

A good spag to start the tour

Spaghetti Western is the talk of the town. When it comes to country bars in Montreal, it's a must-visit. From the early hours of the evening onward, you'll see a line at the entrance. So we decided to go there as soon as it opened, around 5 p.m., to enjoy the calm before the storm, and also to savour the famous spaghetti that gave it its name.

My partner invites me to sit at the bar. Antoine, the manager, welcomes us.

"Two Coors Light!"

"A connoisseur! You're already a real cowboy if you order the blue mountain," replies my friend.

"Are you going to eat too?" the manager asks us.

We give him a small nod. Antoine gives us a wry smile and heads off to the kitchen to get the food.

Large wooden slats litter the floor, the walls and ceilings are crammed with Western-themed relics, and televisions broadcast old line dancing shows. This fall, the saloon on Saint-Hubert Street will celebrate its first year of operation.

Next to us, a group of women yell a semi-assuming "surprise!" as the newly arrived birthday girl realizes she's been duped into a party. As soon as they're seated, they try their luck on the wheel of fortune. The concept is simple: you pay a modest $2 to spin the wheel and have a chance to win a drink. What idiot wouldn't try their luck? And at the price the beer is made for!

While my compatriot recounts his youthful exploits in Saint-Tite, the manager brings us the pièce de résistance. I must admit I was bitterly disappointed by the size of the portion (another victim of the austerity), but I was comforted by the taste of the sauce. However, I'll leave Oli Primeau to giving scores out of ten.

Bottes & Whiskey: The Plateau saloon

After sunset, we had a meeting with Carlos, the co-owner of the new saloon, Bottes & Whiskey. Opened in August 2024, the former Distillerie location on Mont-Royal Avenue has the feel of a neighbourhood tavern. The bar is centrally located, with plenty of seating, a few neon lights adorn the walls, and large TVs showing rodeo competitions.

"I worked in the bar industry in Montreal for a long time, but one day I wanted to have a more convivial place. When my partners came back from a trip to Nashville with stars in their eyes, that's when we said to ourselves: 'We're doing this!'" says the man wearing a sleeveless shirt and a well-groomed moustache.

As Carlos continues on about the source of his passion for country music "around a fire with a pint of Labatt 50 in one hand and a cigarette in the other," my friend can't help but notice that one of the bar's benches has been replaced with a horse saddle. "I know a guy who does that in Quebec if you ever want to put them all over your bar." This moment of distraction draws our attention to a large cellar where bottles of whiskey, identified by nametags, are stored.

"That's a unique idea here. Customers can buy a bottle at the bar and store it. That way, every time they come in, we bring out their bottle and glasses, and they can drink like real cowboys," Carlos proudly explains.

"Is tgus because you feel competition is fierce among the country bars that are opening in Montreal?" I ask him this with the face of a tough guy who hangs out in saloons.

"Not at all. On the contrary, we know each other, as owners, and I think one feeds the other. I'm just eager to start organizing events, and to make people feel at home. My dream would be to show the Canadiens in the playoffs in my bar."

Shared dream, my man. Shared dream.

2656 Masson: For the love of booze

The last stop, and not the least, is the youngest of the three newcomers, the 2656 Saloon on Promenade Masson. We'd barely entered the place when we were enthusiastically welcomed by Mikko, co-owner of the bar and his partner. Once introductions were made, his partner got excited:

"Come on! You're journalists and nobody's dancing, damn it!"

He immediately gets up, blasts Cotton Eye Joe from the jukebox while inviting his customers to follow suit. By the time I say "yeehaw," I've already lost my friend.

I take the opportunity to chat with Mikko. We sit down at the bar next to a group who preferred playing dice to dancing. Originally from Saint-Grégoire, it was also country music that put him on the right path. With our charming dancer and another partner (who is also a full-time farmer), they decided to take over the place. Since then, the mission has been simple: please the place's old clientele while introducing newcomers to the world of country music.

As my friend Phil joins me to negotiate shots , Dave, a regular from the place's former address, accosts us: "I don't like country music, but it's good here. They've managed to keep the place alive and we can have some fun out of it."

What followed, I admit, was a thorough exploration of the menu. Although I would like to give my sheriff's star to the Bloody Caesar (which made me love the Bloody Caesar, which is a miracle for me), it's the Coup de 12 that takes the top prize: It's a shot of Chartreuse enhanced with hot sauce that you drink straight from a 12 gauge shell. I've never felt so alive.

The rest of the evening was a bit of a blur. We headed back to our first stop (Spag, not Johnny's) to try and chat with some fans, but we weren't the only ones in a festive mood. I was still able to witness the popularity of the place once again.

This whiskey-scented brush, however, wasn't enough to help me decide whether or not I liked this urbanization of country. So, once I was well rested, I had to talk to a pro.

So, do we like these now-popular spots or not?

Two days later, with a slight hangover, I went to meet Chuck, who could be described as the biggest line dancing enthusiast I know. For the occasion, he invited me to his first line dancing class at Sala Rossa while an event was taking place with several local artists.

Chuck also grew up in the equestrian world surrounded by horses, but never gave much importance to the world of country music until last winter when he agreed to grant a friend's wish to go to a line dancing party in order to learn the basics. It was thus, at the Honky Tonk in Lachine, that his passion was born.

"When I started dancing 8 months ago, I kept saying I wasn't going to start wearing cowboy gear. Look at me now: I'm wearing it from head to toe."

"I'm putting way too much money into this, it doesn't make sense."

It was at Spaghetti Western that I first saw Chuck dancing until the wee hours of the morning. All eyes were on him—or on his boots, anyway.

"You know, line dancing is a culture that can be very opaque, and that's partly because it's run by older people who mostly use Facebook groups to share events. So, the effort to pass it on—especially in the city—isn't there as much. When you don't know the dance, it quickly becomes intimidating, but in places like Spag, I see people are watching [...] and sometimes, you just have to follow the steps to learn. It's good that more and more young people are participating," he explains.

Now at the end of this quest, I ask him what he thinks about the fact that a new wave of country music is taking Quebec by storm, and especially the metropolis. Chuck looks at me, leans on the bar with the confidence of a Wild West rider, and confides:

"Look, what I don't like is precisely those who want to gatekeep the culture. It's fun to have bars like this open in Montreal. When you look at me, no one knows that it's been 15 years since I've been on a horse. Country has long had the reputation of being intolerant and a bit redneck, but like in all things, you need young people (to keep it alive). And look at tonight: you have a part of the queer country community there. That's hot."

I turn to the stage and realize we were missing a burlesque show. What a Sunday night!

Out of the corner of my ear I hear a voice:

"Have you ever tried ZYN?"

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