Well, I would like to be able to say that turning 40 has been a time of reflection, growth, gratitude, and understanding of how I want the remainder of my life to unfold. But I cannot. It was none of those things. It was better! Liz and I both turned the big 4 0 this year and decided to take a trip to celebrate, in addition to her killer boat party and my booze soaked dinner party. We would have liked to have taken the show back to Europe, but doing that over a long weekend was just not feasible. So we decided to terrorize Montreal, Canada. Neither of us had ever been to visit our neighbors to the north; they may be wishing we still hadn’t.
We discussed how we would like to see our 4 days unfold. Websites were visited, “best of” books bought, cuisine investigated, and decisions made. Pretty much, we both decided the goal of this trip was to shop, drink, eat, people watch, walk around, drink, eat, drink, and drink. Lofty goals for such sophisticated women as ourselves, but we figured we could sacrifice museums and cultural centers this one time. We also looked into trapeze school, but in the end hangovers made that decision for us.
While we may have missed out on the cultural gems of Montreal, we did maximize our time and explored a vast array of liquid offerings as well as some kick ass food. By 10am on the morning of our arrival we were on a 2 mile trek for what are billed as some of the best bagels in Montreal. Not sure which way to turn on the street, we asked a girl walking towards us for directions. Well, well, well, didn’t that turn into a fabulous decision. Instead of just telling us where to go, she said “come, we will go together.” Um, ok. Turns out this girl is a serious career woman. Follow if you can: she is a trained professional dancer, a nightclub promoter, a clerk at a Zen tea shop, a tour/travel operator, a graphic designer, and a thoracic surgeon. Ok, I made that last part up, but you get the point. We learned every damn detail of this chick’s life in the block she walked with us; plus we got invited to the opening of one of Montreal’s newest most hip Restobars. And I became friends with her on Facebook. What a shitshow. Needless to say, Liz and I did not bring our finest slutwear and we weren’t sure if we would have to make out with her to gain access to the party, so we passed on attending. Sweet start to the trip!!!!!
We discussed how we would like to see our 4 days unfold. Websites were visited, “best of” books bought, cuisine investigated, and decisions made. Pretty much, we both decided the goal of this trip was to shop, drink, eat, people watch, walk around, drink, eat, drink, and drink. Lofty goals for such sophisticated women as ourselves, but we figured we could sacrifice museums and cultural centers this one time. We also looked into trapeze school, but in the end hangovers made that decision for us.
While we may have missed out on the cultural gems of Montreal, we did maximize our time and explored a vast array of liquid offerings as well as some kick ass food. By 10am on the morning of our arrival we were on a 2 mile trek for what are billed as some of the best bagels in Montreal. Not sure which way to turn on the street, we asked a girl walking towards us for directions. Well, well, well, didn’t that turn into a fabulous decision. Instead of just telling us where to go, she said “come, we will go together.” Um, ok. Turns out this girl is a serious career woman. Follow if you can: she is a trained professional dancer, a nightclub promoter, a clerk at a Zen tea shop, a tour/travel operator, a graphic designer, and a thoracic surgeon. Ok, I made that last part up, but you get the point. We learned every damn detail of this chick’s life in the block she walked with us; plus we got invited to the opening of one of Montreal’s newest most hip Restobars. And I became friends with her on Facebook. What a shitshow. Needless to say, Liz and I did not bring our finest slutwear and we weren’t sure if we would have to make out with her to gain access to the party, so we passed on attending. Sweet start to the trip!!!!!
the invite to the club opening. Enuff said.We decided to take it easy on Thursday night, as getting up at 3:30am for our flight was exhausting. Please do not judge us for our choice, we more than made up for our easy Thursday night the following two. In spades. We had dinner at great place called Bieres et Compagnie a block or so away from our hotel. They have an enormous menu of microbrews and this is where we found the oh so delicious St. Ambroise Pale Ale brewed right in Montreal. Mmmm . . . good beer!!! The other outstanding feature of this restaurant and Montreal in general, is their love of the frites. Their French fries are not just a side dish, they are THE dish. And they have, wait for it . . . a MAYONNAISE MENU to accompany the fries. As a diehard fan of mayonnaise products, I thought Liz was going to shed tears over the choices.
Bagel shop worth the 2 mile trek!
giant ass hunk of dough the bagels are cut from
menu of mayonnaise!! So after laying down a base of about 800 pounds of French fries, we headed to a great little bar right beside our hotel called L’Barouf. It was low key, full of tables of people having microbrews and chatting, served our new love St. Ambroise, and had a really fun bartender, shame we never learned his name. Somehow we started talking about the iTunes playlist for the bar. It was all low key, jazzy, bluesy type music. I decided he needed to kick it up a notch with some O.P.P as performed by Naughty by Nature. He actually had it in his library, but couldn’t program it into the playlist. Blood oaths were made to play it the next time we came in, which was hilarious considering playing that kind of music would be as appropriate as Frank Sinatra doing a Tupac cover. With that kind of commitment on the table, you know we were coming back. Yet, I digress. As Liz and I sat there swimming in beer and laughing, we made a new friend. In all honesty, I should say Liz made a new friend because she had the misfortune of sitting behind him. To this day, I still cannot remember his name; I know it had about 17 letters, started with a B, and was Moroccan. I simple chose to go with B Diddy. This guy was a certified nutjob who was insulted by just about everything we said (funny how that happens) but wouldn’t go away. He also had a serious drinking problem. And that’s saying a lot coming from us! And he stunk . . .bonus! To his credit, he did want us to enjoy ourselves while were in his adopted home town. The recommendations we gleaned from him were to go to some nail salon that served drinks and may or may not give happy endings and then to the strip club around the corner. ALLLL RIIIIIGHT! When we left L’Barouf, we did so Mission Impossible style, for fear of him following us and killing us in the middle of the side walk. Loved that guy!
Nothing says crazy like this guy!
L'Barouf with great bartender and B Diddy.We actually held off on beginning our drinking until noon and we visited the cathedral. See, the whole trip wasn’t spent face down in a glass of booze, ok most, but not all. After the cathedral, all bets were off. As we walked home we stopped at a bistro in the Latin Quarter where I discovered another tasty Canadian beer, Sleeman’s Silver Creek. Yum! We also witnessed the craziest OCD bartender known to humanity. She cleaned that place so well I would have sipped my beer off the counter. Everything was squared off, ordered, and sparkling. Even her lemons and oranges were perfectly arranged in their containers. Because we are essentially assholes, we put all of the coasters on the bar in off center positions. We didn’t want her to get bored later in her shift. Once we got back into our neighborhood of Mont Royal, we popped into a very cool café for more beverages. Stop judging, it had been at least 10 blocks since our last refreshment. Café Cherrier is a classic Montreal style café. It was very cool and served a rather gross apple pie. We mostly just laughed at it and stuck our fingers in it. You know where that discussion went . . . the movie “American Pie.” Fill in the rest for yourself, if you dare. Fortunately for us, Montreal also embraces gourmet chocolates in addition to beer and frites. It would have just been rude if we didn’t pop into Studio 88 for some tasty chocolate treats on our way back to the hotel. Shitgodamn, was that good chocolate. And in the spirit of drinking our way through the city, we indulged in “shooters”, cups of chocolate filled with Absolute Citron. BRING IT!!!!
funky bars/restaurants in Latin Quarter
Rue Saint-Paul Est in Old Montreal
Notre-Dame-de Bon-Secour Chapel
inside the chapel
beautiful lights inside chapel
cool restaurant in Old Montreal
Old Montreal
The Cathedral
main alter of the cathedral
Saint's head carved in the end of a pew in the Cathedral
notice the squared off citrus in the background. Crazy!
Cafe Cherrier
Not so delicious apple pie.
yummy yummy chocolate. Because the writing was on the wall, we had to stop at a wine shop for a bottle to see us through the clothes change for our night out. Yup, if we stopped at that point, the day would have been over. It was so far from that!!!!! So one bottle of wine down, we headed to the Downtown area on Crescent Street for a good old fashioned boozefest. Liz heard about a nice little bar called the London Pub that became our first and last stops of the night. The place was tiny and the bartender was friendly and generous. Um, a little too generous, I might add. He learned it was our first time in Montreal and gave us a proper welcome with some maple syrupy shot thing. Very hospitable of him. Then he heard us mention something about a birthday and believed we needed another shot for that occasion. We then asked him what we got if we told him we were pregnant. Seriously, what is wrong with us! So after too many shots chased by beers we headed off to another recommended place. I no longer remember its name and barely remember being there at all. It was a huge cheesy clubby kind of place that merits a mention because of the delicious sandwich we had there. This sandwich will be important later. Remember it, because I really didn’t. From the bar whose name I cannot remember, we headed to Thursdays. As Liz put it when we walked in “It’s like Union Street, only bigger.” And so it was. Somehow someway we had four Canadian men, who were in town from somewhere (you can see I really cared about their details), join us. They decided we needed to go downstairs to the dancing part of the establishment. Down the stairs we go, check our coats (because in Montreal this is some randomass mandatory rule in some bars), and let our freakflags fly with the rest of the cheeseballs in the place. This part of the night becomes a bit hazy for me, but I do clearly and distinctly remember the dance floor. It, wait for it, . . . . revolves. OH HELL YEAH. The thing spins in a circle. I held our drinks while Liz boogied down; each time she passed me I handed her a glass for a sip. It was like handing water to runners in the New York Marathon. I’ve never loved such a cheesy venue so much in all my life. It screamed 2 dollar hooker with big hair and shiny shirts. LOVED IT!!!! After what seemed like 36 years of beer consumption and nonsense we made the excellent decision that we should cap off the night back at London Pub. It is at this point that I must point out that while we turned 40 and should know better, we just cannot find the discipline to walk away. When I arrived at the bar, there was yet another shot from Nick, the generous bartender, waiting for me. And did I turn it down, oh no, that would just make me a rude American. And, while I may be a lot of things, rude I am not. Sweet mother of god!
Finally, and I really don’t even know how it happened, we got into a cab back to the hotel. Our driver either didn’t speak English or decided we were not worth speaking it to. He was nice enough, though. Until Liz flipped a shit because she didn’t recognize the road we were on. Really? How is that possible? We have never been in the city, all of our blood has been replaced by booze, and we don’t recognize where we are. Go figure. The poor guy finally pulls over, takes Liz’s map from her, and starts trying to explain where we are going in French. I, mainly due to high levels of liquid confidence, decide I can have this conversation in French. Sadly, I use a mix of Italian, French, and Drunk to conduct the dialogue. No clue what we finally decided, but we made it back to our hotel. And then passed it. And then Liz told him to keep going. And then she told him to let us out. 8 blocks past the hotel. Huh. Ok, let’s get our walk on. And walk we did. Then it happened. I snap back into consciousness in a pizza place, with slices in our hands. Then. . . .fade back to hazy.
The next morning was epic. After getting our croissants from outside our door, we both break out our cameras for a recap. Sometimes the recap is better than the actual night, especially when you look at pictures and say “Who the fuck is that?” “What the hell am I doing and where the hell am I?” As we are discussing our bad decisions, I make a point of saying that NOT eating all night was our undoing, as one should always lay down a base. That’s when Liz says “yeah, laying down the foundation after you’ve already put the roof on is not the best way to go.” Huh? What foundation? She would be referring to the delicious sandwich we had at the bar whose name I cannot remember. Wait, what? What sandwich? Oh holy shit, I absolutely forgot about that sandwich. This never happens. I am the keeper of the memories and now I had forgotten about a piece of the evening. Damn that Nick and his graciousness! And someone in our group may or may not have woken up with pizza still in their mouth. Aaaaaahaaaaahaaaaaaa!!!!!
Welcome to Canada! Happy Birthday! Really Nick? Really? 
Who the hell are all of you? Oh, Canadians!
I so sleepy.
some things have no explanation.
no words . . .
Hey look up; the ceiling is all mirrors. Let's take a picture. 
Me: Is your name Pepe Le Pew? I know we are not actually in France, but you stink!!!
Mais si/oui! Nous andiamo alla Via/Rue St. Denis. Grazie/Merci. Shit!!!! Saturday we walked around the Plateau neighborhood and down Mont Royal Street. It was funky little area with lots of people out on the street. We got to see the best named Basset Hound in the world get all badass on some fluffy white dog passing by, to which her owner said, “Jesus Lola!” Great name for a Bassett. The highlight of that day was discovering the best little piece of heaven to put in one’s mouth, at G Point. Drum roll please . . . the French Macaron. Sweet baby Jesus were these things perfection. People lined up out the door of this little bakery to fork over $1.50 a piece for these silver dollar sized cookies. And I was right there with them. They also served a bowl of hot chocolate that was like an opiate. I have never in my life been defeated by chocolate until that day. Liz is pretty sure she developed PTSD from her experience with the chocolatiness of that bowl. These little “wads of heaven” (name pending copyright by Liz) were so magical that we made the cab driver stop off on our way to the airport on Sunday. And, we have begun work on making our own through secret Macaron labs. We will be ready for retail by early 2010.
By about mid-afternoon, we have sufficiently rebounded from our huge Friday to start the nonsense all over again. We found this great little bar on the second floor of a restaurant with an outdoor balcony that was just about perfect for people watching. Several beers later we were ready for dinner and then a quick change of clothes and out for the night. Because we had set a precedent the night before, we headed to wine shop for a bottle to see us through the wardrobe change. Upon arrival at the shop we were greeted with a sight I’ve never quite seen. There was a line to get IN THE LIQUOR STORE. What the hell!!!
"Wads of Heaven"
The bowl of hot chocolate that defeated me. Who knew it was possible!
Awesome afternoon of people watching on Rue St. DenisBefore we really got on with our night, we had to make a pit stop back at L’Barouf. Someone had promised to shake things up with a little Naughty By Nature; no way was letting him off the hook on that one. As soon as we walked in, the bartender knew what we were there for and was ready to make good on his promise. Sadly, when he was looking for O.P.P to add to his night’s playlist, he discovered he didn’t have that one. But he did have another Naughty By Nature song, “Hip Hop Hooray.” It ain’t O.P.P., but it’s a good second. When the first beat blasted out of those speakers I was all arms in the air and white girl rappin!!
“I live and die for Hip HopThis is Hip Hop for todayI give props to Hip Hop so Hip Hop hooray...Ho...Hey...Ho”
Ok, so were in the cab headed back down to Crescent Street making all kinds of agreements about what we will and won’t do. I mean, seriously, we have to check out of the hotel at noon, entertain ourselves until about 5pm, and then head to the airport for our flight home. That kind of day leaves no room for ridiculous hangovers. I somehow survived the flight home to Rome from Dubrovnik the previous summer in Croatia; I don’t think luck will be that kind to me and allow for a second showing. So, the deal is no shots (ok maybe 1, but only 1) and we are going home at 1am. And we meant it. Until we landed back at the London Pub and met Chris Miller. A friend of Nick the bartender. And the wheels came off. This guy was one of the funniest people I have ever met and will drink until he literally falls down. He began his conversation with us by telling the story about how he shit himself while trying to open a checking account at the bank. I mean really? If that’s the introduction can you imagine how it ended? There was so much ridiculous conversation and tear soaked laughter that I had pains in my side. Sadly, we broke all of our promises but ended up with a new Facebook friend. Well worth it!
Remember, we agreed, just this one.
Oh really, Nick? You want to give us a shot? That's shocking.
We never knew why or how . . . but this is how he introduced himself to us. WTF!!!!
Chris Miller and Nick the BartenderAnd so another international trip comes to a close. There were no police involved in this one, but that was only because we had just the right combination of American and Canadian money to pay the exact cab fare to the airport. That ride was a nail bitter. We both left that country with not a penny on us. The lovely bartender at the airport refrigerated our Macarons for us while we shoveled drinks in until the last minute of that trip. All in all, it was fabulous. And, as Naughty By Nature would say, “Hip Hop Hooray . . . ho . . . hey . . . ho . . . Smooth it out now!”
and this is what you get when you sit at a cafe drinking and people watching before you head to the airport. HILARIOUS!!
Modeling firetruck underwear at the airport bar. Nonsense to the bitter end.
