I know fish isn’t for everyone, but you can’t get away from the media brainwashing us with the health benefits of fish as though we’re some fatty-acid deficient zombies. The jingle ladened commercials of my youth never mentioned the Omega-3s that we have become such perverts for – they only preached consuming our strawberries if it came rolled up in plastic, listening to some red-headed clown and his posse pedal a nutritious family McMeal, then washing everything down with monosyllabic neon coloured drinks packed with wholesome goodness that ate holes into your teeth while you slept. I mean, eating healthy isn’t all about twigs and berries and stuff you’d line the bottom of a hamster cage… where was I going with this? Oh yeah, fish. You don’t like fish? Hack it.
When I’m not bitching about the concept of “brunch”, I’m having Dim Sum. Arguably the best way to spend your weekend mornings – in a crowded Chinese restaurant with old ladies yapping across two tables, steaming rungs of hot curious little bundles of various meats and vegetables wrapped in the pain of arthritic fingers that have seen at least half a pack of cigarettes before second hour of the Today Show… Not to mention the random tourist exercising the few random French words they picked up in their guide books thinking the best place to practice is in a Chinese restaurant saying “bonjour” and “si voo play” to the aunties pushing carts. AHHHH, Sunday! I have my go-to place for dim sum, and it’s hard to stray when you know a restaurant’s dim sum game is strong, however, recently there’s a new player in the Dim sum game and I went to check it out.
I dare you to order the pizza with pineapple, I DARE YOU – Pizzeria Napoletana
by Jason
written by Jason
What’s your pizza style? Thin crust, thick crust, deep-dish, stuffed crust… *shudder* Frozen? Before I go any further, if you aren’t able to tell the difference between a frozen pizza and delivery, then we can’t be friends. Straight up, the amount of anxiety and frustration that I have to deal with every time that stupid commercial comes on tv pisses me off. Pizza is one of the most perfect foods, unless you’re some jerk, pizza is always something everyone can agree on; you pick what you want on it, and someone BRINGS IT TO YOUR HOUSE! What more can you want? There are the purists out there who will chastise any pizza that isn’t a plain fresh tomato sauce with Bufala mozzarella, sprinkled with freshly chiffonaded basil. I knew this one guy who wouldn’t eat a pizza unless it was proscuitto with arugula and drizzled with olive oil – his reason was, that’s the only “true pizza” and that’s how it’s done in Italy. Yes, pizza like that is tasty and appreciated when made with the freshest ingredients, but I didn’t know how he was able to do it, I mean to be able to eat and enjoy a pizza with a stick so far up his ass, is beyond me.
So what’s your pasta style? Are you a straight up tomato sauce kind of person? Meat sauce? Alfredo? Salad? Or are you like me and like your pasta in a red sauce, but the next day in a sandwich with cold cuts? Strange right? But try it, and you can thank me later! I ask because recently I almost forgot what it was like to eat good pasta. Wait stop, I mean, GOOD pasta – the type of pasta where when you eat it, you’re convinced that the restaurant or chef has some sort of secret supply of pasta. You believe that it’s next to impossible to get pasta like that at home unless you flour up the kitchen, make a mess and make your own; and even then enough of it will stick to everything and your whole process won’t yield more than a biteful… Don’t ask me how I know.
You know that feeling when your nonna gives you a great big hug, then slobbers a smackeroonie on each cheek, her moustache pokes and tickles your face, then she tells you to go get something to eat in the kitchen? No? Not Italian? Neither am I, but I can imagine it. However, the closest thing I can get to this warm fuzzy feeling it is hitting up one of my favourite spots on the edge of Littally (Little Itally – get it? I’m so funny) called Tre Marie.
You know when you spend too much time with someone, that you start mimicking each other’s mannerisms and tendencies? Example: if you live in a country where locals have an accent long enough, you’ll come back home sounding like an idiot? Like how Madonna spent a summer in England and started speaking with a British accent that led to her and the Queen having synchronized menzies? That being said, I found myself in the east end the other day, HONGRY, and decided to pay a visit to a joint I haven’t been to in a while – one of the very few places would I ever pronounce the silent “g” in sandwich.
Ah spring break. My fondest memories of spring break consist of locations that usually included a beach, a lot of fighting between my sisters and I, hitting, scratching, yelling, crying, spitting and threats from our father of it being our last family vacation ever. I pity those who now celebrate “spring break” which their learning institutions are calling “study break” by which they are loaded up with projects and assignments and promises of exams upon their return. As a graduate myself, I feel the responsibility to help those who are reading these words I’m writing – in distraction to the monotonous studying or trying to memorize equations that look like your fist had angry sex with your keyboard.
French fries and French toast, my mussels spoke French too – Restaurant Leméac
by Jason
written by Jason
I’m not even going to pretend that I’m not glad the snow is melting and the weather is getting nicer, but what I’m not excited about is the unthawing of the mounds and piles of dog shit my neighbour leaves on our front lawn. Born and raised in Montreal, you’d think that either I’ve gotten used to this or at least tolerate it. I do tolerate the snow, just not the regression of humanity when it starts snowing during rush hour and idiot drivers kiss each others ass and crawl through red lights in solidarity with the car in front of them. I took the opportunity on a rare sunny and warm March day to go out and breath in the ranky air and take advantage of the sun.
If you notice at the top of the page, I’ve added a “Press” section to the blog; have a look at what people are saying about Shut Up and Eat and its awesomeosity.
I had the opportunity to visit Soupson – a depanneur that’s not your regular porno mag, cigarettes and 3 year past the expiration-date cup noodle kind of Dep. This part-time luncheonette is doing something completely out of the ordinary. Soupson prepares wholesome and healthy lunches, salads and sandwiches of meats roasted in-store and flavour of the day soups… all the while selling really interesting products, local and imported as well as carefully selected fresh produce. Wait… Did I just say SANDWICHES?! Let it be known, I’m a big ho for sandwiches. With vocabulary that include words like BREAST,BUN, and SPREAD, how is it possible to not have a dirty mind when you think of one of the most practical lunch options… and when it’s done properly, who can blame me, I mean you, I mean “one”, for getting a little turned on about a sandwich?
Happy new year! All the best to all my readers, haters and stalkers, lovers and other strangers. Now that the holiday season is winding down to an end and people are slowly rolling themselves to the gym, back to classes and cold office chairs that smell like the leftover coffee left in your mug from 2 weeks ago, it’s about time we got back on track. What track you ask? The delicious restaurant track where I’m going to show you some amazing spots to eat this year. We’re making big moves here at Shut Up and Eat and I”m excited to share all the up and coming news with you… when the time is right! I’ll give you a clue, it involves some major awesome with some kick-assness thrown in for good luck. So if you’re up to it, join me for the ride, cos it’s going to be a good one. So that being said, I’m going to start the new year with two of my favourite things, noodles… noodles and hot chicks, and wouldn’t you know it, I went to this noodle joint with one of the hottest!
Let it be known, I don’t like soup. Why? I don’t know. I think it comes from when I was a kid and being forced fed soup… murky herbal and medicinal soups that smelled like a mix of the inside of a cedar chest and a damp math textbook. The concept of soup never made sense to me; why fill up on liquids when that’s just going to take up space and restrict the intake of actual food and deliciousness? As I grew up I reconciled with soup and have slowly let it back into my life in the forms of noodle soups and salsa. Letting the weather stipulate what I ultimately end up eating, I think it’s safe to say that Pho, is a winter-time meal – don’t get me wrong, by all means, eat it in the summer, because what you really want in 40 degrees with humidity is a bowl a steamy hot soup. A friend and I hit up this spot we both like to go to when cold is in the air and boots on our feet: Pho Tay Ho.