Long gone since the time anyone will be reading this [indeed far past the time of writing], during the primordial age of the Internet of over two seconds ago when there were less sad attempts at humour awaiting the future archeologists, a park south of my home had a festival. The day I went, there were trucks stationed on the grass selling food to the festival goers. I realize that this post is also after Taste of the Danforth, but I won’t be going for these very reasons, as I’ve promised myself I wouldn’t go unless a friend wanted to go, which they didn’t. It’s for the better though, if I was to be in a place that crowded for that long, the voices would’ve come back.
By the way, Danforth’s sidewalks and street were about as clean as a back alley of a slum after the festival, so it’s nice to see that they clean up after themselves [sarcasm]. I will be doing the South East Asian festival though, and the Exhibition, so I’ll review those instead.
I’ve come back from Montreal [the time of writing is Wednesday, I came back Friday], and decided to do a little catcher-upper. It’s like a fixer-upper except there’s less construction workers standing around drinking coffee in front of a dilapidated house.
I’ve been requested to do a post on poutine–seeing as I was basically in the capital of it–and I will be doing one, but it’ll take a while. The post will contain the history and culture behind it, a lot of which deals with the relations between the Anglophone and Francophone communities of Quebec. This whole English/Francais thing is really controversial, and a lot like the divide between communities [I’ll use a fake name to protect the feelings of the real city I’m using as an example] NotLosAngles. It’s kind of like an Internet forum about religion in that regard.
Seeing as this is a food blog, it is hard for me to get into the details of my vacation without boring the appetite out of somebody, but suffice to say I saw a lot of the beautiful city I went to.
Editors’ Note: You can give the kid an app for his iphone so that he can add notes to the pics he takes; but that doesn’t mean he’ll use it. So please excuse the poorly captioned photos.
Montreal is named after Mont Real [translates to Royal Mountain, correct me if I’m wrong in the comments], a mountain north of the city that is recognized for it’s suspiciously hill-sized stature [Everest it is not] and the various structures on top: namely a Cross to mark a grave site, a tall antenna and what looks like a giant tuning fork.
Compared to Toronto, there seemed to be a lot of cafes. My sister, who has lived there upwards of 2.5 years, said Montreal was just starting to get into coffee culture. Naturally, I ran screaming out of the city shouting ‘The British are coming!’ before realizing that Montreal is an island and sinking to the murky depths to confuse future archeologists.
I could go into the niggles of the various hot chocolates I had, but I won’t for two reasons. The first is that I didn’t give a damn enough to take notes, and the second is that everyone wanted me to have poutine [pron: Poo-Teen, Po-Tin, and Pow-Tin if you’re American].
[Sorry if I’m not as funny as I [help] usually am, it’s hard to write with a gun pointed at your [help] head by okay okay I’ll get back to the post]
I was kidding, don’t worry for my health or safety [help]. The first poutine I had that I’ll talk about was a curious one ordered with a sandwich at a cafe called Java [or something like that, again, no notes]. While the sandwich was so average it was most likely aired by the CBC, the poutine was something else. Its fries were well cooked and better than one would think, and added a bit of flavouring spice to the mix. The gravy was always well done in every poutine I had, probably because Montreal messing up the gravy in poutine would be akin to Toronto’s Rob Ford forgetting to bring some crack cocaine to a party.
Also a staple of Quebec poutine [the one city I visited now arbitrarily represents the entire province of millions of people, just like I’m an American tourist exploring the foreign savage-lands of NotUS.] is that cheese curds shall always be generous, and they shall always be higher quality than anywhere else in the country, or the Quebec Gods will come down from the skies and drag you screaming to the dining tables of Valhalla. That didn’t even make sense.
I’ve had plenty of regular poutine to counteract the crazy stuff I had, most notably the one with fried chicken on it. It was basically two meals in one, which made it an average meal for me. The poutine is already confirmed to always be good [a humoungous cheese/fry ration compared to other Pow-Tins if I’m correct], but the fried chicken was actually surprisingly good with it, making me wonder if it was also a standalone option on the restaurant’s menu. The quality of it was preserved in the trip from its kitchen to the house I was staying at, which was basically me saying I had takeout while managing to use one full sentence to even out this paragraph’s space better.
Every poutine I had the pleasure of eating came mandatorily with fresh cut, homemade fries, warm, creamy savoury gravy and big, rich, flavourful cheese curds. I highly recommend eating it there. That said, I’ve had enough for a while, before I really do run screaming into the lake.
Keep your eyes peeled [not really, ew] for my poutine post, which I will make after the necessary researching, cross-checking and blackmailing is completed. I’ve also got a post on the food truck scene in Toronto, which is as well-respected and supported by the city’s government as Capitalism is in China.
Editor’s Note part deux: unless otherwise noted in the captions, all photography for this post courtesy of Reighan Murphy (aka the Sister) or Callum Denault (himself)
All right everybody, this is the paragraph were I write to my subscribers, so if you just came for the restaurant, just start reading after the pictures of the mass murderer and the war criminal. To my sub-ers [a made-up word that will probably end up in UrbanDictionary because of me], I’m heading to Montreal tomorrow as of time of writing, and will be taking pictures to do a compilation blog after returning. You’ll probably see the thumbnail of me attempting to speak spanish to communicate with pro-french anti-anglos, with citizens face-palming my tourist level of stupidity in the background.
Dear subscribers that I’ve probably really pissed off by now, I’ve come from my meetings with the Cthulhu to explain that there is a reason, or at least an excuse. I had the ability to write text like this, but I couldn’t have done any reviews as there would’ve been no pictures, which are too important to modern blogs to skip. The reason is that Microsoft computers have so many viruses that DARPA has probably already added a few billion dollars to the US debt trying to turn it into a bioweapon. It wasn’t easy to fix because it’s a Windows 7 that we stole from the 2000’s to spite the Windows 8, which my family avoids like it’s a Mormon or something [not anti-Christian, it’s anti-anti-Christian, if that makes sense]. Also, I had been written a review for a place called Aunties and Uncles, but the computer broke before my Shaggoth could post the review, and the Cosmic Deities were too busy being scary to help at the moment. Wow, I know a lot about Lovecraft’s work for someone who has actually never read any of it, guess that’s helpful for pretending to be smart.
In short, I wanted to explain why there haven’t been any updates in a while. I really haven’t been busy, except for wondering if Google is stalking me and if something is watching me right this second through FaceTime camera on the left of me screen. Paranoia seems like an increasingly plausible excuse too. The next review will be up soon.