Cafe au Lait and Montreal Bagel c/o St. Viateur

There were many potential things on our food list that simply weren't gotten to due to the limited time we were in the city. I had considered, at one point, whether it would be a harbinger of an eating disorder if I vomited in order to free up space for more meals ... but I really don't care for puking so that never got out of the 'idea' phase. In any case, Saturday morning we had our final Montreal meal at St. Viateur bagels, because you can't go to Montreal and not have a Montreal-style bagel. Or that's what I've been told. I love how cafe au laits can come in giant bowls. Love it.
We actually were both given one and a half bagels, which seemed generous. I wish I could say that I practiced self control and only ate one ... but self control, as anyone who knows me knows, is not one of my virtues. I went with the chive cream cheese, I think ... and it was good.
On the way back to the hotel to pack up our stuff we went into a used bookstore where most all the books were in French. I took some time looking at their collection of bird books. I think what I want is a tattoo of a chicken in a cross-style of Audobon and Japanese wood carvings. Or some other bird. Maybe a blue bird. Problem is, of course, that I have no artistic ability to draw like that, and I feel like most tattoo artists would want a little more to go on. Or maybe not. It's all very unclear to me.

Walk About and Bily Kun Bar

After our early bird dinner, we took a walk around the Plateau neighborhood and then headed into perhaps more of that neighborhood, or another one just next to it? Unclear. This happened, which was magical. One man who passed by suggested I contort myself so it looked like I was holding the chicken. I did this, but the photograph didn't make me look as cute, so you don't get to see it. Them's the breaks.
At some point we realized that we had made a terrible mistake going north, that what we really needed were a few days of relaxation in Mexico with a bucket of Coronas. It started out okay...but M. got a little out of hand.
Alternatively M. and I came across this strange promo for Corona in a parking lot, and M. very demurely put her purse on the dirty floor and then laid her head just so for the photograph. Or! We went to Mexico and found this in a Mexican parking lot. Oh man, that would be so weird.
After much walking around and two disappointing experiences with sitting down at a place only to be ignored for ten minutes or more, we finally arrived at Bily Kun bar. I had a Czech Budweis and a shot of whiskey to soothe my aching feet. M. demonstrated that this was a definite finger full.
We enjoyed the bar, which specializes in all things Czech and I'm glad that M.'s determination to find it outweighed my whiny feet.
Then we traipsed home. Well, we didn't traipse as much as walk. And it was quite happening on a Friday night. People walking around, sitting outside, doing all the things young people in urban environments do.

The Main Event c/o Au Pied de Cochon

As soon as our dates and hotel were locked down, I quickly called Au Pied de Cochon to schedule a reservation. I had hoped for an 8 o'clock seating on either Thursday or Friday, but in the end the best they could do was a 5 o'clock seating on Friday. I forget the exact source that first brought me to this restaurant's menu, but I can tell you that I've been wanting to go for well over a year, so even though we were like super duper special senior citizens - walking into the place only minutes after they unlocked their doors, the fact remained that the food really wasn't going to be any different or better if the sun was lower in the sky. Or at least I hope not. M. and I did a fair amount of prep work for this meal. Between our walks to and from Old City and our calisthenics in the hotel room, we hoped our stomachs were properly stretched and up to the challenge of so many possible bites of wonder. Seriously, we did crunches before the meal. M. wanted to try the fried zucchini blossom appetizer, which she did. I took one bite and I do declare it the most tasty of zucchini blossoms I've ever had. I think part of it was that they were still attached to their stalk, giving them a little more fortitude than some I've seen in the past.
There was no way we were going to eat at this restaurant without trying at least one foie gras centric dish, as they have at least ten. In the end we went with the foie gras tout nu...simply seared with a balsamic reduction. If I were to go back, which I hope one day to do, I would have to delve further into the wonders of their foie gras choices.
This was no joke wonderful. Melty. Salty. Rich. Creamy. If you've never had foie gras then it's hard for me to explain what makes it such a magical treat. So hard in fact, I don't think I can try. But I do recommend you go out to a place with a good reputation and try the stuff. It could potentially change your life.
We asked our waitress for a wine suggestion that wouldn't totally break the bank and she came back with Monardiere Vacqueyras. I'll have to look up more information about it, but this was a highly drinkable wine and I liked it very much.
M. thought at first that she would have the steak tartar entree, but gauged that her belly might do better with the appetizer. Our server explained that the appetizer was a take on a sushi hand roll, with a quail egg on top that you would then spread over the whole roll before taking a bite. You'll see how M. felt about the dish a little later on.
I went with the happy pork chop. And what a pork chop it was. Tender, well flavored and delicious. There's an art to making a pork chop not seem very 1950s to me, and this place nailed it. The onion and mushroom accompaniment and subsequent 'jus' added just the right amount of flair to the already quality meat.
M. losing her mind over how much the tartar is rocking her world.

And we concluded with espresso. Just delightful. Really and truly. I wish I could go there again and again. Some of their specials sounded so good, and there really were so many other mysterious and compelling options on the menu. Ugh. Why must food be so great? And why must I feel almost no shame in spending all my money consuming it? These are the great questions of my life.

Lunch c/o Filles de Roy

For lunch our plan was to go to Les Filles du Roy. And what a good choice that was. When we first entered the old stone restaurant/hotel we were greeted quickly and were asked to decide between eating in the dining room or on the terrace. We went with the terrace, and what a good call that was. Though the skies threatened to unleash all sorts of awful on us, not a drop marred our meal. This photo is slightly out of order. Soon after sitting down a cat came down an back outdoor stairwell and proceeded to say hello to all the diners and lounge. Looked like a skinnier, perhaps slightly scrappier and yet refined, Zul.

We were on vacation, so we had wine .

I started with their gazpacho, which was a pretty classic take on the dish, but not in any way lacking. The addition of a lettuce leaf garnish was a little strange to me, but it didn't really impact the overall presentation or taste of the dish.
M. and I both gravitated toward the wild boar pancetta and duck confit club. Not only did we gravitate to it, we actually ordered it and then respectively ate it. While we meant to order salad instead of fries, fries were what ended up on our plates and we didn't fuss about it. This was definitely not your average club. The duck was nice and succulent, the pancetta a little richer or darker than some pancetta I've had the pleasure of tasting. The fries were good though after the night before's poutine, I tried not to fill up on the crispy bites.

So, in the sort of lobby/reception area, past the front desk heading towards the back and terrace, there were a whole series of bird cages. There was a blue parrot hanging out outside the cage and at least six other birds in nearby homes. At one point our waiter began serving us and those around us with a bird perched on his shoulder. It enjoyed climbing around his neck and tugging on his collar with its beak. Its name was Coquette. A nice touch, I thought.
We concluded our meal with coffee. This was really a nice dining experience. The ambiance was relatively unique; the terrace perfectly hidden and magic in its vibe while the food was expertly prepared and worth the slightly higher than average price for a sandwich ($16).
Birds.

Walk to Old City

The next morning we awoke, had our breakfasts and then prepared for an afternoon of walking around and lunch. We went along the park, which really was quite lovely and headed towards the older part of the city.

At some point in the afternoon M. and I discussed what this place would look like in snow. She would want to see it. I would not. This is a fundamental difference in how we view snow, I think.
There really were some charming buildings along our walk and once we got to the older part of town the charm just increased.

M. wanted to see - if only at a distance - the buildings constructed for the 1967 expo. And that we did do. At one point we were commenting on the tour boat motoring in front of us, and how bad the food on such vessels is when M. yelped with excitement at what she professed was a large fish jumping out of the water. I doubted her entirely ... until a few minutes later I, too, saw quite a big fish jump out of the water. I'd say it was at least 10 pounds of fish. Very cool. At another moment in time I convinced myself a duck was an otter. But that turned out to be a lie.

It threatened to rain for most of the day, but I don't think it really ever unleashed as much as it led us to believe.

Breakfast c/o Auberge de la Fontaine

So we stayed at Auberge de la Fontaine. I found it after an exhaustive and perhaps unnecessarily stressful search across multiple internet sites and after reading almost 100% positive reviews on Trip Advisor. Many of those reviews mentioned the above average spread for breakfast, so I was curious to see just how impressive this would be on Friday morning. It was a decent spread and somehow seemed of a higher quality than you might find at a Best Western or Ramada. Croissants, muffins, pate, cheese, and tomatoes were among our options. There were also a number of drink options and a toaster. Not bad.
I was particularly pleased to find pate on the breakfast table. Was it the absolute best pate of my life? No. But did it make me smile? Yes.
This was my plate.

Poutine c/o La Banquise

After checking in at our hotel, which was in the Plateau neighborhood right across from Parc de la Fontaine, we regrouped, cleaned up and formed a plan. The plan was basically to check out La Banquise, as M.'s trusty guidebook had declared it the best spot for poutine. And you can't very well go to Montreal and not have at least one serving of the stuff. We had a few setbacks in immediate gratification, as far as that goes...the place is cash only so we first went in search of an ATM. And let me just tell you, we walked many, many, many blocks and passed literally 50 or more restaurants, bars, cafes and shops ... but not a single bank, convenience store or bodega. It was really weird. And when we finally did find such a place, which fell on the 'bodega' side of things, the machine told me that it wouldn't give me money on two different cards, even though there was no good reason for such an attitude. Anyways, part of almost any adventure with M. (or from her point of view, with me) involves a fair amount of not-actually-getting-what-you-want-in-any-immediate-way-ness. M. was able to have a good transaction with the machine, and we figured she could buy the meal and I could reimburse her on the next thing. Back we walked to La Banquise. When we had walked by it the first time the line for a table was out the door. By the time we returned it was only about three tables' deep, and it was probably good that we got some exercise in before our 'dinner' commenced. I started with a Belle Geulle Pilsner, which was perfect. M. went with another Canadian-brewed beer, but of the blond variety. White Horse maybe? If you're into the sweet and cloudy then you'd like it.
La Banquise has any number of possible meals for its clientele, but the clear draw is the poutine, which they serve up traditionally or in any number of delightful or frightening ways. I wanted something a little more special than the classic, but not so much so that I wouldn't be able to truly appreciate and understand the nature of the classic. To that end, I ordered the Poutine Frank, which was the classic poutine of French fries, cheese curds and gravy with the added wonder of Merguez sausage. I will happily pat my back on making a good choice here. Sometimes I go too crazy and order something to complicated or exotic at a place where simplicity rules, but in this case the balance was ideal. I really got a sense of what the gravy tasted like, what the texture of the fries were, and the splendity (not a word) or the cheese curds could induce with only the slight added bonus of a little lamb sausage. M. went with the classic and one couldn't tell the difference between the two unless they had an active bite of sausage.
This was a far better experience than my first poutine. I think this was mainly due to the quality of the poutine and the nature of the fries...oh yeah, and being in Montreal. I imagine that the dish would have been even more satisfying if we were both more in our cups, but with only one drink each and no earlier imbibing we were basically two entirely sober people eating french fries, cheese curds and gravy for dinner. Perhaps unacceptable behavior usually, but that's one of the glories of being on vacation.

M. and I then returned back to the hotel at a reasonable hour in order to make the most of the next day.

Drive on Up and North

So, what I have decided will be a mystery until the tail end of this post is where M. and I decided to go instead of France. It was in a northern direction, so northerly we did go. At about the half way mark M. drove, which allowed me to take a few photographs without risking anyone's life.
We drove through this small town and should have stopped whatever 'Railroads on Parade' was ... but we didn't because I am a merciless time taskmaster and wanted to make sure we arrived at our destination in plenty of time for ... well it ended up being in plenty of time for rush hour but shhh.
So. Our destination was Canada. And here is what it looks like when you are driving up to go across. I didn't take any more photographs because we didn't want them to think we were casing the joint, especially because we were not casing the joint. The French Canadian who allowed us to cross asked us if we had switch blades. I would never even think of that as being a question one would have to ask of two upper class white women, but there you go. Upper class comparatively to, I don't know what I'm talking about.
The signs in the province of Quebec are in French.
M. purchased a set of CDs to help us remember how to speak French, which we put in as soon as we crossed the border. She and I were in at least one French class together in high school, so it was like a mini-reunion of sorts. Not really. We were reminded of how to say it is a little truck, it is a big truck, it is a little car, it is a big car, and a few other phrases that really helped us out throughout our visit to ... Montreal! In this photograph I think M. is exclaiming something along the lines of 'sacre bleu, il est un grand camion!' But maybe not. We definitely didn't learn 'sacre bleu'.
The driving speed wasn't bad for the majority of our way to Montreal, but once we hit its true limits the fun was 'fin.'

Here's one thing we learned throughout the tedious driving that then followed: French Canadian drivers are assholes and don't know how to make right or left turns. They also are rude and unsafe and have no respect for simply waiting your turn to merge. So in that way they're very much like the French. Note: I haven't actually had the experience of French people being overly mean, but it's a stereotype that works in this context, so I'm going with it.
We crossed this bridge. It took a very long time to cross this bridge.
Next up you will see what we ate. I realized just now that I didn't take a single photograph of our hotel. It wasn't so spectacular that it truly deserved a photograph, neither was it so awful that it shouldn't have at least one photographic proof moment.