You smell it before you see the line. It’s that heavy, peppery, clove-scented aroma that hangs over Saint-Laurent Boulevard like a permanent fog. If you’re standing on the sidewalk in the middle of a Montreal winter, teeth chattering, wondering why on earth you’re waiting forty minutes for a sandwich, you aren’t alone. Thousands do it every week. They’ve been doing it since 1928. Schwartz’s Deli Montreal Canada isn’t just a restaurant; it’s a stubborn, grease-stained monument to the idea that some things shouldn't ever change.
Honestly, the "deli" label feels a bit too formal. It’s a narrow, wood-paneled hallway with cracked linoleum and waiters who have seen it all. Don't expect a greeting. Expect a "How many?" and a pointed finger toward a communal table where you’ll sit elbow-to-elbow with a stranger from New Jersey or a local student from McGill. This is the Hebrew Old Town Delicatessen. Reuben Schwartz, a Jewish immigrant from Romania, founded this place nearly a century ago, and the legend suggests he cared more about his secret spice rub than he did about decor. He was probably right.
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The Secret Isn't Just the Spices
People talk about the recipe like it’s stored in a vault at the Bank of Canada. It’s not. It’s a dry-cure process. Most modern delis—even the high-end ones—use shortcuts. They inject their meat with brine to speed things up because time is money. Schwartz’s doesn't. They take beef briskets and rub them down with a blend of salt, peppercorns, garlic, and coriander, then let them sit for ten days.
That ten-day window is the magic.
Then comes the smoke. The meat is placed in brick smokehouses that are literally decades old. These pits are seasoned with the residue of a million briskets. You couldn't recreate the flavor of Schwartz’s smoked meat in a new building if you tried; the walls themselves are part of the ingredient list. After the smoke, the meat is steamed to get that signature "melt-on-the-tongue" texture. When a cutter—many of whom have worked there for thirty years—pulls a brisket out, it’s wobbling like Jell-O.
How to Order Without Looking Like a Tourist
There is a specific etiquette here. If you walk in and ask for "the ham sandwich" or something lean, the regulars will look at you with genuine pity. There are three main grades of meat: fat, medium, and lean.
Lean is for people who are afraid of flavor. It’s dry. It’s a mistake.
Medium is the gold standard. It’s the perfect ratio of muscle to rendered fat.
Fat is for the purists. It’s decadent. It’s messy. It’s beautiful.
Order a "medium" on rye with yellow mustard. That’s it. Don't ask for mayo. Don't ask for lettuce. You’ll get a stack of meat so high it looks structurally unsound. Pair it with a Cott’s Black Cherry Soda—the sugar and carbonation cut through the fat perfectly—and a large garlicky pickle. Maybe some fries if you're feeling ambitious, but the meat is the hero here. Everything else is just a supporting actor.
Why the Celine Dion Connection Matters
In 2012, the deli was sold. The city panicked. People thought it would be turned into a franchise or, heaven forbid, a clean, modern bistro. The buyer? A group including Quebec royalty Celine Dion and her late husband René Angélil.
Usually, celebrity ownership is the kiss of death for "authentic" spots. It becomes a theme park version of itself. But Celine and the group did something radical: they did almost nothing. They kept the staff. They kept the old smokehouses. They kept the cramped seating. They understood that the value of Schwartz’s Deli Montreal Canada is precisely that it’s a bit of a dive.
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The only real change was the gift shop next door, which, okay, is a bit touristy, but it keeps the main dining room from getting cluttered with t-shirts. It preserved the soul of the place. Even though it's technically a "business" owned by millionaires, it still feels like a family-run operation where the steam from the meat is the only thing that matters.
The Rivalries and the Reality
Montrealers love to argue. They’ll argue about bagels (Fairmount vs. St-Viateur) and they’ll definitely argue about smoked meat. You’ll hear names like Main Deli (which was across the street and sadly closed recently) or Lester’s in Outremont. Some locals swear by Lester’s because there’s no line and the meat is arguably just as good.
But there’s a nuance to Schwartz’s that the others miss. It’s the history of the "Main." This stretch of Saint-Laurent Boulevard used to be the dividing line between the English-speaking west and the French-speaking east. It was the immigrant heart of the city. When you sit in those chairs, you're sitting in the same spot where Leonard Cohen used to grab a late-night bite. You're part of a lineage of people who have navigated the complexities of Montreal over a plate of spiced beef.
The Science of the "Smoked Meat" vs. "Pastrami" Debate
Is it pastrami? No. Close, but no.
Pastrami is usually made from the navel cut, it’s often brined, and it’s usually more heavily smoked and spiced with sugar. Montreal smoked meat uses the whole brisket. It’s saltier and more savory. The spice rub is simpler but more aggressive. If you tell a Montrealer that Schwartz’s makes "great pastrami," be prepared for a twenty-minute lecture on culinary history. It’s a point of civic pride.
Survival Tips for the Modern Visitor
If you want to avoid the worst of the crowds, don't go at 12:30 PM on a Saturday. You’ll be there forever.
- Go at 3:00 PM on a Tuesday. It’s the sweet spot.
- Use the Takeout Counter. If the main line is an hour long, the takeout door to the left is often much faster. Take your sandwich to a nearby park.
- Bring Cash. They take cards now, but the vibe is still very much "cash is king."
- The Cherry Soda is Non-Negotiable. Seriously. Water doesn't work. Beer is okay, but the black cherry is the traditional pairing for a reason.
Schwartz's has survived the Great Depression, World War II, the Quiet Revolution, and a global pandemic. It survived the rise of veganism and the low-carb craze. Why? Because it’s honest. In a world of "concepts" and "curated experiences," Schwartz’s is just a place that sells meat on bread.
There is something deeply comforting about knowing that no matter how much the world changes, that brisket is still sitting in a dark room on Saint-Laurent, getting better with every passing hour.
Actionable Insights for Your Visit:
- Check the "Cutter": Watch the person slicing your meat. They do it by hand against the grain. If you want your meat a specific way—say, "medium-fat"—tell them directly. They are the masters of your meal.
- The "Schwartz’s Spice" Hack: You can buy the dry rub in tins. It’s excellent on roasted potatoes or home-grilled steaks, though it’ll never taste exactly like the deli because you don't have the 90-year-old smokehouse.
- Parking is a Nightmare: Don't even try to park on Saint-Laurent. Look for spots on Clark or St-Urbain, or better yet, take the Metro to Sherbrooke or Mont-Royal and walk. The walk will help you build the appetite you're going to need.
- Beyond the Sandwich: If you aren't feeling a sandwich, the "Small Plate" or "Large Plate" gives you the meat without the bread, allowing you to really appreciate the cure. Add a side of their coleslaw—it’s vinegar-based, not creamy, which provides the necessary acidity to balance the fat.