At Montréal Plaza, chefs Charles-Antoine Crête and Cheryl Johnson run the kitchen like a well-oiled experiment: playful, unpredictable, but anchored by technique. The dining room, designed by Zébulon Perron, hints at the surreal—plastic dinosaurs on the pass, Elmo sightings at the bar—but the cooking is no joke. Scallop sashimi arrives on a toy triceratops, layered with citrus and quinoa; a whelk gratin might follow, then foie gras with strawberries, and a dessert that’s basically fruit gone punk. The à la carte is ever-shifting, but the tasting menu (introduced by demand) has become the house favourite.

French methods meet global flavour, with Johnson grounding Crête’s improvisational streak. Even with its absurdist touches, the place runs tight and tastes sharp. In short, Plaza not only blurs the line between high dining and irreverence—it makes it irrelevant.