The Art of Living According to Joe Beef: A Cookbook of Sorts [Hardcover]

Finalist, IACP Awards 2012, Chefs & Restaurants Category
Winner of Food52’s Piglet Tournament of Cookbooks, 2012

“As I leafed through the pages I came to be charmed by their story and the unconventional way the book is laid out. There is a sense of history to the book and their deep love of Montreal is evident throughout. There is richness in detail and usually a lovely idiosyncratic story for each recipe that makes the book as much of an engaging read as a straightforward cookbook.” 
—Judge Alice Waters, Food52’s Piglet Tournament of Cookbooks, 2012

“One of the best cookbooks of the year. . . the stories by Frédéric Morin and David McMillan are worth the price.”
—Edward Ash-Milby, Buyer at Barnes & Noble 

“This bizarre and spectacular book isn't like the other on my list—but then again, it's not much like any other book I know of, cooking-related or otherwise. . . a kind of artist's statement for an idiosyncratic and unlikely restaurant.” 
—Mother Jones, Favorite Cookbooks of 2011, 12/3/11

“Proof of Morin's and McMillan's creative culinary genius.” 
—USA Today, 11/22/11 

“Joe Beef is a Montreal restaurant worthy of a special trip north, as David Chang attests in his foreword to this “cookbook of sorts.” The free-form tome embodies the delicious chaos of the place, and the eccentric interests and oversize appetites of the men behind it—chefs and co-owners Frédéric Morin and David McMillan. There’s history here, including the tale of Joe Beef himself, the 19th-century Irish immigrant, Canadian tavern owner and “friend of the working man” for whom the restaurant is named. In addition to recipes, there are chapters on the history of Montreal eating (spotlighting the casse-croute tradition of ramshackle snack shacks) and on trains—old-school rail travel being one of Morin’s enduring obsessions. Cook this: Spaghetti homard-lobster in bacon-brandy cream; stuffed dining-car calf liver in Parmesan-mustard crust; Joe Beef foie gras and cheddar cheese “Double Down.”
—Time Out New York, The Season's Best Cookbooks, 11/15/11

“I believe everyone should eat at Joe Beef at least once. And I think everyone should buy this cookbook.”
—Food Republic, 11/14/11

“Inventive, meaty, badass cooking. And with these chefs, you get the sense that food and only food is what matters.”
—BonAppetit.com, BA Daily blog, 10/18/11 

“Beautiful, hip, both feminine and masculine at the same time. . . . The book conveys an entire atmosphere, a way of relating to food, yes, but also time, and love, and communication. The recipes are sexy, but in the way that Montreal is sexy. If you have been to Montreal, I'm guessing you know what I mean.” 
—Eating from the Ground Up, 10/11/11

“If one judges a cookbook by its idiosyncrasies, this fall's best comes from Canada. The Art of Living According to Joe Beef, by Frédéric Morin and David McMillan, will teach you how to cook a horse steak, make absinthe, tour Canada by train and cure a hangover (kale with bacon and fried egg). . . . But what makes this cookbook so great—and Momofuku Ko chef David Chang's "favorite restaurant in the world," according to his foreword—is the confidence, humor and lack of pretense that allows Morin and McMillan to serve a mound of caviar next to a martini garnished with a Vienna sausage. Oh, those Canadians.” 
—Departures, 9/15/11

“This book, from the folks behind the Montreal restaurant David Chang calls his "favorite restaurant in the world," covers a fantastic range of topics. Sure, there are recipes, but there is also a history of the restaurants of Montreal, a paean to the trains of Canada, "Le Grand Setup de Caviar," a thirty ingredient smorgasbord, a martini recipe that calls for a Vienna sausage garnish, and plans for building a smoker yourself.” 
—Eater National, 9/12/11

“From the acclaimed Montreal restaurant come personality-packed tales of food and drink, like instructions for building a smoker and distilling absinthe.”
—DETAILS, The Year's 10 Best Cookbooks, September 2011 Issue

“Touching on many of this fall's themes—and simultaneously defying categorization—is The Art of Living According to Joe Beef: A Cookbook of Sorts by David McMillan, Frédéric Morin, and Meredith Erickson. While it is tied to a restaurant (Montreal bistro Joe Beef), it makes nods to regular folks, too, including, for instance, instructions for building a backyard smoker. But with recipes for Swedish sandwiches, recollections of favorite train trips, and a love letter to French burgundy, this is one cookbook that—happily, for us—eschews all the trends.”
—Publishers Weekly, Top 10 Fall Cookbooks, 6/27/11

“A savvy page-turner full of meats, oysters, attitude and irreverence.”
—Publishers Weekly, 6/20/11

“Fred, Dave, and Meredith are a significant part of what makes Montreal dangerous—and delicious—to anyone who loves food. The words Joe Beef are synonymous with good food and good times.”
—ANTHONY BOURDAIN
 
“This is the most amazing cookbook of the last ten years. As a longtime fan of the restaurant and its staff, I can tell you that Joe Beef is more than just an eatery. It embodies a way of looking at food and life, a zeitgeist, that I thought was impossible to capture in print. I was wrong. If you want to cook in a gutsy, honest, meat-centric, modernist aesthetic—then look no further.”
—ANDREW ZIMMERN, award-winning chef, author, and host of Bizarre Foods with Andrew Zimmern
 
“Eating at Joe Beef is the most heartwarming, delicious time you will have north of the border. Fred and David are truly talented artisans and gastronomes dedicated to flavor, technique, and downright old-world hospitality. Read this book; it’ll make your mouth water.”
—FRANK CASTRONOVO and FRANK FALCINELLI, chefs/owners, Frankies Spuntino
  
“This cookbook is crazy delicious, just like the restaurant—full of fun, flavor, philosophy, and food.”
—BONNIE STERN, founder, Bonnie Stern School of Cooking
 
“Fred and Dave sont des vrais (are the real thing). They were hunting, fishing, foraging, butchering whole animals, and growing their own vegetables long before it was cool. I could go on about how these boys cook (like masters), but you’ll discover that in these pages.”
—RIAD NASR, executive chef, Minetta Tavern
 
“The Art of Living According to Joe Beef captures Fred and Dave’s complete vision: their unique style of cooking and a warm and wacky atmosphere that always seems to be ahead of the curve. This is everything we love about Joe Beef, without having to fly to Montreal.”
—VINNY DOTOLO and JON SHOOK, Animal and Son of a Gun restaurants
 
“Filled with historic facts, quirky cooking techniques, and food that holds nothing back, this book is overflowing with ingenuity. It reflects, indeed, the art of living according to Joe Beef.”
—CHUCK HUGHES, chef/owner, Garde Manger

Located in a working-class neighborhood of Montreal, Joe Beef is at the center of Montreal’s growing reputation as a culinary destination. Often referred to as the Paris of North America, Montreal is the second-largest French-speaking city in the world, and like France, food is at the heart of its identity.
 
In The Art of Living According to Joe Beef, co-owners/chefs Frédéric Morin and David McMillan, along with writer and former Joe Beef staff member Meredith Erickson, present 135 unforgettable recipes showcasing Joe Beef’s unconventional approach to French market cuisine. Advocating the use of ingredients from local or family-owned producers whenever possible, this collection of hearty dishes delivers. The Strip Loin Steak comes complete with ten variations, Kale for a Hangover wisely advises the cook to eat and then go to bed, and the Marjolaine includes tips for welding your own cake mold. Joe Beef’s most popular dishes are also represented, such as Spaghetti Homard-Lobster, Foie Gras Breakfast Sandwich, Pork Fish Sticks, and Pojarsky de Veau (a big, moist meatball served on a bone). The coup de grâce is the Smorgasbord—Joe Beef’s version of a Scandinavian open-faced sandwich—with thirty different toppings.
 
This cookbook (of sorts) is packed with personal stories, Fred’s favorite train trips, Dave’s ode to French Burgundy, instructions for building a backyard smoker and making absinthe, a Montreal travel guide, and beaucoup plus. With nearly every recipe photographed in exquisite detail, this nostalgic yet utterly modern cookbook is a groundbreaking guide to living an outstanding culinary life.

Frédéric Morin (right) is the co-owner/chef of Joe Beef, Liverpool House, and McKiernan Luncheonette. He attended L’École Hôtelière des Laurentides, worked at Jean-Talon Market selling peppers and onions, and served as garde-manger at Toqué! and chef de cuisine at Globe before opening Joe Beef. When he’s not gardening, tinkering in his workshop, or at the restaurants, Fred can be found at home in Montreal with his wife (and the third partner in the restaurants), Allison, and their two sons.
 
David McMillan (left) is the co-owner/chef of Joe Beef, Liverpool House, and McKiernan Luncheonette. Born and raised in Quebec City, David has been holding court in many of Montreal’s classic restaurants for close to twenty years. He still practices the cuisine Bourgeoise he learned from his mentor, Nicolas Jongleux, and from living in the Burgundy region of France. When David isn’t at the restaurants, he can be found painting at his studio in Saint Henri or spending time at his cottage in Kamouraska, Quebec, with his wife, Julie, and their two daughters.
 
One of the original members of the Joe Beef staff, Meredith Erickson (center) has written for various magazines, newspapers, and television series. Currently collaborating on several books, Meredith splits her time between Montreal and London.

Chapter 1: Building a Tiny Restaurant in the Middle of Nowhere
 
Little Burgundy was a refuge. To escape our prior workplace, Fred and I would go for drives around Montreal, stopping at hardware stores, food markets, Chinatown, old corner restaurants. Sometimes we would browse junk shops or raid the downtown Salvation Army. Maybe we were already starting to build a restaurant in our minds, or maybe we just needed to get away from the supper-club scene on Boulevard Saint Laurent, where we worked. Either way, we were always on the lookout for old plates, oyster forks, live king crabs, shitty chairs, medicine cabinets, or the ultimate baloney sandwich. All roads led to Little Burgundy.
 
Little Burgundy is an area in southwest Montreal bordering the Lachine Canal. In the mid-1700s, French colonists named it La Petite-Bourgogne because of its resemblance to its namesake in France. It sits on a plateau, south of Mount Royal and just north of the Saint Lawrence River. Home to the Canadian National Railway yards and the Canadian Steel plant, Little Burgundy was, and remains, a working-class neighborhood. For the past ten years, it has been featured in every local magazine’s “next up-and-coming neighborhood” article, but for reasons both obvious and obscure, it has been slow to reach its supposed potential. 
 
Notre Dame is Little Burgundy’s main north-to-south thoroughfare, a street full of inimitable characters, historical edifices, and appealing old boutiques, among them the amazing Grand Central antiques, the eclectic and now sadly defunct Arcadia, the Irish lady junk shop, and the All Things Vintage store. Nearby is antique purveyor Madame Cash, who earned her nickname in the 1960s from cashing government checks for residents in the surrounding row houses. Across the street stands the majestic Corona Theatre. Ella and Oliver Jones played there; so did Oscar Peterson, who was born in Little Burgundy. Around the corner is the ever-abiding Atwater Market. This neighborhood has everything going for it. 
 
Among all this stood Café Miguel, a diamond in the (very) rough located at 2491 Rue Notre Dame West owned by a wildly passive-aggressive troll of a man. He made six killer sandwiches and espresso as strong as it was good. And while his ambition to open a small restaurant was good, he soon ran into trouble—trolls, alas, don’t make good restaurant owners. His trouble was our opportunity, and Allison, Fred, and I got to thinking. We knew we could cook, we knew what the restaurant should look like, and we knew intuitively that we could get people to come to Little Burgundy. But it would take work.
 
For one thing, the café was a bit of a dump, like a dirty pig that wears a dress, too many accessories, and perfume. It had a solid, yet filthy shell and was furnished with IKEA tables, school chairs, and a blackboard with sandwich listings full of spelling mistakes. There was a six-burner stove, a deep fryer, a ventilation hood, an espresso machine, and a working chimney. We would essentially be acquiring the bare bones of a restaurant, which might make it workable, since we had very little money to start.
 
The backyard was full of graffiti, cigarette butts, beer bottles, tiny plastic bags, and what Fred believed was industrial waste. The clientele consisted of local furniture refinishers and antique dealers—basically guys with yellow fingers who stunk of lacquer thinner. Allison, Fred, and I held meetings in my truck in the backyard, during which we brainstormed on what our restaurant might look like, what food we would serve, and who we would harass—or terrorize—for favors to get it off the ground. We had anxiety about putting it all together, and for good reason: we don’t have the organizational skills to do anything. Ask anyone and they’ll tell you that we essentially have the attention spans of ferrets on speed. At least Fred and I do. Allison is the voice of reason.
 
So we met with three friends who also happen to be financial guys, Ronnie Steinberg, Jeff Baikowitz, and David Lisbona, to see if our idea could become a financial reality. We don’t remember much of the meeting except that it was boring, it was held in a boardroom, and after five minutes I was wearing a baseball helmet I picked off a nearby shelf and Fred was chasing me around with no shirt on. The obvious conclusion is that Ronnie, Jeff, and David convinced us it could work (if we did it on the cheap), and they agreed to partner in for 10 percent. Jeff tells us now that when we left the room, he told Ronnie and David to give whatever amount they would feel comfortable never seeing again.
 
We are still partners with these three, and if it weren’t for them, none of this would be possible. If you walk into David Lisbona’s office today, you’ll see seventy-five laminated newspaper clippings about Joe Beef alongside one picture of his kids. Their faith and pride in us are astounding. 
 
 
Building Joe Beef 
 
It took two months to build. We scrounged quickly to make it work. The restaurant came together with love, about twenty packs of wainscoting, and unlimited generosity and interest from friends. Mathieu Gaudet, a Montreal sculptor, friend, and Saint Henri local, built, among other things, our tables. On first glance, they look like they are ebony and mahogany, but they are actually MDF (medium-density fiberboard) combined with that really bad Masonite pressboard and many shiny coats of oil finish. He also built the bar from an old farmhouse floor that probably had fifteen coats of lead paint on it. (Don’t worry, it’s sealed; you can’t go crazy from eating at the Joe Beef bar.) 
 
The beautiful old tavern chairs we found by chance. We spotted them when we were driving around one day and pulled over and asked the guy what he wanted for them. He said twenty bucks—not per chair, but for the lot. 
 
Our friend Peter Hoffer did a beautiful installation of paintings: about twenty small abstracts and landscapes on one wall. We have always liked Peter’s aesthetic, whether it is of Quebec trees or girls without shirts. His art fits our rustic environment and feels like it has always been there. 
 
The eccentric and kooky Joe Battat, another one of our friends and favorite customers, showed up one day in the dining room with a giant bison head. It looks real and is about half the size of a Honda Civic. We zapped it onto the wall of the bathroom, and it has been scaring young kids ever since. 
 
A couple of years back, one of our customers, Howie Levine, gave Fred a fart machine with a remote control. Fred immediately hid it in an ear of the bison, so whenever someone walked into the bathroom and closed the door, Fred would go crazy on the remote and wait for the customer to emerge in a daze of confused humiliation. 
 
The bathroom also boasts old photos taken at Bob Dylan and Neil Young concerts by Joe Battat and the door is covered with old Canadian license plates, fishing permits, and Quebec signage. Serendipitously, all the crazy elements seem to come together.
 
People still show up with old nostalgia-laden items that somehow fit the spirit of Joe Beef—things they’ve found at yard sales, in their grandma’s attic, at the back of the garage. We have a barracuda caught by a Quebec politico, Viking candelabras, bear heads, a grand notice of the beatification of the now good brother Saint Andre, whale bones, trophies (Best Eater: Kevin), pictures of Uncle Jack fishing for salmon in British Columbia, and glasses shaped like naked women. 
 
In other words, ambience is a big part of Joe Beef. The lighting, the music, and what’s on the walls matter a great deal to us. Wine and food are not the only story. A true restaurateur has to be a jack of many trades. You see it all the time in restaurants: the food is good and the wine list is awesome, but the chairs suck, the art on the wall is revolting, and a Café Del Mar CD is playing continuously on the sound system. You can be a good cook or even a great chef, but it doesn’t make you a restaurateur. You have to have other interests, and you have to actually read.
 
Thankfully, Fred, Allison, and I geek out over the same classic stuff: a perfect Adirondack chair, a red vinyl banquette with brass nails, a pretty oyster-bar counter, old enameled cast-iron sinks, industrial lamps, a banged-up Rancilio coffee machine. We like wood, old paint, and a simple touch of cottage. This is why we love Maine, the Gaspé, and Kamouraska. I had so many bad experiences with Montreal’s “hottest” designers, who simply couldn’t design a proper service station, that I ended up buying an old medicine cabinet for Joe Beef. Its shelves, drawers, and glass bottles that once held swabs now hold knives. It works and it looks like it is where it should be. As Joe Beef came together, that’s how it felt in general: like it had always been there.
 
The restaurant group we worked with prior to Joe Beef never understood our cooking, but the customers did. We are thankful for the experience; it just wasn’t for us. We wanted our next project to be different from anything we had done before. We wanted to open a small, simple bistro, not unlike what Sam Hayward was doing with beautiful country food at Fore Street in Portland, Maine. 
 
We imagined we would walk to the market and buy our produce every day. I was going to cook the meats, Fred was going to do the appetizers and vegetables, and then we were going to do the dishes . . . together. Allison would run the dining room, and John Bil would tend bar and shuck the occasional oyster. We would be open for lunch. Seventy bucks would be our top-end wine. Fred would put one lobster item on the menu, but more for him than for anyone else. W...