smartgrrrl's guide to stuff

When last we saw our intrepid travelers, they were strolling down Rue Saint Paul in Vieux-Montréal, admiring the view and discussing lunch options, lamenting their missed poutine opportunity from the night before. They’d passed a pedestrian mall with several restaurants, and though it looked kinda touristy, they agreed to grab a quick bite before heading back to their hotel.

And then Michelle spotted a sign on a side street that read, simply, “MONTREAL POUTINE.”

“Let’s go there,” she said. It wasn’t so much a suggestion as an imperative.

Classic poutine is a dish of french fries topped with cheese curds and covered in a chicken-based sauce. There are at least two places in Brooklyn that offer poutine on the menu, and I’ve had one, and was disappointed in it. The cheese wasn’t curdy. And disco fries are delicious, but use shredded cheese — so not the same thing.

The place we were at offered a few varieties on the classic dish, and we opted to split one that added smoked meat — another food item for which Montreal is famous. We’d hoped to get to Schwartz’s at some point on our trip, but in the event we didn’t (SPOILER: we didn’t), we figured poutine with smoked meat was a two birds/one stone opportunity.

It was delicious. If, you know, you’re into this sort of thing. The fries were crispy, the curds were squeaky, the meat, as advertised, smoked. Wins all around.

And what is poutine without beer? This one, Trois Pistoles, from Unibroue, was our favorite. A number of Unibroue beers are named after or for Quebec legends, and this is the Legend of the Black Horse. The priest of the city of Trois Pistoles needed help to build a new church, and in a moment of desperation summoned the devil, who appeared as a black horse and transported all of the heavy foundation stones — all except one. (That’s what you get when you ask the devil for help. Fair’s fair.) This was a deliciously malty, dark, strong beer.

Fortified with our new favorite comfort food, we walked back to the hotel and waited for Alison to pick us up. Very excited to spend the day with her! She drove us to the Mile End neighborhood and we walked around for a bit, noting that it had a Williamsburgian vibe to it, only — dare I say this? — nicer. Maybe I’m just saying that because I so thoroughly enjoyed Montreal in general, but I didn’t get any sort of hipper-than-thou ironic detachment attitude. We stopped for coffee, where I took this picture primarily to find it days later and say, “Oh, right! We were there!” But I kind of like it on its own.

Alison pointed out the Ukranian church where she saw Arcade Fire play a secret concert (in the basement!):

And showed us where the bagels come from:

OK. We didn’t seize this opportunity to go in and get a bagel because we’d already just eaten and we did not, unfortunately, have time to go back to St-Viateur, so to weigh in on this Montreal vs. New York bagel issue I can only go by the bagels supplied by our hotel. But even going on that (and for all I know, they WERE St-Viateur bagels), I would have to say that, were I forced to choose only one bagel to have for the rest of my life, it would be the Montreal bagel. They taste the way I imagine bagels from the Old World would taste, as though that recipe had never been altered and newfangled technology never put to bagel-making use.

So there. Sorry, New York.

And then Alison took us to a giant orange.

The Gibeau Orange Julep restaurant is a happy place. It is three stories high — according to its Wiki page, its original proprietor, Hermas Gibeau, intended to live upstairs from the restaurant with his family. Can. You. Imagine. It’s also close to 80 years old. Alison said that normally the parking lot is full of these greaser dudes with their classic cars, but sadly they weren’t there. But we were treated to 60s music blaring from two speakers on either side of the parking lot as we sipped at our orange juleps — as you might have guessed, they’re a little like an Orange Julius, only better. Tastier and possibly healthier. The eagle-eyed among you might be able to spot the sign advertising Nathan’s hot dogs. I know!

We rounded out the day with a barbecue back at Alison’s. Longtime readers of her blog are familiar with and fans of Mookie the cat — I was exceedingly honored to finally meet him.

And exceedingly honored to spend this time with Alison and Bill. Our food was delicious and our conversation delightful. I hope we get the chance to repay their hospitality soon. (*cough*)

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