Esti d'franglais podcast captures Montreal's bilingual reality the way politicians won't

"Do you consider yourself Québécois, even though you're anglophone and your family has been here for at least three generations?" Julien Corrado asks, his question cutting straight to the identity anxiety that haunts many Montreal anglophones.

"I want to be," Kyle Christopher Smith responds without hesitation. Born at the legacy site of Montreal's Royal Victoria Hospital, he grapples openly with the question that many avoid. "I was living in Calgary, then I moved back and was struggling (with it): Is my identity Canadian or Québécois?"

"I speak French, but with a really anglophone accent," Kyle continues in French, switching seamlessly before going back to English. "Do I identify as a Québécois? I truly want to be, but does Québec want me to identify (myself that way)? I'm not sure."

"'Does Québec want me to identify as Québécois' is an interesting question," Julien concedes.

That's the kind of exchange one regularly hears on the podcast Esti d'franglais, the podcast where two guys from Montreal are tackling Quebec's identity crisis one code-switch at a time.

"It's nice to talk about identity and see how many people are reacting to it," Corrado says during our interview over the phone. As the drummer for Montreal band The Flamingos Pink and a music marketing professional at record label Bonsound, he's no stranger to reading a room. "I guess it is a potent subject."

Definitely potent: Their first episode, intended as a casual pilot, erupted into a comment section battleground with francophones and anglophones going at it like they were at a sovereignty debate circa 1995.

"Some might think that the podcast is the show, but I sometimes think the comment section is the actual show," Smith admits. A marketing consultant by trade who handles the production side of their venture, he's got an eye for engagement metrics. But there's something more genuine happening here—they've hit a nerve that's been throbbing under the city's skin for as long as anyone who lives here can remember.

Meeting in the middle

The podcast's hook isn't complicated: two Montreal dads, both creatives, both parents of daughters, both deeply invested in Quebec culture, talking candidly about identity in a province where language politics casts a shadow over everything. What makes it pop is the natural linguistic dance between them—the franglais that defines everyday Montreal but somehow remains politically radioactive.

Smith’s childhood was in Verdun until his family migrated to Châteauguay in search of a backyard and community. Later, at 16, he started dating a girl from a completely French-speaking family and found himself the only English speaker at gatherings of 30 or 40 people. "I got very comfortable being the Anglo person in a French spot," he explains, offering a glimpse into how his bilingual identity formed.

It's this lived experience of linguistic crossover that makes the pair's conversations feel so authentic. During one memorable exchange in their pilot, Smith casually drops a bomb: "I think Quebec should separate... and if it doesn't work, we'll come crawling back."

"That's a no for me, dog," Corrado responds.

It's the kind of political curveball that rarely surfaces in polite mixed-language company, much less on a recorded show, and it illustrates precisely why Esti d'franglais hits different—there's no script, no party line, just talk that might happen at any Montreal dinner table where languages and backgrounds collide.

"I don't particularly consider myself Québécois," admits Corrado, despite being born and raised here. "My mom was born in Egypt. My dad is from the States, of Italian descent. I'm the first one born here and I speak French, but I'm realizing that speaking the language doesn't mean you're part of the culture."

It's this question—who gets to be Québécois?—that drives both the conversation and the controversy. In a province where the Coalition Avenir Québec government has poured hundreds of millions into language protection while ministers mock the accented French of those trying to learn, Smith and Corrado are speaking to a reality that many Montrealers live but rarely see reflected in public discourse.

The reality of Montrealers

"A unilingual anglophone specimen is a thing of the past," Corrado points out, pushing back against the government narrative that French is somehow on life support in Montreal. "There's less and less."

The pair met through Montreal's cultural scene and quickly recognized in each other a shared tendency to dive deep. "Me and him have deep conversations on the phone all the time about identity, about grief, about being parents to daughters, what that intersection with creating art is like," Corrado explains. "It goes very deep, very quickly."

That emotional intelligence gives Esti d'franglais a dimension beyond mere language politics. When they discuss whether English speakers feel welcome in Quebec, or how identity is motivated, they're tapping into something more profound than just policy debates.

"Is my identity intrinsically motivated or extrinsically motivated?" Corrado wonders aloud, referencing a comment on their show. "If you're in a family, does the family make you feel part of that family, or do you just feel part of the family because you're in it?"

Smith builds on the metaphor: "You could feel like the freak amongst an otherwise related-looking bunch of people."

This ability to frame Quebec's identity politics through relatable human experiences—family dynamics, relationships, belonging—makes their discussions accessible even to those who typically tune out when Bill 96 comes up.

"C’est basically Wayne’s World, mais version linguistique québécois"

What started as deep conversations between friends has morphed into something with momentum. After securing a sponsor on the strength of their pilot episode, the duo now plans to expand the conversation beyond their personal experiences.

"I think it would be hilarious if we brought on the head of the language police," Smith says, conjuring an image somewhere between Wayne's World and a high-stakes cultural summit. "Or even the Bloc Québécois—these two guys with ADD talking to this politician that are just making jokes and laughing."

In a media landscape where language discussions remain carefully cordoned off—French media for French audiences, English media for English audiences—Esti d'franglais creates a messy, bilingual middle ground where something real happens.

They're particularly critical of the Quebec government's approach to protecting French, which they see as antagonistic rather than inspirational. "If Pepsi wants to come out with a new campaign and all they think about is, 'Hey, Coke sucks, drink Pepsi,' that's a terrible marketing campaign," Smith points out.

Corrado jumps in: "I just don't like being bullied into speaking French. It's like I speak French, and you want to be lovable and not push. Don't tell someone, 'You have to love me.' If you're just a lovable person, that person will love you. But if you're telling them to love you or forcing them to love you, it's weird."

That cuts to the heart of Quebec's language tensions—a province desperately seeking affirmation but often going about it all wrong. But the co-hosts stay modest about their revelations.

"We've barely scratched the surface as to what identity is," Corrado reflects. "It's more complicated than just one episode."

For a pair of guys who admit they're "probably not the smartest about politics," they've managed to create more honest dialogue about Quebec identity in one episode than most news panels achieve in a full season. Their approach isn't to have all the answers but to keep asking better questions—and to let their audience debate it out in the comments.

"We're here to learn about the temperature of Quebec as the show evolves," says Corrado simply.