The Latin butcher of Montreal, José Rojas, is a personality very well known to meat lovers. It is him that many customers visit, sometimes from very far away, to get meat cut in the same way as in their country of origin. The story of a migration of nearly four decades devoted to this profession, and its uncertain future.
At the end of February, after a week of difficult travel, the sidewalks were completely covered in snow. The St-Viateur Butchery is quiet. A few customers come in, most of them regulars who greet each other by their first name, in their respective languages: French, English, Spanish and Italian. There is meat here like a Tower of Babel.
The owner of the butcher shop, José Manuel Rojas Acevedo, of Chilean origin, is a true specialist in his field. Over his everyday outfit — jeans, plaid shirt, and navy blue sweater — he puts on a white work apron and wears a black cap. He has very bright black eyes, and almost every time he finishes a sentence, he does so with a smile. He welcomes customers from different regions of Montreal and its surroundings. They come for the meat, but also and especially for the know-how: José is the only butcher who masters Latin American cuts. For many Latinos in general, meat is a cultural commodity in its own right.
“El señor José”, as the hispanophones of Montreal call him, knows the difference between the cuts for a Asado Negro And a Asado de Tira, what meat to use to prepare Hallacas Or Empanadas, how to flatten a Milanesa to give it the ideal thickness and how to prepare Chorizos from Argentina. It may seem trivial, but for its customers, a good cut is not only a gastronomic issue, but also touches on roots, family traditions, and even nostalgia for their parents and grandparents who are no longer there.
Despite José's popularity, his story is not well known. His migration journey, made up of ups, downs and loops, began nearly 40 years ago.
The unknown dimension of the Canadian dream
José learned to prepare meat as a teenager, and he quickly thrived.
“With my brother-in-law, I started working and then we opened a butcher shop in Santiago, Chile. Later, I was employed by a chain and bought one of the branches, where I worked with my wife, Clara,” he explains, across the counter.
In the 1980s, Chile lived under the dictatorship of Augusto Pinochet, a regime that suppressed all forms of dissent and is said to have killed or disappeared over 3,000 people, in addition to jailing and torturing tens of thousands more. Some 200,000 Chilean citizens have fled the country.
However, not all of those who left emigrated because they were persecuted for political reasons. “Our situation was not bad. With the dictatorship, there were ups and downs, it's true, but the loved ones that had come to North America told us about its greatness and we thought we could make a lot of money. Of course that was not the case. It is never as we are told. When you are there [in your home country], you cannot understand that when someone says to you, “I earn in dollars,” that still mean that every dollar earned is spent. I think it was greed; that's the truth,” explains José.
He discovered Montreal 39 years ago. He came from the United States, after spending nine months in Boston with his brother-in-law, in an attempt to achieve the American dream. But on site, he never managed to integrate. He could already see himself returning to Chile when his brother-in-law told him that he was going to cross the border into Canada. José picked him up at the bus station and the brother-in-law, in tears, asked him to accompany him. That's what he did.
“We got on a bus to Plattsburgh [in New York], and from there we made the crossing” [via Roxham Road, which has been closed since March 2023]. “A man took us in a car and we got off five minutes before we got to the border. It was around midnight. He told us, 'Cross over there and you'll see bikes. Take them, pedal for a quarter of an hour and I'll pick you up on the other side.'” It was the fall of 1986.
In Canada, his life began in a hotel room in downtown Montreal, with his brother-in-law as a companion and a cold that neither of them had experienced before.
Burn your ships to make sure you move forward
As in almost all migration stories, the early days were very difficult for José. Without a work permit, he only found temporary jobs, paid in cash. “We managed to move into a tiny apartment. We did anything, like deliver Publisacs. This allowed us to have enough money to pay the rent and to eat,” he said.
José, his brother-in-law and his sister, who arrived later, benefited from the program to welcome Chilean refugees to Canada. It was in force from 1973 to 1989 and helped nearly 7,000 people. From 1979 to 1989, Quebec welcomed 3,379 Chileans, who mainly settled in Montreal.
“There wasn't a lot of work here. I thought about going back to the United States and returning to Chile, but I no longer had a passport.” Economic difficulties end up causing friction in the family. Only a few months after their arrival, the brothers-in-law, who had been partners until then, fell out. José left to live with a friend. Shortly after, this friend made an announcement that took him completely by surprise: “I talked to your wife. She told me that she sold everything and that she will be arriving tomorrow with the children.”
January 1 1987, Clara and their two children, aged two and four, arrived in Canada. “We took an apartment, a 1 and a half, and we settled in with the things that friends gave us.”
This arrival marks a decisive change. Clara sold everything they owned in Chile to pay for the trip. “We couldn't go back. It was easier to start over here,” he recalls. Since she spoke a little English, she found a job as a housekeeper in a family. The couple devoted themselves to studying French, him during the day and her in the evening, while the children worked hard at school in order to learn the language as well. “A year passed before we realized it,” recalls José.
José's sister and her husband then moved to Toronto. The family was permanently separated. “We were left alone and, like all immigrants, we had to start from scratch to make friends, to meet these people who end up becoming your children's aunts and uncles, even if they are not part of the family.” It was at this time that their third daughter was born. A year later, they received their work permits. Things then started to change for the better.
Back to work
Thanks to his experience acquired in Chile, José began working in a charcuterie in Montreal. He came into contact with Aldo, an Italian immigrant who owns a butcher shop. He worked a few shifts there and extended his hours until he became a full-time employee at Boucherie St-Viateur, located on the street of the same name.
Most of the customers are Italians and Argentines, who like to deal with José. In addition to learning quickly, he has a unique skill: he knows how to cut meat for South American customers.
In the blink of an eye, 16 years passed, during which the butcher shop moved to Saint-Laurent and where Aldo proposed to José to join forces. They worked together for over a decade, and then the wheel of Fortune turned again: “My partner won Loto Québec and he told me that he wanted to sell his part of the business.” José jumped at the chance. “I found myself alone and passed here”, in the store on Beaubien Street in Little Italy, where he has been behind the counter for about fifteen years.
José is proud to have been able to retain a clientele that admires him. “They are people from everywhere: Latinos, Italians, Quebecers.” He has seen a generation of customers grow up. “The oldest have left, and now the children are coming to look for the asado or the chorizo on Sunday that reminds them of their parents,” he says in a nostalgic tone.
Nicolás is one of these customers. “Everyone knows José, he is a really warm person. I remember that, when I was little, my father knew that there was someone who cut meat the Argentinian way,” and the family started going to Bouchery St-Viateur. “Even today, it's the butcher shop where all Argentines and all those who like to eat meat as they do at home visit.”
New immigrants arrive through word-of-mouth. Like Luis, a Venezuelan who lives in Saint-Hubert and who comes to Montreal every month to look for cups like the Punta Trasera for her barbecues. “I had lost the habit of buying meat like they do in my country. I would go to any chain and buy a pallet, but it was not the same thing. You have to talk to the butcher. The quality of the meat sold by José is exceptional. You put it on the barbecue with a little bit of salt, and that's it,” he explains.
The loss of the relay
José's business is still doing well. But the future is not looking as he would have liked: he is the last butcher in his line. It was a tragedy that changed things.
Eight years ago, while he and his wife were vacationing in Chile, his youngest daughter passed away. She was only 27 years old. “We got a call to tell us and we went home urgently. It was the most difficult trip I have ever had in my life,” he said. This death also determined the future of butchery.
“She was the one who was going to continue managing the store," explains José. "She worked with us a lot, she got along well with everyone.” Obviously, such a stroke of fate affects the entire family structure. “My wife and I devoted ourselves to work. I think that was our therapy. The siblings have not recovered yet,” he explains.
At the time, they had the idea to sell the butchery and go back to Chile. “We wanted to finish everything, but we got back to the routine little by little,” he says. They had then just bought an apartment in Chile, which they decided to keep, which also helped them stick it out. But everything was turned upside down.
Today, José is 66 years old. “I intend to retire at any moment, and with me the butchery will end,” he says. He seems strong and full of life, but he feels that his work takes up a lot of his time. “You have to be available seven days a week and that comes at a high price: that of neglecting your family,” he adds. Paradoxically, he is also in a way serving an extended family made up of his loyal customers. “I think that's what I'm going to miss: the people who come, who talk, who tell me about their lives.”
Today, however, it is the time spent with his family that is the most important part of his life. José wants to spend more time with his children, who started their own family with partners he met here, as well as with his five grandchildren, the eldest of whom is now 22, and the youngest, barely a year and a half. “I speak to them in Spanish, but they don't understand me,” he says with a touch of resignation.
José belongs to two countries and intends to continue to alternate between Chilean and Montreal periods, where Sundays are sacred, where he reunites with his family and, of course, where he enjoys his favorite meat: a good Vacío grilled, served with pasta and a large salad.