Wednesday, October 19, 2011

We sleep when we're dead.

Just ate fois gras in three variations. Appetizer, starter, and main with a side of eel and sugar pie at Au Pied de Cochon. Good Lord.

Steve and I sat barside watching young chefs, the names stitched above their hearts: Nico, Alex, the A badge sous chef and Annie the saucier sling plates like I have never seen before. Wild times in a tight kitchen. "They are in the weeds!". Steve said this at one point as I was face deep in our fois gras poutine (nothing better exists, this I am sure). In the weeds, in the shit! What an environment. Nights of these sort (the fliffling kind) make Rags and Rab rush up in thought. Fine diners you women are. You taught me how to hold my fork, probably without realizing so. Thanks. This was the finest Montreal dining I have experienced.

We walked our bikes over and up from Berri to St. Laurent. Then we danced to Snoop Dog on full stomachs. Bon evening.

Face down, bed now, early class.

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