My Second Favorite Market

We hit this last time, and it obliterates anything in the US. The only better market I can recall is the one in Barcelona, and that has to do mainly with churros, chocolate, and several hundred tons of pork products.

Not that this isn't the case here. The west end is dedicated to flowers and herbs, the center a massive homage to all things vegetable, picked that morning and making a strong case for never setting foot in a grocery store ever again, and an east end dedicated to crêpes, fromage, foie, and saucissons. Not to be missed is the meat-on-a-stick vendor, who is right where he was nine years ago, but has innovated and now offers seven different sausages on one skewer for your dining pleasure. That and a crêpe and you'll be good to go for the next few hours. (Remember how Karen left me to my own devices while she went shopping? I ate 19 oysters before she showed up and helped me out. I'm approaching seven dozen in the past week. C'est magnifique.)

One other note: I'm uncertain if this is a new thing, but cidre de glacé (ice cider) is everywhere. If you're familiar with ice wine, you know the process: wait until the temperature drops to -8C, then harvest and immediately press the fruit for a sugar-rich juice that yeast loves to gorge on. The result is a low-alcohol (10%) digestif that's like drinking a caramel apple. I've not seen it in the states, but I have a plan to fix that.

Cathedral as Mullet

It's all formality and conformity up front, but it's brutal in the back. We missed Notre Dame de Montreal last time, but ducked inside during one of the city's epic downpours. So you got your Death Jesus, your Mary Queen of Heaven, your banner-bearing lamb-Jesus, a lighting design meant to evoke both sunrise and sunset, your gold-plated rococo apostles, and on and on. But back behind the original alter, there's a 60s era chapel with blond wood paneling and dear lord who got the commission to create a giant, brutalist monolith replete with starving peasants, suffering children, and the queen of heaven having a really bad hair day?

Personally, I prefer the Latin American version of Catholic iconography as it favors demons and chupacabras and all three Jesuses (man-boy-lamb) in the same frieze, something that's not kosher in the European tradition. 

When the aliens finally arrive they are going to be so confused...

One more art post

From the David Altmejd show...like a giant owl pellet, but with wolves and crystals...

Yes, more art please

So incredibly happy with such amazing contemporary art in Montreal! The Contemporary Art Museum had an amazing solo show of work by David Altmejd in their vast and stunning galleries and DHC Foundation featured a great show of work by Yinka Shonibare in their two separate spaces. But the endless Arsenal was a true highlight, with some extraordinary large-scale sculptures and installations by artists from Canada and beyond.

Montreal heat wave

We arrived in Montreal just in time for a heat wave, which essentially means sweltering heat and 70% humidity punctuated by periods of torrential downpours. Thankfully our air b&b has a balcony, from which we could escape the heat and get a great view of the weekly fireworks show.

Best Man Couch Ever

First, for those among this blog's four readers who don't know what a man couch is, it's that plush, leather piece of furniture in women's boutiques that exists to relieve man ass during the 2-3 hour period your wife/girlfriend/sister/sister's cute friend will spend shopping in this store alone. It is usually accompanied by books on tying your own fishing lures or the proper attire for riding along on a fox hunt outside Nottingham, and it is highly prized by those who get laid, or plan to, or once did but still believe. 

But I challenge you, dear reader, to imagine a man couch with oysters and libations. Even better, it's across the street which means not having to answer questions like, "What do you think?"

Side note: forget about "Does this make me look fat?" (Nothing could make you look fat) and "Do you like this?" (It really complements your eyes/hair/nail polish/sparkling personality). It's the open-ended questions expressing doubt and uncertainty that must be avoided like a plague-ridden Africanized bee colony adjacent to a field of unexploded land mines. What was I talking about?

Today's special is a dozen Beau Soleils for C$18, which is about $14 in money that doesn't look like it was printed by Milton-Bradley. And that's awesome considering Karen's not back yet. I could inhabit this particular man couch indefinitely.

Midnight in the Garden of Good and Veal

I signed up for this trip expecting mainly lobster and foie. Truth is, I didn't eat that much of the former (despite all the photos, I ordered it twice; the rest was Karen). What surprised me was my renewed love of oysters and the ubiquity of veal.

Pictured is the latest: bee wax poached sweetbreads. Not that I'm keeping score, but I am. Of the six remarkable meals we've had:

Eventide: oysters
Grace: oysters and foie
Primo: oysters and veal heart tartare
Légende: oysters and foie
Laurie Raphael: veal tenderloin tartare
Laloux: foie and veal sweetbreads
(Many other oysters gave it up for the cause along the way; they make for a delightful afternoon snack.)

I count at least five dozen oysters and the heart, loin, and thymus glands of a baby cow--or, more accurately, three different baby cows. Am I a bad person? Is evil still evil if it's delicious? My understanding is they were happy, frolicking little calves until I ate them. Doesn't that count for something? And what of the humble oyster? No one puts their likeness on a protest sign. Of course, scaling up an image of an oyster to 36x48 would be pretty gross, and wouldn't win your cause any support. Is the cute and cuddly held in higher esteem than something that looks like a snot?

Anyway, I've been sleeping really well.