POUTINE POT BELLIES

Finally my pals and I get a chance to go to Montreal's Old Port.  This is where the eclectic shops are, it's right along the waterfront, there is plenty of live entertainment, and the architecture is amazing, second only to the magnificent churches.  The day before when we'd stopped on Church Street in Burlington, VT, our patio mate Beth, the young woman with the air guard and the air show, recommended we try poutine.  This information is stored loosely inside of our craniums.

I have my eye on a couple of prizes, so I have a tiny bit of shopping to do, and then we're going to find a place to have dinner.  We do a complete perimeter walk because that's what we do, and a couple of restaurants catch our attention, but the tables on the cobblestone streets seem just like Boston redux.  We can pretty much have the same experience at home.

We are walking nonchalantly by a restaurant that is playing some techno music, certainly not our vibe.  Well, to be honest, I've liked techno since it first came out in its experimental form in the late 60's, but this stuff is straight-on clubbing music.  Two hostesses greet us on the street, trying to convince us to come in and eat.  The name of the restaurant: Montreal Poutine.

We think maybe it's too modern for us old ladies, and we thank the girls, joke about being right back, and shuffle along with our shopping items and our oversized pocketbooks.A quick circle of the block, and we have decided that yes, we will try Montreal Poutine because, damnit, we are in Montreal, and Beth said we should try the poutine.

We surprise the hostesses as we return, and we are ushered inside with menus.  Only thing is we are not inside at all.  Instead of sitting out on the sidewalk under an awning, we are nestled between several multi-story stone buildings, a little grotto in the middle of a palazzo-like setting.  We are inside-outside and outside-inside.  Trees grow near us and hang over us, and birds fly freely overhead as if we are eating in an elegant, ancient aviary.

It is, quite simply, one of the coolest places I have ever been.

One friend orders a brisket sandwich, while the other friend and I order versions on poutine (french fries, cheese curd, gravy, and meat).  I have to admit, poutine is one of those perfect meals that feels like I'm getting away with eating impolitely at the table.  We were raised to believe that dragging our food through leftover gravy or sauce was not acceptable behavior at the table, but I always liked to sop up leftover meat juices with a roll or with my potatoes.  Now, someone is serving me a giant heap of french fries covered in gravy, and I'm not even going to be yelled at for it.

A couple of drinks and full meals later, we are ready to toddle back out to the Old Port, back to the subway.  There has been a water main break, though, so the Metro is shut down.

No matter.

It's a beautiful night, there's a full moon, and we are less than two miles from our hotel.  Montreal is a safe and decently clean city.  After verifying this information and our route home (turn right then turn left and walk up the hill) with two police officers, we enjoy even more sights and sounds of this spectacular city.

Besides, we have to work off that poutine some way; might as well be while night-seeing, as well.  We don't want to come home to Boston with Montreal Poutine Pot Bellies.