Rediscovering the taste of home: three urban farming projects in Montreal

Super Boat People 

A broad green expanse filled with greenhouses and flowers appears among the buildings. The late-morning sun lights up the Esplanade Louvain. Simon-Julien Lacroix from the Lab welcomes us. He has launched numerous urban agriculture projects and social beekeeping programs. To him, the city had everything it needed to be fertile ground for this kind of growing.

« Montréal has a strong culinary identity and, with it, an interest in agriculture. We also have a very robust community garden program. These gardens are no longer just a source of food; they’re also places to meet, organize, learn and support access to food. » He points us toward the greenhouse directly across from us, where we meet Super Boat People, a collective of Cambodian, Lao and Vietnamese people in Québec. The project grew out of a need to reconnect after the pandemic and a recognition that life in the diaspora can distance communities from their own cultures, histories and culinary traditions. 

Microphone and camera in hand, unsuitable shoes on our feet, we come across co-coordinator Vattharya Ker. She’s busy harvesting Thai basil, an herb with an anise-like aroma widely used in South Asian cooking. We then make our way through rows of other plants: jalapeño and Wiang Ping peppers, gochujang that they use to make their chili oil, tomatoes and pea eggplants. Besides organically growing around twenty varieties of Southeast Asian vegetables and herbs, the greenhouse provides a setting for a wealth of other initiatives. Alongside cooking and horticulture workshops, the collective distributes food baskets to community members experiencing food insecurity.

Farther along, we spot Charles working among climbing vines hung with clusters of long green and purple beans. As he goes, he snacks on tiny green melons like candy. «They’re cucamelons. They’re addictive.» Charles moves on, touching and smelling everything. He speaks about the plants and the project with warmth and energy. « It’s increasingly important for communities to have access to these fresh foods from home and to be able to grow them themselves again, especially younger generations. Super Boat People helps prevent the loss of this gardening heritage and pass down the recipes that go with it. »

By the end of the visit, our shoes are covered in soil and our heads are full of ideas for what to cook. 

Combit 

At Centrale Agricole, head straight up to the roof.

The sun is at its zenith, reflecting off the windows of the surrounding skyscrapers. In rows of burlap bags, plants sway in the wind. Jean-Robert Dorcil welcomes us while we wait for his son Roberde to join us. We tour the garden in a silence that nevertheless speaks volumes. As we walk between the rows, Jean-Robert bends down, unexpectedly pulls a carrot from the soil for us, snaps open pea pods and lifts a squash. Most of all, he shows us the jute mallow, the plant grown most widely here. “It’s very important to the Haitian community, especially because we eat a lot of it during the January 1 Independence Day celebrations.”

Roberde joins us and takes over. “I arrived in Montréal from Haiti in 2025. At first, I was registered with a food bank that gave me vegetables I didn’t know. Unfortunately, a lot of them ended up in the trash because I didn’t know how to prepare them. I figured I couldn’t be the only one in that situation. Lots of people have just arrived here and would love to find something from their home country. It always feels good to eat something familiar. Food is a cultural matter.” 

Together with a colleague who already grows jute mallow, hot peppers and African eggplant, Roberde envisions a cooperative on the roof of Centrale Agricole. Jute mallow will be the common thread.  “It’s a plant that comes from Asia and sub-Saharan Africa. I call it lalo, but it’s also known as jute or molokhia, depending on the culture. It tastes a bit like spinach. Once cooked, it stays a little slippery, like okra. Last week, I met people from Morocco, Congo and elsewhere in Africa. Everyone had a different name for lalo, but it brought them all together.” 

At that moment, Jean-Robert returns to our side with a few leaves of the very plant in his hands. 

“My father is a farmer. Ever since I was a child, I’ve been passionate about agriculture because of what he did. I studied agronomy. This really is my mission. Agriculture encompasses all cultures; it builds bridges. One of the things that gives me satisfaction is people’s reactions. They didn’t know we could grow this here and rediscover this flavour. It adds a new dimension to the right to food: having culturally appropriate plants and being able to grow and eat them here.” 

Zaatar du Sud 

The sun is setting, lending a little warmth to the windows of Esplanade Tranquille in the heart of Montréal. Before us are an electronic music festival, a shopping mall and fast-food chains. Hiba Yassin comes to meet us and leads us three floors up to the rooftop where she and her partner, Hasan, grow crops for Zaatar du Sud. 

“When we arrived in Montréal four years ago, we started gardening in community gardens right away. Hasan has always had a connection to farming in Lebanon. I was also part of a group that created the first community garden in the south of the country. We had a lot of farming experience and wanted to continue here. It’s a way to bring village life into the city and stay connected to one another.” Hiba explains.

After Southeast Asian and Afro-Caribbean plants, we find ourselves among crops from the Mediterranean basin: purple peppers, cucumbers, thyme from southern Lebanon, mulberry, tomatoes, jute mallow (called mouloukhia here) and other sun-loving vegetables. Everything is sold either fresh or prepared in dishes. The star, above all, is the zaatar, handmade using traditional methods. The age-old blend consists of four simple ingredients: thyme (also called zaatar), salt, sumac and sesame. The thyme is grown, then dried. Traditionally, in Lebanon, it is then crushed by hand with a wooden mallet rather than by machine. This method leaves some pieces intact and releases their aromas more fully, whereas mechanical processing tends to diminish them.

“Zaatar brings back so many memories. In Lebanon, during the season, you can hear the sound of mallets everywhere. One reason we decided to grow zaatar and mouloukhia here is that people travelling from Lebanon often try to bring some with them. But at the airport, it gets mistaken for cannabis and ends up in the trash. Here, we can grow it fresh instead of waiting for someone to bring us some,” Hasan jokes. 

When they begin offering samples to family and friends, everyone is surprised by the quality, flavour and aromas. “If we can grow things on a rooftop in the middle of the city, with loud music all around us, then anyone can do it. Did you see how many bees we have? That’s part of what we believe in. Having a plot of land in the city is a treasure. It’s also what brings me the most joy in my work: being outside, touching the soil and seeing the results of my efforts. It’s sacred.”

More and more people outside their community are discovering what they grow, too. “When we tell people we grow our produce just a few minutes from the metro, they become more interested in what we do. Some people see a corn plant for the first time in their lives.” Hiba says. 

It’s time to harvest for the next day’s farmers’ market. They need to get moving before night falls. As we leave, Hasan and Hiba load our arms with fresh ears of corn, peppers, edible flowers and herbs. Down on the esplanade, the festival is in full swing. People gather and begin to dance, without the slightest idea that up on this rooftop, the future of a new world is taking shape.