Le Jardin de Panos has been on Duluth Avenue since 1979, and holds a special place in Montreal’s dining scene as the city’s first bring-your-own-wine restaurant. With a lush garden terrace evoking Mediterranean landscapes, this Greek spot is ideal for a casual lunch or a romantic dinner under a canopy of greenery. The atmosphere is charming yet unpretentious, where guests in both casual and elegant attire blend seamlessly.

The menu celebrates Greek family-style dining, featuring classic dishes like grilled calamari, chicken kebabs, and fresh seafood. Starters like Greek yogurt, made with gherkins, celery, and carrots, bring a refreshing, tangy twist to the table. Lunch includes soup, bread, and dessert, offering a cost-effective way to enjoy the restaurant’s flavours. While the indoor space is cozy, the real magic is on the garden patio, a serene escape filled with flowering plants.

Antonio Cimino landed in Montreal with flour under his fingernails and a vision that wouldn't quit. In 1965, he and his two brothers-in-law opened their bakery on Charland, naming it for Cimino's hometown in southern Italy. Fifty-nine years later, the ovens still run hot around the clock, turning out crusty breads and delicate pastries that have kept three generations of Montrealers coming back.

The operation runs on old-school principles: fresh ingredients, traditional techniques, and cash transactions that keep things honest. Cimino's children now help run the show, maintaining the same standards that made weekend calzones and house-made cannoli neighborhood staples. The shelves stock everything from morning cornetti to late-night pizza slices, serving shift workers, families, and restaurateurs who know quality when they taste it. Some traditions don't need fixing.

Eva B is less a boutique than a self-contained world—a maximalist mashup of vintage store, café, costume rental house, and performance venue that’s been absorbing Montreal’s energy since the late ’80s. Step through its graffiti-splattered facade on Saint-Laurent and you’ll find a sprawling, two-floor labyrinth of clothes and curiosities, from velvet dresses and retro denim to carnival masks and patched overalls. The main floor is a riot of textures and eras; upstairs leans more modern and budget-friendly, with items often marked at just a few bucks. Beyond the racks, there’s a small bistro slinging vegetarian sandwiches, $1 espressos, and smoothies, plus a backyard terrasse and event stage. It’s chaotic, theatrical, and unapologetically grungy, drawing everyone from curious tourists to local lifers and stylists on the hunt. Bring clothes to swap, browse with patience, and don’t expect a polished experience—Eva B thrives on entropy, not order.

There’s something irresistibly gritty and nostalgic about 180g, a low-key vinyl cafe tucked away in a Rosemont industrial bay. It’s a place where coffee culture meets the soulful hum of a record needle, where rows of funk, jazz, and hip-hop vinyl greet you near the counter, setting the tone as the steady pulse of ‘80s and ‘90s beats fills the room.
Regulars know this spot—chatting with the barista, nursing cortados, or just soaking in the vibe over a bite. The espresso menu is tight and classic, just like the record collection, while homemade cookies, affogatos, and hearty sandwiches offer comfort with a groove.

L'Original operates on a simple premise that somehow feels revolutionary in Montreal's art scene: make local street art accessible without the gallery pretense. This nonprofit in Old Montreal has carved out space where the city's spray-can virtuosos get proper wall time alongside more traditional contemporary work.

The focus stays laser-sharp on homegrown talent—every piece comes from Quebec artists, with heavy emphasis on Montreal's underground scene. What sets L'Original apart isn't just the curatorial eye for emerging street artists, but the approach: no intimidating white-cube atmosphere, no art-speak explanations that require a decoder ring. The staff actually knows the stories behind the work, the neighborhoods where these artists cut their teeth, the evolution of Montreal's mural culture.

It's street art that's grown up without selling out, housed in a space that treats the medium with the respect it's earned through decades of transforming the city's walls.

Melsa Montagne and Natanaël Major turned an old Hochelaga garage into something the neighborhood didn't know it needed: a gallery where art doesn't require a trust fund to appreciate. The couple—she paints murals across the city, he hammers steel into sculptures that bite back—opened MËL a year ago with a simple mission: make alternative art accessible without dumbing it down.

Their monthly themed shows challenge local artists to create new work around concepts like "Disturbing and Unsettling" or "Concrete"—a nod to their building's brutalist bones. Pieces range from five bucks to forty-five grand, proof that good art doesn't have to break the bank. The space doubles as their workshop, where they spend late nights creating alongside the artists they champion. It's less white cube, more creative lab—exactly what this corner of Montreal was missing.

Before Le Sino existed, Montreal's graffiti writers had to smuggle cans across borders or settle for hardware store paint that ran like watercolors in the rain. Then in 1998, someone who actually understood the craft opened North America's first shop dedicated to proper aerosol art supplies.

What started in a flea market stall has grown into Canada's largest urban art retailer, but the ethos hasn't changed. The owner has been tagging since 1986—long enough to remember when getting caught meant more than a fine. That street credibility matters when you're advising muralists on color theory or helping community organizations navigate the politics of legal wall space.

Le Sino became the official Montana Colors distributor because they knew the difference between art supplies and vandalism tools isn't the paint—it's the permission. Three decades later, they're still the bridge between Montreal's underground scene and its increasingly legitimized public art culture.

Danny and Palacio met in tour guide school and immediately knew they were done with the clipboard-wielding, megaphone-shouting approach to showing off Montreal. Three years later, they launched Spade & Palacio with a simple rule: no groups bigger than ten, no scripts, and definitely no stopping at the same tired tourist traps everyone else hits.

Their guides aren't just locals—they're the kind of Montrealers who install studded tires on their bikes for winter riding and know which metro car stops closest to the escalator. Danny's been shepherding curious visitors around for fifteen years, first in the Caribbean, now here. The team includes history nerds, street art insiders, and people who've lived in more Montreal neighborhoods than most can name.

It's less tour, more hanging out with friends who happen to know all the good spots.