I’m not a big fan of DIY anything let alone when it has anything to do with food. Having to put together my girl’s Ikea closet unit last week, I went through six different tools, an extension cord, two t-shirts and googling the instruction booklet (having ripped it when it got trapped under the stupid thing and when I brilliantly tried to pull it out.) The shit said that two people would be able to assemble this two-metre tall unit, but they failed to mention only if your names and Bjorn and Sven and are 7-feet tall and can bench a deer. So imagine my dismay when I was expected to cook/assemble my own food… especially when I was a paying customer at a restaurant.
Tag:
chicken
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.
If you can’t identify your uncle in this place, than that “uncle” is really your DAD! – Chez Doval
by Jason
written by Jason
If you grew up in Montreal – or Canada for that matter, did you ever have that uncle who had a dry-bar in the basement? You know what I’m talking about, that bar in the corner of the basement, tiled with black tinted frosted mirrored glass, lined with decorative Niagara Falls collector plates and on the shelves were the graveyard where commemorative 1970s’ Presidential spoons went to die? It was facing a floor mounted television with the wickedest set of rabbit ears, buttressed by the most badass four feet speakers with a turntable behind a glass cabinet? This my friends, is the forefather of the revolution in home renovation and committed men sanctuaries; what society regards as the grand-daddy of what we would now call a “man-cave.” The sentiment of the gatherings of testosterone are found as glyphs of a prehistoric man-cave images, etched on the walls of caves… or covered up gyp-rock. If you any idea what I’m talking about, I have news for you… that basement opened a restaurant.