Poutine Quebecois.
As I prepare to leave for Vancouver Friday, I have started to wonder about the types of cuisine I will encounter on my Canadian adventure.
Now, I am aware that Canada is not, shall we say, a culinary destination, like the site of the last Olympics was in the Piedmont region of Italy. There will be no fine barolos or nebbiolos, no delicious polenta dishes, artisan cheeses – no grappa (though I am sure I could find grappa if the need arose, which it probably will). I am imagining those delights will be replaced with a diversified diet of poutine, Molson X and Tim Horton’s. But I am ignorant when it comes to Canadian cuisine, so I know I must be wrong. I have heard that the sushi will be quite fine.
My first trip to Canada was as a teenage ski racer headed to Mount St. Anne, Quebec in a van with 10 other teenage girls and our two coaches. Having left from Stratton, Vermont after lunch in the school cafeteria, naturally, by the time we reached St. Johnsbury it was time to stop at Dunkin’ and buy two dozen donuts to share. In part, it was a ski racing ritual to gorge ones self with frosted, jelly-filled and chocolate glazed lard cakes, but it was also out of some kind of anxiousness that came from knowing what we would be eating for the next five days – poutine.
About half the group loved poutine (french fries with beef gravy and cheese curds) and the other half preferred to eat saltines with ketchup and relish from the base lodge cafeteria. I could handle a day or two of poutine, but after that the sight, smell and thought of it would begin to make me gag.
When I think of Tim Horton’s, the fine Canadian chain of donut shops, I think of a hilarious flow chart a friend showed me once. It was designed to help a person decide where to get fast food, based on certain circumstances. The first question it asked was “Are you in Canada?” If the answer was yes, the chart gave you one choice – Tim Horton’s.
This fall, I went with some friends to a concert in Montreal at the Molson Center. Inside, before the show we decided to get a beer. Before us was an array of – you guessed it – Molson beer. There was Molson Canadian, Molson Ex, Molson Dry and Molson M. I asked the bartender which one his favorite was and he replied, “I don’t know, they’re all pretty much the same.”
These are the experiences upon which I am making my assumptions about Canadian fare, so you can see why I’m a little nervous. I realize that my fears are akin to thinking the only kinds of food America has to offer are apple pie and corn dogs. Brilliant. Could the Canadian equivalent to poutine be corn dogs? I think so.
And coffee. What about coffee? Shoot. It was so easy to stay snapped up on caffeine in Italy with double macchiatos everywhere I turned. When I search “Canadian coffee” on Google, what do I get? You guessed it – Tim Horton’s.
Looks like I am going to have to pack a pound of Pete’s, maybe two.
