If there are patches of heaven on Earth, then Montreal’s Barcola Bistro must be one of them. This reasonably-priced, Kissa-inspired fine-dining establishment is cozy, sensuous, and comforting. And small. Heaven on Earth, apparently, comes in precious slivers of real estate. If you don’t count the small summer terrace overlooking the lively stretch of the city’s Avenue Du Parc, there are less than 10 tables occupying Barcola’s narrow, elongated interior.

But its sense of intimacy is part of Barcola’s charm. As are the record sleeves, magazine covers, pictures of food, and the mirrors that plaster the walls, and the vintage tube gear and speakers lined up at the back of the room next to the kitchen. But that’s not all; placed in spots out of people’s way are wood stands filled with used, mostly jazz records you can browse through and choose to buy as you wait for your order or cocktail to arrive, while jazz music fills the air around you.

At first, as you take it all in, you might be tempted, as I was, to ask yourself: Is this a restaurant? A record store? A shrine to jazz? To vintage audio equipment? The answer, of course, is all of the above, but to the question of what it is mostly, the answer may depend on your priorities.

If you come here for the tasty Italian dishes made with fresh seasonal ingredients, then Barcola may strike you as mostly an Italian restaurant. But if, like me, you’re an audio/vinyl/jazz buff, then you might think it’s mostly about the music and audio. The truth, however, which you discover once you’ve been here a little while, is that Barcola isn’t just one or two things; what it is, mostly, is an experience.

When I came here, I sensed a timelessness to the place, as if time had stopped to give me time to breathe. And something else, too: amid the gastronomy and the music and records and friendly banter, it began to feel like I was in someone’s living room. I was out of the bustle of the city and transposed into some place private and safe.

It turns out that I was in someone’s living room, so to speak—that of the two owners, who refer to Barcola as their second home. They are two of the most down-to-earth generous-of-spirit people you’ll meet—Fabrizio, the jazz-loving audiophile chef, and his New-Brunswick Acadian wife Danielle, who serves the food and drinks and hosts the guests and tends the bar, where behind the counter she spins cocktails in glasses and LPs on two vintage turntables. If there’s a dining establishment that embodies humanity and the personalities of its owners more than Barcola, I don’t remember it.

For one, it’s got Danielle’s geniality and easy sociability. As she described herself to me later: “I’m a Maritimer. I’m friendly by nature. I like to talk.” When you first meet her, it’s like you’ve known her for years. Patrons walk in and greet her with hugs and kisses like she’s the godmother of their children. Like Fabrizio, Danielle likes jazz, but it’s her husband who’s the audio hobbyist in the couple, a passion he developed—alongside his cooking passion—in his native Italy, when he became a fan of single ended triode amplification and high-sensitivity speakers.

Fabrizio traces his audio beginnings to a tape recorder he was gifted when he was ten years old. It planted the seed of what would become a lifelong hi-fi love affair. When he was 17 or 18, while in Italy, he bought a hi-fi magazine, but it wasn’t the glossy pictures of gear that called out to him most. It was the audiophile terms and electronic descriptions that accompanied the pictures—it was a language new to him, that beckoned him, and which he felt compelled to learn.

His audio journey was temporarily disrupted when he was called up to do his mandatory one-year military service in Italy. Six months after his return, he sold his car and bought his first real hi-fi: a YBA Integre amplifier, a pair of Arnie Nudell-designed Infinity Kappa 5 speakers, and a Kuzma Stabi turntable fitted with Denon’s enduring DL103 cartridge. Fabrizio still has that cartridge, if nothing else from that system. He’d hang with other audiophiles who would invite each other to their homes to see and hear their own hi-fis.

In 2004, he sold the majority of his large CD collection, keeping only a precious few, and immigrated to Canada.

In Montreal, Fabrizio met Danielle. The two fell in love, got married, had two children, and opened Barcola Bistro. When the business slowed then shuttered due to Covid-19-related restrictions, Fabrizio saw an opportunity to transform his restaurant into the sort of kissa-inspired establishment that belonged to one of his idols—Japanese chef, poet, restaurant owner, and tube amplifier builder Susumu Sakuma, who declared: “Amplifiers are not slaves of the measurement system.”

But he’s not much of an advertiser. “I’m in no rush to promote my products,” he told me. “If I promote too much, I won’t have time to cook.” So word about his audio business gets out gradually through things like word-of-mouth and audio shows. Every March, he and Danielle haul gear and crates of vinyl to the Montreal Audiofest, where they exhibit their wares next to the mezzanine escalator. When the show’s on, their place is always buzzing with visitors curious about the LPs, but mostly about the cool-looking artisinal tube equipment, turntables, and speakers that stand out from the latest-tech gear that grabs most of the attention at the show.

Danielle says Barcola’s new restaurant concept has brought a whole new range of customers—not just more of them, but younger. “A lot of young people are into vinyl,” she told me with a gleam in her eyes. Danielle and Fabrizio credit the success of Barcola 2.0 to the fact it’s not just about the food anymore, but the whole experience.

“In the end,” Fabrizio said, “You don’t care if you had a fantastic chicken. It’s important the chicken is good when you eat it, but you can have good chicken at other restaurants. When you come to Barcola, it’s an experience. That’s why you come back.”

As Danielle put it: “Before, you ate at Barcola, now you’re going to Danielle and Fabrizio’s place. It’s an extended family kind of relationship. I think people appreciate that kind of human connection.”

I don’t doubt it. Life is, after all, all about connection—to food, music, and people.

Barcola Bistro

5607, av. du Parc
Montréal, Québec H2V 4H2
438-384-1112

Menu: barcolabistro.com
Reservations: opentable.ca