The famed Michelin Guide first came to Canada in 2022.Marc Patrick/BFA.com/Supplied
When the Michelin Guide arrived in Canada in 2022, many in the culinary world were excited. This was long-overdue international recognition, a spotlight we’d been waiting for. But now, three provinces in, one thing is clear: Michelin doesn’t fully understand what makes Canada’s dining culture so distinct.
It’s not just about missed stars or snubbed chefs. It’s about context: the stories, histories and values that shape how we cook and eat in this country. Until Michelin understands that, its stars will shine a little dimmer here.
According to Gwendal Poullennec, international director of the Michelin Guides, the inspectors are from 30 different nationalities, but “it’s always a mix between regional and locally based inspectors and inspectors coming from abroad.” When repeatedly asked if that included Canadian inspectors and not just ones from “the American continent,” he didn’t answer.
I met him earlier this year in Quebec, ahead of the first Michelin announcement there. Over the past few years, I’ve had the chance to attend the Michelin awards in Vancouver and Toronto, and I’ve seen firsthand how the guide has, at times, landed beautifully and, at others, missed the mark.
Burdock & Co. in Vancouver was awarded a star when the Michelin Guide came to Vancouver.The Globe and Mail
When Michelin debuted in Vancouver three years ago, it felt like they might get it. The selections were largely praised by the industry. Chef Andrea Carlson’s Burdock & Co., located on a vibrant stretch of Main Street, was a worthy choice for a star. Her soulful, farm-to-table cooking stood out for its regional integrity. Take her congee, for example, strewn with braised pine mushrooms and burdock root, drawn butter sabayon and scallion oil, made with sustainable rice from Abbotsford and sake from Granville Island. So deliciously Vancouver.
At AnnaLena in Kitsilano, chef Mike Robbins offers Michelin-starred dining with personality. A kusshi oyster with apple and frozen foie gras arrives alongside Okanagan bubbles and a wee golden spoon, much of the playful food served with a wink. These restaurants don’t mimic anyone else’s; they are uniquely of themselves. In Vancouver, Michelin seemed to grasp what makes the city’s restaurants tick.
But the most recent Michelin awards in Toronto, held this month at the Liberty Grand, revealed how off the mark the guide can be. The evening had all the trappings of glamour – a red-clad reception room, guests dressed in semi-formal attire nibbling pickled oysters and tartare cones – and many deserving restaurants were recognized. These awards matter, both for tourism and for the hardworking chefs and teams behind each kitchen.
Still, as the list of starred and recommended spots scrolled across the screen, heads turned. Where were Dotty’s, Donna’s, Takja BBQ House or Naagan and its progressive Indigenous tasting menus? What about the Greek char at Mamakas, the joy of Sugo, the blistered crusts at Pizzeria Badiali, the innovation at Curryish Tavern or the cheese pulls at Rizzo’s House of Parm?
Michelin seems to view Toronto as a mix of French technique, global cuisine and laid-back Canadian charm. But that framing misses the heartbeat of the city’s food culture. Toronto’s culinary identity wasn’t built in a vacuum. It was built by immigrants, by family-run restaurants, by chefs who blend heritage with hustle to create something entirely new.
The places that define the city aren’t always white-tablecloth dining rooms (though they can be that, too). They’re the local institutions, like Albert’s Real Jamaican Foods, Swatow, Pantheon, Barberian’s Steak House and United Bakers, that serve not just meals, but memory. And what of the pioneers who helped ignite this city’s culinary boom a scant two decades ago? Where are DaiLo, Foxley and Terroni? New and old, they reflect the culinary communities of Toronto.
The Michelin Guide has arrived in Quebec. Here’s the list of all nine restaurants given stars
In Montreal this past May, Michelin missed another opportunity. I had the privilege of sharing a spring lunch at Toqué! with chef Normand Laprise – the godfather of the Quebec food movement and arguably of modern Canadian cuisine. For more than 30 years, he has championed a philosophy of cooking rooted in direct relationships with farmers, fishers and foragers, long before it was fashionable.
As I enjoyed a dish of green and white asparagus, sweet Quebec strawberries and sauce gribiche, we waited for the Michelin announcement. I asked Laprise whether he thought Toqué! would earn one or two stars. He said a star would be nice for his team, but he’d never assume.
Just before dessert, our phones lit up with the press release: no stars. Just a recommendation. It was inconceivable.
I tried to offer a pep talk, but he didn’t need it. He simply quoted his father: “When I was a kid, he taught me to ride a bike and said, ‘Stop looking behind, look forward. That’s life.’” It was a moment of grace – but also a sharp reminder that Michelin doesn’t fully see us.
For Vancouver chef Andrea Carlson, the path to Michelin started – and ended – at home
Michelin inspectors are trained professionals. But when most of them are from outside Canada, something important gets lost. In a country like ours, context is everything. Our culinary identity isn’t American, and it’s not European with a tuque. It’s its own thing: layered, regional, rooted in immigration, Indigenous foodways, seasonality and innovation. We serve labneh with bannock. We pair crispy ginger beef with an Okanagan syrah. We eat a Big Mac bao at DaiLo with reverence – not because it’s ironic (and iconic), but because we understand the story behind it.
A good food critic judges execution. A great one understands meaning.
Restaurant Pearl Morissette, in the Niagara Region, was awarded two stars in 2025.HO/The Canadian Press
I’m glad Michelin is here. You should’ve heard the roar in the room when Restaurant Pearl Morissette earned its second star. After all, its on-site grown ingredients found in dishes such as radishes with prickly ash, and grilled pork with wild onions and sea asparagus are worth the drive to Jordan. It was a beautiful, well-earned moment. But if Michelin truly wants to honour Canadian excellence, it needs more than a checklist. It needs more intimate knowledge.
Start by hiring more Canadian inspectors. Inspectors who know what that Big Mac bao means. Inspectors who’ve stood in a block-long line at Sugo. Inspectors who understand that context isn’t just a garnish – it’s the whole damn plate.
