Meat Me at the Deli in Montreal

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It’s the day after the wedding, and my gut is plugged up with poutine - hot chips smothered in thick gravy and cheese curds. I know. De-li-Shiss!. I tried it once in Vancouver, and found it heavy and bland. But here in Montreal, well, naturally, the poutine is poutine, the gravy tasty, the fries just right. Even those lumps of cheese tasted great. Poutine sits like a brick and comes out like one too, but I haven’t experienced such a perfect late night gut-buster since eating cheap deep fried dough in college.

I play tennis in the sunshine opposite Mont Royal Park, where my sweat smells faintly of beer and brisket. I go shopping for gifts on the funky Plateau, read magazines in Mile End, drive past McGill University, walk along St Denis, try an apricot beer in a cafe. I imagine how different the city must be in winter, i.e., most of the year. Several feet of snow, an ice-chill in the air, the temperature in the minus teens. People are smoking on the sidewalk after a recent ban on smoking in bars and restaurants. Will they still smoke outside in winter? Montreal has an incredible 22kms of underground shopping, so I duck into the maze to get a feel for the life below street level. One mall connects with another, with the efficient Metro connecting all. It is a self-proficient universe.

The wedding takes place at a lovely Greek restaurant called Mythos, where Lili does her thing, bongos are beaten, tears are shed. We dance the traditional Jewish hora, we sing along to “Day-yo” [Daylight's coming and I want to go home!] I ponder life as a full-time wedding crasher, or better yet, a wedding scribe. “Think about it,” I tell Mike’s buddy Orion. “Before the videographer, before the photographer, there was…the Wedding Scribe! I could make a fortune writing about the wedding experience!” I would also no doubt become a full-fledged alcoholic, but every job has its hazards. Post wedding, I end up at a bar talking to Canadian rock star Sam Robert’s twin brother. He owns this joint, Tokyo, and it turns out that his parents are South African too! Montreal’s nightlife cooks into the wee hours, although stumbling out the club in search of a smoked meat sandwich, I literally walk into a barricade of police. Somehow, they look better dressed than their west coast counterparts.

After travelling so long, so far, and so-lo this summer, it didn’t matter that I failed to see many of Montreal’s more traditional tourist sites. Instead, I was thrilled to be practically adopted into two wonderful families, and shown around by enthusiastic locals so eager to add life to the city’s brick buildings. I felt like I saw everything that typifies Montreal - the spiral staircases; the deli-cafe culture; the beautiful, well-dressed women; the snaking underground malls; the water canals; the mountain that gave the city its name - but more importantly, I experienced the unmistakable passionate energy of the people who live here.

Best Western
Downtown Montreal

A very special thank you to the Fishman family, the Fairbrother family, Lili, and the 36 friendly people who finished my three sentences.

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