Gluttony is Good. At least it was today. Just in case it really isn’t, Gaby and I decided to visit Basilique Notre-Dame-de-Montréal (Our Lady of Montréal Basilica) first. We started by thoroughly sleeping-in this morning. If you’ve never slept in a Fairmont Hotel before, you might want to scurry to the closest one as soon as you can. The beds are the BEST and they make you want to stay in them all day. Nevertheless, we dragged ourselves out at 9am, wrestled with the Nespresso machine, then promptly swooned when we tasted the creamy goodness of fine espresso in our cups. After recovering, we made ourselves presentable, stopped at the hotel patisserie for almond croissants, and took the escalator down to the train station under the hotel. Yes, there is a train station in the hotel basement (not your average basement – no pool table and moldy cement walls) – you could hop on a train to New York City if you felt like it. We didn’t feel like going to New York, we felt like finding the Metro, so we wandered around in circles until a charitable lady took pity on us and turned us toward the tunnel we needed to follow. We bought 3-day passes from the ticket booth, and hopped onto the train to eat our croissants. 2 stops later, we stepped out onto Place-d’Armes station, and walked up the street to the imposing Notre Dame Basilica. When the enormous entry doors closed behind us, we were enveloped in the hushed silence of the cathedral; the smoky aroma of candles and incense swirling around us. I’m Catholic, but Gaby is famous for saying that she stays away from churches because she will burst into flames if she enters. Regardless, we both agreed that it was incredible to see the intricate carvings, the painting, and the painstaking details that went into the creation of churches like this. Inspired by their spiritual beliefs, the builders made a tangible representation of their faith; awe-inspiring for all. Columns made from entire trees, ceilings so high they seem to be the sky…I had to sit still in a pew just to absorb it all. There was a door to the left of the alter that led us to the Chapelle Sacré-Coeur (Sacred Heart Chapel). It seemed to be a hidden, secret place. When we entered, the lighter wood that covered every surface glowed in the sunlight. I followed the Stations of the Cross until I found my favorite one: #5 Simon reaching out to help carry the cross for Jesus, on the way to the Crucifixion. My little boy, Simon, always perks up during Mass, whenever Simon is mentioned in a reading, whispering, “Mama, Simon was Jesus’ friend!” I texted the photo to my son and had to smile. Before we left, I needed to take a picture of Gaby inside the chapel – Proof of Life – to show she had survived and that we didn’t need a fire extinguisher.
We wanted to also see Chapelle Notre-Dame-de-Bon-Secours (Our Lady of Perpetual Help Chapel) and found it down the road with only a couple of turn arounds. All my friends and family know I am the opposite of a GPS – I am guaranteed to get you lost if you follow me. Gaby impressed me, pulling out her iPhone and looking at street signs…I followed like a little baby duck. Only later in the afternoon did she surprise me by laughing and saying, “I’m horrible with directions!” I’ve never had such fun getting lost before! If I’m by myself, I’m crying. With Gaby, we’re like, “woops!” and we’re moving on. So we made it to the chapel (singing all the way – “Goin’ to the chapel and we’re Goin’ to get maaaarrrrriiied”) and were told by the lady inside the museum that we would need to climb an unGodly number of stairs (yeah, I said unGodly about chapel stairs – I bet if you’d ask Him, He would agree!) to the tower up above. Deathly afraid of heights, I quaked inwardly and wondered just how high the tower was…but when we made it to the top, I was so busy trying to gasp air and grip my bum because it had met the worst Stairmaster of all time, that I was only slightly terrified of the height. The little railing around the outside of the tower would stop us from falling to our deaths onto the passers-by in the street below—on a still day. Today was a little too windy for our liking; some of my photos came out crooked because while taking the pictures, I would suddenly think about dropping the iPhone off the tower, and I would crazily grip it in reflex. I need an off-switch for my brain. Despite the gusts, we were still enchanted by the view of the St. Lawrence River and the 2 angels on the towers of the chapel, with their arms outstretched in the blue sky, welcoming all the seafarers home. It’s good to ignore your fears sometimes.
After we dizzily made our way down the spiral stairs to the street level, we realized that some of our light-headedness was caused by our growling stomachs. A measly almond croissant is not sufficient fuel for cathedral-exploring. Having read about a nice little cafe close by, we decided to finish touring the little museum below the chapel, and then go to lunch. The museum had a very interesting display about the chapel’s founder, Saint Marguerite Bourgeoys. There was a painting in the house of the religious order she founded, that many doubted was the true depiction of Saint Marguerite. The painting was x-rayed and an entirely different style of portrait was revealed. An olden day mystery solved. There was also a creepy little room filled with miniature dolls and dioramas made in the 1950‘s, illustrating the many events in the life of Saint Marguerite. So many of the dolls had hilarious expressions on their faces – I think the Sisters of the order who made the dioramas just bought little plastic dolls from toy stores, dressed them up, and glued them into the dioramas. It was an odd room, and I’m not sure I wasn’t hallucinating from hunger, so maybe it doesn’t actually exist. Exiting the museum, faint with hunger, we consulted Gaby’s iPhone and set forth. Getting lost in Old Montréal is actually quite lovely. The cobblestone streets and the ancient buildings make you feel like you are walking in another time. I kept staring at old wooden doorways, fully expecting little French people to come out, dressed in 19th century clothing. The shop fronts were sometimes very deceiving – beautiful old windows with wooden frames…and then modern day souvenirs leapt out at us; t-shirts that screamed, “I ❤ POUTINE!” We eventually found Olive et Gourmando, and entered the BEST lunch experience I have had in Montreal. It was hopping inside – a line to the door, and people bustling all around. On every wall, there were chalkboards with menu items, funny stories about the restaurant, and cute drawings. There was an entire counter dedicated to coffee and pastries. Did I mention I love Montreal? If this is an imitation of France, then I might have to visit France so I can eat myself to death. The hostess told us that we would be table #5 as soon as the current occupants finished up, then we would take the blank notecard she handed us and make our way to the back, where we would puzzle out the menu in French, and give our order. I am on a lifelong quest to find the perfect Rueben sandwich, so I had to give the OG Rueben Panini a try, Gaby ordered a Cuban Panini, and because you must always say YES to truffle, we ordered the homemade mac & cheese with mushroom and truffles. Yes, we ordered 3 lunches. We’re on vacation, don’t judge us. The tables were so close together, I had to humiliate myself and squeeze my large American rear end between our table and our seated neighbors. I shouldn’t have felt embarrassed – poor Gaby had to witness my neighbor eat her entire lunch with her mouth open. People who haven’t been taught by their mommies to eat with their mouths closed should be more embarrassed than I am about my bum. Seriously. See-Food Lady beside us did nothing to take away from the sheer decadence of our lunch, however. Even when the neighbor table accidently splashed their homemade ketchup on me, it didn’t bother me. The paninis were perfect. Slightly crispy, thin focaccia bread, melted swiss cheese, Montreal smoked meat, sauerkraut, whole-grain mustard, and a creamy sauce. I almost screamed. The mac & cheese came bubbling in a cast-iron pan. All the food was so hot, we burned our greedy hands and mouths as we stuffed our faces. Oh, the gluttony. Oh, the glorious scent of truffles, wafting up to our quivering nostrils… We finished lunch with a good, strong, kick-in-the-ass double espresso (actually, Gaby enjoyed a creamy latte while I gulped the caffeine) so we could have the energy to visit one more museum: Musée d’Archéologie et d’Histoire Pointe-à-Callière (Pointe-à-Callière Archaeology and History Museum). We rolled our stuffed selves up and down a few windy streets, completely lost, until we re-oriented ourselves and found our way. We discovered that the museum was going to close in an hour, so we rushed down to the bottom level – one of the coolest parts of the city. Archeologists had discovered, under the old building, the foundations and remains of the original settlements of the city – starting with the First Nations inhabitants. The area’s first cemetary is actually right there as one of the displays – creepy. The little river (St. Peter) that the settlement was built next to, was eventually overtaken, converted into an aqueduct for wastewater, and the city was built over it. Now, the museum is excavating further, and future museum patrons will be able to take tunnel tours under that part of the city, following the route of that stone tunnel. I look forward to the new exhibit!
The whole day has been a bit of a blur, with us absorbing history and chasing food….somewhere along the line we decided to try again to find the famous Queues de Castor—Beaver Tails! You would only understand our obsession if you’d ever tasted the fresh-from-the-fryer crispy, chewy goodness of this pastry, smeared with Nutella that is melting from the heat of the fried dough, maybe sprinkled with sliced bananas or strawberries…Heaven on Earth. Yesterday’s search for Beaver Tails was a bust. Today, we found another address online, and tracked it down to the banks of the St. Lawrence River. On the King Edward Pier, we pressed our noses to the glass doors of the Centre des Sciences de Montréal…and woefully read the sign on the Queues de Castor shop, “SEE YOU NEXT SPRING!” We turned around and slowly dragged our weary asses up the hill to the Metro station, mumbling all the way, “But it IS Spring…why they no open? We want Beaver Tails…”
As soon as we landed at our home station, we searched for a pharmacy in the underground city. Nothing hurts more than middle-aged feet that have been pounding the pavement all day, after years of sedentary living. One more thing I love about Canada? We are not so Scroogey about our over-the-counter meds. You can find Tylenol with muscle relaxants at any drugstore, no prescription needed. Gaby snatched up 2 boxes for the road, and we bought the 2 biggest diet cokes we could get our hands on to wash them down. A gajillion steps and a few ventures down the wrong tunnels later, and we were back in the blessed Fairmont the Queen Elizabeth. We didn’t have the energy to make it to the elevators to crawl to our rooms, so we collapsed in the cushy armchairs in the lounge in the hotel lobby. Slurping icy cold soda, popping Tylenol for our throbbing feet, we made noises of satisfaction that you normally shouldn’t make in public. I neglected to mention that I am on Day #2 of treatment for Strep throat as well, so I had to gulp down some absolutely disgusting cough syrup. Following it with a mouthful of diet coke, I realized too late that I really hate the taste of cherry coke. Bleah. But our day was so good, and the food so fine, that even our complaining muscles and the foul taste of cherry coke could not drown out the pleasure we felt. After about 30 minutes of recovery in the lobby, our fickle stomachs turned to thoughts of more food opportunities. We explored the guidebook and the reviews online, and decided our feet would like to eat at the closest good restaurant. We chose the Dominion Square Tavern. We had just enough energy to return to our rooms and make ourselves presentable. Then, we hit the streets. We are getting better with our senses of directions; we only had to turn back once on this journey. In just a few minutes, we were opening the doors to one of the best places I’ve ever been to for dinner.
Built in 1927, the Dominion Square Tavern has the golden feel of the Roaring Twenties, but somehow has become one of the hottest current spots for people to gather in and share a loud meal with friends. The low roar of music, working bartenders and servers, and friends laughing and talking, was just as my husband once told me was his ultimate goal for his restaurants: loud enough so that you had to slightly lean in to your dinner companion for conversation, but you don’t have to yell. Music in the background, but not imposing on your conversation. The chatter of all the tables jumbled together so you don’t hear one particular voice or conversation. A gentle roar. Gaby and I were seated at the bar (the place was crowded and busy) where we could watch the very cute bartenders mix drinks in their simple uniforms of tuxedo shirts tucked into blue jeans, white aprons tied on their waists. I tried a Pimm’s Cup for the first time, and Gaby had a Royal Gin Fizz. The menu had me drooling, so I ordered the Bone Marrow appetizer, and the Roasted Cod on Pureed Carrots and Kale. Gaby ordered the Deviled Eggs appetizer, and the Braised Beef on Mashed Potatoes and Greens. The appetizers arrived and mine almost rose up from the plate and beat me over the head. There were 2 HUGE beef bones, the length of my forearm, sliced lengthwise, marrow broiled and glistening. A tiny spoon stood straight up, stuck into the marrow. On the side, there were 8 points of toast on which to spread the marrow, and a tiny silver bowl of course salt to sprinkle on the deliciousness. Gaby’s deviled eggs looked like the stunted midget little brothers to my enormous appetizer. It was spectacular. Of course, my greedy eyes were scolded by my wimpy stomach, and I only managed to down 1 1/2 of the bones of marrow. It was like eating straight butter – beefy butter…Sinfully good. The entrees made their appearance, and my stomach immediately rejoined the game. The roasted cod was tender and creamy, the carrots silky, and the kale gave the dreamy mouthfuls the bite they needed to be well-rounded. I cleaned my plate like a good little girl – no nagging necessary. Gaby’s beef was fork-tender, and I think she regressed into her infancy, curling up on her barstool while she savored each morsel. And since we were on a Romanesque roll, I thought we could ask around for a feather to take care of our full stomachs, and perhaps order desserts as well. I am not a sweets kind of gal, but the lemon tart looked very nice. Gaby is a sucker for sticky toffee pudding, and lo and behold there was one on the menu. No feather needed – just the right amount of dessert came out on dainty plates, and my little lemon tart was presented with flakes of light sweet merengue chips scattered on top. All of it was so light, I could almost fool myself into believing we hadn’t indulged in dessert. Almost. We definitely needed the walk home, to wiggle and shake that dinner down to our toes. And the desserts must have had a healing influence on our inner GPSs. We went straight back to the hotel, no problems. I can’t recall much after that; the food coma lifted just enough for us to stumble into pajamas and Facetime my family, then we slurred, “Good Night, Sweet Dreams” and oozed our way to our rooms. I lost track of Food vs. Exercise…I really wanted to justify all that gobbling we did all day. Then I remembered how we like to resolve arguments or competition among the kids…”Let’s just call it a tie!” Whattayasay? Gluttons Indulging vs. Gluteus Maximus Toning…Let’s just call it a tie!
Blessed Be the Gluttons, For They Shall Eat the Earth.
Letters From Narnia 