I like how when people say that they can eat spicy and how everyone’s spice tolerance lever varies to the pipsqueak tongue tickle that people overreact to and are clambering for a glass of milk, to the fire breathers that use Sriracha as eyedrops while doing splits between two Volvo semi-trucks after snorting a line of wasabi. I like to believe that I can handle my spice; I mean I’ll bitch and complain and make a scene about it, but I can take the level of heat that’s just short of sweating oil and seeing sounds.
Category:
NDG / Westmount
Do you ever cravings? If you follow me on Twitter, you’ll know that I often crave sweets; actually, desserts in general. More often than not, I’ll bitch and complain about wanting cake or ice cream to the point of being belligerent. When a child gets cranky there are two options, give them what they want or deal with the fallout. Sometimes it’s not possible to get dessert when you want it, but I found a place that serves up sweet treats to order; I hit up this tiny spot in NDG for churros.
When I ask people for recommendations or ask their opinion of what was the best “…” they’ve had, more often than none, the most common answer (no matter what it is I’m asking about) is, “My mom makes the best”. Ok, listen, unless you’re going to get your mom to make me that magical whatever-it-is with the pork that’s fed with wheat picked by foot by nuns with no arms, or with chives grown on the hills of the village where your grandfather grew up, harvested at the special time of day when the unicorns go out to pasture – I don’t want to hear about it; plus… your mom is tired of me calling her.
I’ve come to a point where the ethos of this blog has cause the ultimate internal conflict, do I share? I must. This Spot on Sommerled in Montreal-west has been my go-to place for whenever I’m jonesing for cakes made on a pan… It is with great resentfulness that I divulge my pancake pusher… my flapjack fixer, the masters of batter pimping-griddle kings… I give unto you, Restaurant B&M.