At This Pub, the Welcome’s Warm and the Brie Is Swimming -
It was a rainy Sunday evening in New Richmond, Quebec. The kind of rain that doesn’t pound or pour, just lingers long enough to wet your socks and make you wish you’d stayed inside. At Resto-Pub Bayou, tucked behind Hôtel Le Francis and overlooking the Petite Cascapédia River, the windows glowed gold against the grey, and the air inside was thick with the kind of warmth you can’t fake.
The pub was full, voices rising, forks clinking, chairs scraping across wood floors with a kind of familiarity. It was the sort of place where everyone seems to know someone, and if they don’t, they probably share a great-aunt. The energy felt local, but not exclusive. Cozy, but not performative. A pub where you could arrive a stranger and leave having been pulled, gently, into the fold.
We began with the baked Brie, served warm with diced pears, pecans, and honey. It was a well-intentioned affair, almost romantic, in that way some relationships are: full of potential but ultimately drowning in sweetness. The honey was overenthusiastic, the pears baked until they lost the will to resist, and the Brie sat, a victim of excess moisture. Flambéing the fruit might’ve saved them. A little herb, rosemary perhaps, might’ve rescued the dish from dessert territory. The pecans, bless them, brought texture and toasted charm, but were left whole and scattered too sparsely across the top. A rough chop would have gone a long way, adding consistency and crunch to every bite, rather than the occasional surprise. Still, points for effort. The idea was there.
The onion rings had the right look: tall, crisp, confident. But the batter, most importantly, was under-seasoned, leaving each bite wanting for depth. The tzatziki and salsa served on the side seemed less like a pairing and more like two sauces who had never met before that evening. A spicy mayo, like the one they serve with the fries, would’ve made more sense. So would a dipping sauce with any emotional attachment to an onion.
The Bayou burger arrived stacked and saucy, the kind of thing you admire before dismantling. Unfortunately, the patty had spent a little too long reflecting in the kitchen and came out overcooked. The fish and chips nearly redeemed it. The batter was excellent, light, golden, and audibly crisp, but the fish inside leaned toward dry and was noticeably oily. Draining the excess oil after frying would have made a big difference, keeping the texture clean and the flavor more balanced. Just a few seconds less in the fryer might have helped as well. The fries, however, were perfect: crisp, salty, and the kind of thing you keep eating long after you’ve announced you’re full. The coleslaw, though clearly aiming to add freshness, fell flat. It was under-seasoned and lacked the marinated character that brings slaw to life. More of a chopped salad than a side with purpose. A more deliberate marinade and a bit more time could have transformed it. As it stood, it was a missed opportunity.
Dessert was fine in theory, though we didn’t order it. Not out of snobbery, just absence of intrigue. A brownie, a sticky pudding, something to end the meal with a sense of triumph would’ve helped. But the menu seemed to quietly agree that you’d probably rather have another drink.
What lingered most wasn’t a dish, but the service. Our server was warm, anticipatory, and somehow always where you needed her to be. That level of attention can’t be trained. It’s instinct. And it made even the waterlogged Brie feel like part of the charm.
Resto-Pub Bayou isn’t perfect, but it doesn’t pretend to be. It’s a pub, not a performance. What it gets right; atmosphere, heart, a killer fry station, it gets very right. With a few thoughtful adjustments, the kitchen could go from good to genuinely great.
In the meantime, it’s still worth the visit. Especially on a rainy Sunday, when all you want is something hot, something fried, and a place that makes you feel, briefly and...
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