Hidden in Saint-Henri’s industrial shadows, tucked between the highway and a Home Depot, sits Montreal’s most unlikely sanctuary. Gia doesn’t announce itself. You have to know it’s there, navigating the quiet stretch of Rue Lenoir like following breadcrumbs to a secret. This obscurity feels intentional—a restaurant confident enough to let word-of-mouth do the heavy lifting.
My first visit came during a February cold snap, when the promise of grilled meat and natural wine felt like medicine. Six months later, returning in August’s heat, I discovered that Gia had quietly installed a terrasse that transforms this concrete corner into something approaching magic. Under string lights and summer sky, with the distant hum of highway traffic somehow adding to rather than detracting from the atmosphere, you could almost believe you’re dining in some forgotten corner of Abruzzo.
The arrosticini deserve their own paragraph. These lamb and beef skewers, traditional to the Abruzzi region, arrive without fanfare—just charred meat on sticks, glistening with rendered fat and char. Easy to overlook when scanning the menu for showier dishes. Don’t. Each bite delivers that primal satisfaction of perfectly grilled protein, the kind of simple perfection that reminds you why humans first started cooking over fire. On my second visit, I watched a couple at the bar order round after round, building a small forest of empty skewers. They had it right.
What distinguishes Gia from Montreal’s crowded Italian landscape is this commitment to regional specificity without becoming precious about it. Yes, the menu name-checks Tuscany and Abruzzo. Yes, Larry Fiset’s wine list reads like a love letter to natural producers. But nothing feels performative. The focaccia arrives warm and yielding, begging to be torn apart. The pici al ragù delivers comfort without apology. Even the more adventurous preparations—morilles farcies that taste like forest floor in the best way, or the lobster arancini that shouldn’t work but absolutely does—feel grounded in tradition rather than striving for innovation.
The room itself manages to feel both timeless and very now. The addition of the summer terrasse only amplifies what was already working: a space that invites lingering, whether you’re industry folk decompressing after service or neighborhood regulars who’ve made Tuesday night Gia night.
Book a table on the terrasse while summer lasts. Order more arrosticini than you think you need. Let the team guide your wine choices. And maybe understand why sometimes the best restaurants are the ones that make you work a little to find them.