Just a step away from Charlevoix station, Sep Lai quietly establishes itself as one of Montreal’s rare authentic Laotian addresses. Founded by a family of Laotian origin, the restaurant carries on recipes passed down from generation to generation, far from the watered-down versions sometimes found along busy tourist strips.

Push open the door, and the atmosphere does its work: trailing faux plants cascade from a drop ceiling above a large bar open to the kitchen, while wide bay windows shelter more intimate tables, ideal for long conversations. In good weather, a terrace pleasantly extends the experience. Sep Lai leans into a warm, almost homey counter aesthetic, the kind that calls to mind those neighbourhood spots in Vientiane you find yourself coming back to every week.

The menu sticks to Laotian tradition without compromise: spring rolls, sharing bites, and the ever-present sticky rice served in its small woven bamboo baskets, just as it would be in Laos. Everything is designed to be shared, in the communal spirit that defines Southeast Asian cuisine. Larger groups can even opt for a tasting menu at 80 Canadian dollars, while ordering à la carte stays approachable at around thirty dollars per person.

My experience at Sep Lai

The adventure starts with the chicken spring rolls, long, slender, almost elegantly slim. The fry is confident: crisp without being greasy, and nicely golden. The Dao sauce, alongside, plays smartly on sweetness to bring the whole thing into balance.

I then let myself be talked into the Nang Kai Tod, a menu curiosity the server happily describes as “the Laotian chicken chip”, stuffed, crispy chicken skin that isn’t unlike the spirit of Quebec’s beloved oreilles de crisse. The idea is brilliant on paper, and the execution shows real know-how. The one catch: the saltiness is generous, perhaps a touch too much so. The small lime wedges on top bring a welcome hint of freshness, though not quite enough for the portion size you receive. I ended up dipping the pieces into the spring roll sauce to rebalance things, which, it should be said, works rather well.

The dish that wins everyone over comes in the form of Sai Oua pork sausages, seasoned with Laotian herbs. The lemongrass comes through boldly, the spices are well measured, and the cook is spot-on: a nice crust with a juicy interior. It’s generous and comforting, and the Jeow Som sauce, lightly sweet and sour, finds its perfect partner in sticky rice. This trio alone makes the trip worthwhile.

Next up, the Kua Mee caramelised rice noodles, presented in the spirit of a pad thai with a “slightly” over-fried egg on top and vegetables to mix in: carrots and cabbage. The concept is appealing, but the expected caramelisation gives way that evening to a texture that’s a touch overcooked and dry, with a hint of bitterness. You can tell the dish has the potential to be excellent.

For a sweet finish, the pandan leaf crème brûlée first impresses with its lovely green hue, the signature colour of this prized Southeast Asian ingredient. The result varies by portion: the caramel can be a little too crystallised, the cream sometimes on the loose side. But the delicate, floral, vanilla-like scent of pandan is a reminder that Sep Lai is also reaching toward something new.