Standing in sharp contrast to its traditional neighbors, this trendy joint offers diners the (un?)holy triumvirate of exposed brick, artfully placed photographs of colourful naked buttocks, and giant glasses of freshly squeezed orange juice. There are no jukeboxes or weathered hot dog advertisements in sight, and any attempt to order a poutine would no doubt be thwarted by factual impossibility. Despite being seconds from the epicentre of St. Henri’s diner activity, it draws a markedly different crowd. More Laurier than Notre Dame, the clientele looks at home reviewing scripts not hanging the lights.

The name, a play on words asking “what’s new?” via reference to eggs, seeks to establish the restaurant’s otherness. I suspect locals have grown accustomed to it, however, having kept it in business for the past seven years. Such relative longevity undermines its attempt at novelty while carving a stable place for the hip and cheeky along rusty Notre Dame. It’s hard to imagine Mr. Blue Jeans & Blazer sipping café au lait out of a bowl anywhere else in the quarter…

The prices force me to break my $5 rule (by fifty cents), but they are certainly not unreasonable. And as concerns the food’s quality, there’s no need for apologia. The sunny-side up order pulls off runny yokes without venturing into slimy whites. The coffee is great and the bread selection is diverse; don’t underestimate the difference a baguette can make. Meanwhile, Chase’s eggs benedict have him groaning with pleasure, evoking Tim Allen in that show about tools. Judging by the steady flow of traffic, it’s a popular spot for young professionals who are probably very pleased with their choice to live somewhere on the make. Their slightly annoying snobbishness is ultimately not enough to tarnish the palpable charm of the place, which offers sufficient substance to justify its style.

Details, details. Whereas the diners we visited offered only cream with their coffee (we had to ask for milk), here the two arrive together. I suspect few of their clients favour the fattier option, no doubt more a self-conscious tribute to the neighborhood than a viable choice. (I’ll know I’ve finally entered the belly of the gentrification dragon when the choice morphs into one between soy and skim). The abundance of asparagus, spinach, and other decidedly non-diner items set the place apart even more than the décor, which is somehow elegant and unpretentious.

As the view out its open-concept entrance reminds patrons, the surroundings have not kept pace with the menu. The Super C across the street makes it clear that this is certainly not Laurier, as do the smells from the nearby Belle Province. Yet a peek out the window reveals another condo under construction - a harbinger of omelet orders soon to be placed - and similarily situated restaurants draw crowds just down the street. Despite its quest for distinction, Quoi de N’Oeuf remains firmly placed in the neighborhood it seeks to reimagine.

Quoi de N’Oeuf
2613 Notre Dame St. W
514-931-3999

Photos by Chase Moser. With special thanks to T-Stein.