Montréal est doux

The best ice cream in the world is in Canada's fair city of Montréal, at a place on Rue St. Denis called Meu Meu ("Moo Moo" in English, ha ha).

P and I went up for an extended Memorial Day weekend, hosted by P's intrepid bridge partner, friend, and philosopher Sari, who was back in her hometown attending a philosophers' convention. (It was fun to come home to a living room full of pontificating thinkers every night.)

Photo by "Aïch of the clan" on Flickr

I wasn't able to photograph this breathtaking and inspiring place because when I was there I experienced heart palpitations and blurry vision, trying to narrow down my choices of the many sweet and/or savory flavors (fromage ice cream, anyone?) that change (and are made fresh) daily. The grapefruit sorbet was particularly vexing. This wasn't some reach-into-your-deli-freezer and get some Haagen Ciao Sharon's Bella Dazs Sorbet sorbet. I don't even really like sorbet. But this grapefruit stuff! I was laughing and weeping and shoving heaping spoonfuls of it into my face, no kidding.

OK, collecting myself. Deep breath. I love you, Meu Meu. Let's move on.



A pee detour! And look, someone knocked over the sign to take it! (Not me, I swear.)

Little pee-wee eggs! Aw!

One not-amusing thing was my inability to track down Julie Doucet, as planned, and convince her to get back down into the coal mines and start producing her brilliant comics again. I didn't really put much energy into the search, it's true. We stopped by the Drawn & Quarterly bookshop so I could stare bitterly at the finite number of books she's put out. Dammit, Julie, you're driving your fans nuts! Also, my brother wants to marry you. (Seriously.)

By the way, cats in Julie Doucet comics say "Miaw, Miaw."

I almost had a heart attack one night when I walked into a unisex bathroom in a restaurant and saw an enormous buffalo head on the wall.



What the...?!

It was the kind of thing you walk over to very carefully, in case your assumption it's fake is wrong. But the fur was acrylic. A tell-tale sign of fakeness.

We passed this feline many times on the way back and forth to Meu Meu. He is impressive, no?

I also loved Le Pick Up, a great cornerstore/lunch counter that serves an amazing Halloumi sandwich: grilled cheese, except the cheese itself is grilled and then layered with freaking tasty coleslaw. And Laika, a cafe named after the first dog in space with an after hours club vibe. It has an industrial interior and comfortable modern chairs falling apart from overuse, there's always cool music playing, the grub is delicious and the service is charming but lousy. You can sit around for hours wondering why your evening turned out the way it did and whether you should go home to sleep, out to breakfast, or just get up and dance again.

We were too lazy to ride any of the new public bikes you can rent cheaply for the day or hour. I nodded at them appreciatively, instead.

Photo credit: Mark Evans

Montréal est la bombe.