HUNGRY GERALD

Motoring though Massachusetts, New Hampshire and Maine. Destination: Clipper Shipp Motel in Pokolagan, New Brunswick. The motel is a throwback to the 1950’s with spacious suites filled with comfy overstuffed furniture. Efficient Wi-Fi. Giant TV screen. And, beautiful views of the Bay of Fundy with its unusual tides. Toby, The Wonder Dog, enjoyed his stroll on the beach with BSK. A harbinger of PEI. Icy vodka in hand, HG perched on a viewing platform and basked in the scenery and the luxury of being in a democracy with a humane leader, universal health care and a welcoming attitude towards a diverse set of immigrants. Dined on the left-over sandwiches from The Italian Corner in East Providence augmented by prosciutto. Drank Montepluciano d’ Abruzesse (purchased just over the Canadian border). HG had always been beguiled by the fact that the late Virgil Thompson, eminent composer and music critic (who lived in the Hotel Chelsea on Manhattan’s West 23rd), often dined in a nearby Popeye’s fried chicken establishment. So, midway on the trip to Canada, HG ate some Popeye’s product. Fried fish and macaroni and cheese. The mac and cheese was mushy but comforting. The fish was spicy and crisp. (BSK thought it too heavily breaded). Next time, HG will try the chicken and red beans & rice.

HG and BSK are in Montreal for a brief stay before heading to their Prince Edward Island sea paradise. Big change from hot, arid and forest fire-plagued New Mexico. Rain and cool breezes. Felt good. HG/BSK are staying in the Plateau neighborhood, Very reminiscent of Greenwich Village of yesteryear. Lots of bars, cafes and ethnic restaurants. Young people. Funky low rise buildings. Hungry HG/BSK head to 3 Petits Bouchons. A bistro and cave a vins, this is a warm toned, stone walled, intimate place. Superb wines. Great cuisine. Some of the highlights were grilled octopus served with a unique sauce and grilled potatoes; cod with fiddlehead ferns and asparagus (sauce grenobloise), Duck confit (served on an imaginative Waldorf salad). Cheese plate with crisp nut breads and jams. Drank a Regnie from the Beaujolais region and a Sylvaner from the Loire. Both wonderful. Deft service. A warning: Not cheap. Canadian import taxes make the wines, while delicious, boost the bill into the stratosphere.

American provincialism is exemplified by attitudes toward Canada. This vast, greatly diversified country is still viewed by most Americans as an icy wasteland filled with igloos and polar bears. Only a very rare American can identify the Canadian provinces and recognize their geographic and climatic differences; on the other hand, Canadians know a great deal about the United States. However, they are puzzled by the American attitudes toward health care, abortion and gay rights. Many Canadians feel that Americans are perpetually fighting battles resolved by them years ago. Maybe so. In viewing Canadian culinary attitudes, HG is bemused by the love for poutine, a vile cheese curd and gravy substance served over french fries. Canadians also have an unusual affection for Tim Horton’s an omnipresent fast food chain specializing, as far as HG can tell, in bad coffee and stale doughnuts. HG rates it very low. HG does, however, share the Canadian passion for butter tarts. These are delicious tarts that look like mini pecan pies. No nuts but lots of raisins and not overly sweet. HG discovered these tarts at the beginning of his marriage to Canadian BSK. A parcel of butter tarts baked by BSK’s late grandmother arrived and HG became addicted. HG has devoured butter tarts all over Canada. But, the best were those prepared by grandmother Beatrice Page Kent. Curiously, you can never find butter tarts in the United States. Can it be that the crafty Canadians have forbidden their export?

Vancouver, British Columbia is a city of majestic mountain and sea views; a glittering skyline; polyglot population and, alas, incessant rain for much of the year. It also has some of the best vegetables, fruit, meat and seafood in North America (they are all available plus exceptional cheese and charcuterie at the Public Market on Granville Island). There are some very good restaurants. No, despite enthusiastic local boosters, it’s not New York — Vancouver does not yet have the population mass or money to rival New York’s enthusiastic restaurant culture. There is great Asian food and a Chinatown with lots of cheap and satisfying eateries. It’s not New York’s Chinatown and it certainly isn’t Flushing, the dream destination for Asian food.

What Vancouver has is Vij’s Restaurant and Vij’s Rangoli. At these dining destinations Vikram Vij and his wife, Meeru Dhalwala, have created a cuisine that, while using spices and techniques from all over India, is unlike anything served in traditional Indian restaurants. There is no tandoori oven and there are tiny French, Italian and Chinese influences that bubble up in the cooking. Vij’s Restaurant is the more formal affair (though still very casual in the Vancouver style). Cornish
game hens, trout, pork belly — all locally sourced — are on the menu. A signature dish is “lamb popsicles,” tiny chops cut from the rack and served in a lush sauce that combines heat, cream and spice. Addictive. Only dinner is served and the restaurant opens at 5:30. A line forms outside the door at 5 and every seat is taken immediately when the doors open. No reservations. However, waiting is not a chore since there’s a lovely bar and gracious Vij is generous with a variety of spicy tidbits. Rangoli, located next door, is much simpler. Part market, part take away counter and part casual dining spot that’s open all day. The curries and stews are sublime. Take it from HG, Vij’s is worth a special trip to Canada.

HG loves Canada. The cities. The farmlands. The mountains. The waters — the Atlantic and the Pacific and everything in between. Most of all, the people. Sane. Rational. Accepting. Of course, HG is most influenced by the fact that that BSK, the love of HG’s life, is a Canadian.

SJ informed HG today that Canadian food is having “a trendy moment in New York.” (see Robert Sietsema’s fine Article on the Subject HERE)HG is puzzled. Of course, there is wonderful food in Canada and chefs who take advantage of great seafood, beef, lamb, organic vegetables. Vancouver, Toronto and Montreal are world class foodie cities. But, the predominant influence in Vancouver is Asiatic. Toronto is international and eclectic. Montreal is very French, of course, but there are Jewish influences and some restaurants that feature hefty Quebec dishes (a lot of fat and maple syrup as befitting a climate that can get super chilly). The only uniquely Canadian food HG knows is poutine, a mixture of cheese curds and gravy usually served over French fries. It is ubiquitous in Montreal and the entire Francophone region. It is even on the menu at McDonald’s. How does it taste? Vile. Montreal gourmets are proud of Montreal bagels (totally inferior to New York’s H & H product). They also tout Montreal smoked beef, mentioning it as a competitor of New York pastrami.They must be kidding.

HG’s favorite taste of Canada is the huge array of oysters at Rodney’s Oyster Bar (Vancouver and Toronto). Perfectly shucked. Served with freshly grated horseradish. Nicely priced wine list. Canada at its natural, unpretentious best.

Flying to Prince Edward Island, HG experienced the usual discomfort and sheer madness of air travel these days. Changes in flight times. Flight cancellations. Hostile, invasive and downright unnecessary security procedures. However, there is always (say optimists) a silver lining. HG had to spend the night in Toronto so opted for the Sandman Signature Hotel a few minutes from the airport. Super. New and in contemporary good taste. Very good bed, shower, flat screen TV, etc. For breakfast HG had something that is difficult to obtain in most hotels and diners: A bowl of real, nutty, steel cut oatmeal. Not the instant glop. With it was a big bran muffin that tasted fresh from the oven. Sandman is a keeper. More silver linings. A long wait at airport for PEI plane. HG watched the super exciting USA women battling Brazil. USA won but Marta, the swift and deft Brazilian, has joined HG’s pantheon of feminine paragons. HG was nourished at Fion MacCool, a quasi-Irish pub at the airport. Pub might be faux but the hamburger was for real. High quality meat served the way HG likes it–slightly pink. Layered with cheese, sliced tomatoes, sliced dill pickle and frizzled fried onions. Major league burger. Guinness on tap was welcome.