Poutine and Poutine Accesories

This blog is dedicated to JC....it's not a cookbook or a novel but it will have to do

Wow, I cannot believe that March was my last blog...I'm sure some of you are nodding your head being like yah, what a lazy expletive, she eats everyday, why can't she just sit down after a meal and write about it! Well, truth be told, I can be lazy...gasp...but I have been metally putting away some favourites and have actually written a few down in my handy review book. I was also the recipient this year, courtesy of fabulous friend Olivia, of a Dinner Party Journal. It has a pages to fill out the seating plan...no spaces to make notes about bad friend pairings tho, a list of the types of food and libations consumed, table gifts....bring them on people...you know I love a good pressie and the quote of the evening. I have 3 pages filled out so far and look forward to more with the commencement of our vegetarian potluck group starting later this month...too bad for you meaties, you will just have to remain uninvited until you see the light.
Moving on to the latest of my restaurant stalkings, dutifully checking the internet for opening day was Smokes Poutinerie on Pizza Corner...aka Blowers Street in the shitty, I mean the city. The menu consists of a bazillion types of poutine from original poutine creators les frenchies from Quebec. I was eating poutine in the eighties in the Salvation Army cafeteria in Germany so I like to consider myself a bit of a connoiseur.
Insert best poutine story ever here, seriously I wanna hear them....
Mine was at the Smitty's in Kingston, Ontario, can't remember who I was with but the fries were hot and crunchy and smooth potatoey on the inside, gravy....probably turkey..I had no conscience then....and smothered in.....SWISS CHEESE....what a brilliant expletiveING idea!
Nowadays I can readily admit that it is all about the curd but that one still sticks out in my food bank of memories. Onto the review. I have to set this up so you can understand how incredibly let down I was.
Tuesday December something in the teens 5 am
Woke up in Mothers house, unsure of where I was patting empty queen size bed looking for something furry or drooly...no dogs, cats or Donald. Stumble out of bed to read time on stove, press GO on coffee maker and wait patiently for mother to awaken. In car and fighting rush hour traffic for doc appointment at QE2, foot surgery. Time for admission is 9:30, actual intake is 2:30. Picture sitting in a room with a bunch of people in various states of NEEDING SURGERY, johnny robes and moaning. Ughhh. I make my way down to the cafeteria while mom is under....choice of meat pizza or campbells minestrone soup. I have chips and gingerale. By 5:30 Mother is drooly but coherent enough to go. Her foot hurts but I want a poutine. I'm prepared to leave her in the car and fetch take out but she's a champ and shuffles the half block using me as a human crutch and we head into Smokes Poutinerie in the old Hungry Chili space. Crappy old rock music playing...Van Halen, Aerosmith....I think to myself how much Donald would love this. The colors are red, black, grey and white with the proprietors face stuck cartoonishly onto the heads of famous people. The menu consists of poutine and poutine accessories....meat, gravy, veggies, more meat, strange sauces in various unappealing combos. My mother sticks with a traditional and i go traditional veggie...meaning vegetarian gravy. We order the small size and order a Pop Shoppe pop and a Coke...no Pepsi...very disheartening. Our server or counter boy, dreads tucked back into some sort of do rag rag rag, a do rag rag, is friendly but I'm glad he isn't making my food. That instead is left up to the criminals in the kitchen, looking less like fry cooks and more likely gang members from the north end of Dartmouth. Of well, how much skill do you need to open a bag of gravy, add water, drop fries....I'm sure they have a timer, and toss some curds on? Well some talent would be nice.
The fries are dried out husks of what were once potatoes. The gravy a tasteless covering requiring much salt and where are the curds? The non existent curds, either too skimpy or too melted by the gravy. I glance at Mother, who hasn't eaten anything but colorful pills and some lukewarm gingerale, thinking I'm just being a snot. She says she feels like puking, half of her poutine is gone, she concedes it may be the anesthesia, I'm not convinced. It isn't very good, not chundle worthy but not 8 bucks worthy either. We stump out back to the car....I wonder if she wants to go to the Hamachi House....