Montreal. My fair city. How I miss thee.
Writing from Taiwan a distance of 12,015.06 km and a mental distance of about 4 months, I still remember the greatness of that city. After living there for 4 years and immersing myself in the night life, studies and sin it was time to say goodbye. While this goodbye was softened by the great times I knew lay ahead, it was sad as it marked the end of my French living.
The goodbye was a week long affair, consisting of a dozen hugs, a dozen kisses, a dozen promises and at least 10 litres of wine (some of the best, and some of the best the local depanneur had to offer). As a salut to the city, I visited each essential restaurant, each poutine joint and each restaurant I'd dreamed of being a penniless student. Reservations in hand, good company in toe, the task of filling my belly ahead, the goodbyes began.
Pinxto
I'd been to Barcelona, I'd done the whole Tapas thing, and regrettably my palate was not yet developed enough to truly understand or enjoy what was being placed in front of me. While traditional Tapas may yet make its way into my digestive repetoire (potatoes with mayonaise will never be my thing), add in a dash of French culinary perfection and voila - it's surprisngly sans mayo and scrumptious. Set in the trendy Plateau district, Pinxto is upscale without being snobby. While main plates were available for order, at each of my many visits I was always distracted by the long (but not labourous) list of tapas plates - plates for sharing. The waiters recommend you choose 6 or so per person. Each dish is about 2 bites, just barely enough to share, but the small size is benefitial as it allows each person to try more things. Prices ranges from 4-12$ a plate.
As a regular spot for nicer nights out, I had to say " a la prochaine", and wipe a tear from my eye.
Writing from Taiwan a distance of 12,015.06 km and a mental distance of about 4 months, I still remember the greatness of that city. After living there for 4 years and immersing myself in the night life, studies and sin it was time to say goodbye. While this goodbye was softened by the great times I knew lay ahead, it was sad as it marked the end of my French living.
The goodbye was a week long affair, consisting of a dozen hugs, a dozen kisses, a dozen promises and at least 10 litres of wine (some of the best, and some of the best the local depanneur had to offer). As a salut to the city, I visited each essential restaurant, each poutine joint and each restaurant I'd dreamed of being a penniless student. Reservations in hand, good company in toe, the task of filling my belly ahead, the goodbyes began.
Pinxto
I'd been to Barcelona, I'd done the whole Tapas thing, and regrettably my palate was not yet developed enough to truly understand or enjoy what was being placed in front of me. While traditional Tapas may yet make its way into my digestive repetoire (potatoes with mayonaise will never be my thing), add in a dash of French culinary perfection and voila - it's surprisngly sans mayo and scrumptious. Set in the trendy Plateau district, Pinxto is upscale without being snobby. While main plates were available for order, at each of my many visits I was always distracted by the long (but not labourous) list of tapas plates - plates for sharing. The waiters recommend you choose 6 or so per person. Each dish is about 2 bites, just barely enough to share, but the small size is benefitial as it allows each person to try more things. Prices ranges from 4-12$ a plate.
As a regular spot for nicer nights out, I had to say " a la prochaine", and wipe a tear from my eye.
Langostinos a la gitana
(picture thanks to pinxto.ca)
Second on my list of reservations for my goodbye tour of Montreal had to be a drunken stop at the best poutine place I could find cockeyed, and who could understand my slurred and Anglo order. While I'd NEVER be caught dead here unless I was drunk and it was past midnight, it will be missed. Nowhere else in the world does poutine like Quebec...
La Belle Province
No words can describe it accurately. The picture may make it look disgusting. Even saying "it's just french fries with gravy and cheese curds" is a bit repuslive. But then you eat it. And you love it. And you really, really don't know why. While other restaurants serve it up for the less drunk, it doesn't quite taste the same without several pints in you, nor does the motto "the greasier the better" apply. And boy, it's greasy.
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