So Wednesday was supposed to be another
quiet day, just one day to blog and nothing firmly fixed for the
evening. I had a Skype chat with Iraida and managed to send her the
photos and vidos I had taken at Catherine Major's launch the evening
before.
Then I went in search of breakfast. On Tuesday I had decided
that instead of going to the very large food hall in Complexe
Desjardins, I would try a patisserie/boulangerie which is in the
'tunnel' between the Complexe and Place Des Arts. I had walked past
it a few times in the last three trips, and everything looked
delicious, just like similar shops in France. The fact that they sold
salads too had tipped the balance in its favour. I've eaten too many
burgers and similar in the food hall, so I decided to have a Salade
d'Oceane (a tuna salad to us anglophones and a beautiful looking
strawberry sponge sandwichy type thing.
“A beautiful looking strawberry
sponge sandwichy type thing?” That would look good on the little
descriptive label stuck in the top of it!
Well, to be more accurate, it was a
three-layered creation, the lowest and uppermost layers being a
delicate melt-in-the-mouth sponge, with the middle layer being of a
firm, but creamy consistency, and containing large pieces of
strawberry. The upper layer was further covered by a pink,
strawberry-flavoured icing. Is that OK?
Excuse me whilst I wipe the dribbles
from my chin.
I also bought a coffee. First decision
– size. Petit, moyen ou grand? It's always a bit difficult to
choose before actually seeing the size of the container into which
the coffee will be dispensed. The lady serving clearly spotted my
uncertainty, and proceeded to demonstrate with a mime fully
supplemented by verbal description. Bare in mind that this demo was
not in English, but for the seeming minority of people reading this
(more of that later), it is reproduced in that language.
“So, sir, this is the small size.”
(Flourishes cardboard container, smallish and squattish)
“And this is the medium and large
size.” (Flourishes taller, but more slender coffee carton, if
carton is the word, but you know what I mean.)
The medium and the large size?
Exactly! The demonstration continued:
“If you would like a medium size,
sir, we will fill the container to this level. (Tips container
towards me and points at an unmarked level inside it.)
“But, if you would prefer the large
size, sir, we will,” she said triumphantly, “fill it to here!”
(pointing to a another imaginary level within the container, but
obviously nearer to the top.)
“Le moyen, s'il vous plait, madame,
but take care, I'll be checking on that level.”
You didn't actually say that last bit
did you?
No. So that was on Tuesday. The salad,
cake and coffee were very nice, so yesterday I repeated the process,
except that this time I chose a Salade Paysanne, which was turkey
breast with salad, a chausson des pommes (apple turnover) and a moyen
cafe voluté.
I ate the chausson and drank the coffee
before engaging in a video chat with Iraida – sadly Daria and Jane
could not join us.
Then it was time for the salad. I
removed it from the fridge and carefully removed the lid. Yuck, and
double yuck!
That's Yuck, Yuck, Yuck!
Indeed it is. The salad, or more
specifically the meat smelled absolutely putrid. Could it be me?
You'd just had a shower hadn't you?
I didn't mean that. Could my sense of
smell somehow betrayed me? No, there was no doubt, this turkey had
seen better days.
I'm sure of that. Playing with his/her
friends in a country farmyard, with the sun shining down from above
him/her and the sound of the gentle breeze in the tree-tops, and the
gurgling stream nearby making nature's music.
No I just meant it was off!
Normally I'm not one to complain, and
it did mean going back to Place des Arts and confronting someone in
québecoix, but girding up my loins and replacing the lid on the
salad, lest I infect half the population of Montreal with airborne
bacteria from a putrid turkey, I ventured forth.
You know the 'girded up my loins' bit.
You hadn't been sitting about with no trousers on again, had you?
No that was just a biblical turn of
phrase, meaning I got myself ready for the fray.
Ten minutes later I was standing in the
queue at the patisserie/boulangerie. It was a different youn lady
behind the counter, but the one who had served earlier was there.
After five minutes waiting... (I don't mind waiting, as I've told you
before, and customes in patisseries/boulangeries aren't to be
hurried. There are decisions to be made.) …. it was my turn:
“Good day, madame. I bought this
salad earlier from your colleague there, and I believe that there may
be something wrong with it.” Notice how polite I sound when I try
to speak in québecois French!
The young lady took the salad from me,
opened the lid and sniffed.
“No sir, that is perfect. That is how
it is supposed to smell. I have just eaten one of these myself.”
“Well I would prepare yourself for
the worst, darling, because you ain't gonna be feeling so good in a
few hours!”
You didn't really say that, did you?
No. I just exclaimed incredulously:
“Really? Well I am certainly not going to et this one.”
Get in. Proud of you!
“Just wait a moment sir.” At this
point she went into a small hidden area to the side of the counter
and spoke with someone, holding up the offensive..
Don't you mean 'offending'?
Both. ...salade. Whether the other
person had a weaker stomach, I do not know, but on returning to the
counter the assistant said:
“Sorry, sir. Do you have your
receipt.”
“I am afraid not, I left it on the in
the little box for unwanted receipts, just next to the little box for
tips.”
Get in my son! Liked the clever
reference to the little box for tips, hinting that there wasn't going
to be one forthcoming this time!
"If it pleases you, sir, would you like
to choose something to replace the salad?"
"Well, er, yes. I'll have a quiche
lorraine please."
"Heated up?"
"No, just cold, thank you."
"And would you care to choose something
else sir?"
"Er.. a Danish pastry with raspberries,
please."
"Anything else sir?"
"No, that is enough thank-you."
"And something to drink sir?"
"A medium coffee, mild, if it pleases
you."
"Thank you sir. I am very sorry, and
have a good day."
So clutching my paper bags containing
the commestibles and moyen café voluté, I made my way back to the
hotel. On my way back I popped in to Benelux.
Good grief, this is becoming a too
frequent occurrence.
Not for a drink, just to see if one of
the brewers, Teklad Pavisian, better known as Tico was there. Tico
had introduced me to a group of ale enthusiasts last year, and I
wanted to give him a T-shirt from our Sunderland and South Tyneside
Octoberfest Beer Festival, which was just a couple of weeks ago –
wow, it seems like months ago. I walked in and was pleased to see him
talking to a group near the bar. We had a chat, and before going to
fetch the T-shirt, I was offered a sip from what remained at the
bottom of a stemmed beer glass. The contents, he explained, were from
an experimental brew, which contained some amazing additions, but
which more importantly had been resting in an old cognac barrel.
After the sipped liquid assaulted my taste buds it moved on down,
warming as it went. Oh boy! There had been no gas added to the cask
as yet,and they were thinking about serving it as a cask ale. Amen to
that, and served in small glasses I would think, because it had
started out at 10%, but was likely to be somewhat stronger when
ready.
I went back to the hotel, put my
replacement food in the fridge, drank some coffee and took the
T-shirts back to Benelux.
T-shirts. I thought you said T-shirt?
I did, but I brought two, and I had
decided on Saturday evening to give one to Carmellina, for her act of
kindness in offering me that glass of barley wine, and as a kind of
appreciative apology for not drinking it all. I gave Tico the shirts,
and explained the image on the back, which is a picture of Lord
Lambton slaying the Lambton Worm, a mythical creature which
terrorised a local neighbourhood several centuries ago. I could sing
the song about it...
But you haven't got time!!
...well, yes, but they wouldn't be able
to hear it anyway, would they? Anyway, Tico offered me a beer, and it
would be churlish to refuse. I had brought the netbook with me to
write Tuesday's blog, and with a glass of Pollux rauchbier, (a smoky
flavoured beer at about 4.7% I seem to remember.) I settled down to
write at a table in the window.
Funny how you can remember that but you
couldn't remember Suzanne Vega's name on Tuesday evening.
I had just just finished the blog and
was about to upload some photos and videos when someone loomed up on
the other side of the table. It was Scott, one of the Montrealers /
Montrealalers – I must check on the correct name late today. I had
met Scott and his wife Becky in the Benelux last year, and by
freakish coincidence had met them walking up Bvd St.Laurent the
following day. We chatted and Scott had apologised to me that Becky
wouldn't be able to make it to the planned reunion on Thursday (Cask
evening at Benelux). It was a very pleasant surprise when who should
walk in but Becky. We had time for a little chat before I had to
leave. I have forgotten to tell you that on my first food forage of
the day I had also called in at La Vitrine, the cultural information
centre, and managed to get a ticket to see Luc de Larochellière,
Andrea Lindsay and Sophie Beaudet in concert at Monument-National. I
wasn't sure where this was, so before I left Becky and Scott checked
on their phone to find the location. Not too far, in the slightly run
down section of bvd St.Lauren near Club Soda and amidst a plethora of
strip clubs and similar establishments.
Oh yes, and how did you know that? Ay,
Ay, nudge, nudge say no more!
I've been to Club Soda on previous
occasions, and had noticed them that's all. Actually it's a pretty
depressing street, and I don't just mean those establishments, but the
smell of decaying buildings which pervades the atmosphere as you walk
down the street. I't's quite unpleasant.
I got to the Scene Financière Sun Life
at the Theatre Monument-National after a ten-minute walk from the
hotel, and found my way to my seat. This wasn't a large auditorium
but was a performance apace in what must have once been part of the
entrance to the theatre. As eight o clock arrived a gentleman
appeared on the stage to introduce the evening's entertainment.
Normally, if there are three names on the bill, each artiste will
have their own spot, so I had assumed that it would be Sophie Beaudet
first, followed by Andrea Lindsay and then Luc de Larochellière.
But
this was to be different, a quite informal and experimental session
in which all three artistes would be there together on stage, singing
as a trio, in duets or singly with support from the others. It was an
excellent evening. I have seen Luc twice before, once in Montréal
and once in France, but it was the first time for Andrea and Sophie.
It was thoroughly enjoyable. After the show I walked back via a
different route to Place des Arts, took some photographs and then
returned to the hotel, and bed!
Postscript:
Ah well it seems that I have one reader. Thanks Bill!
Great stuff!!
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