montreal journal - day 3

Another late morning, another great breakfast. P desperately wanted to relive the modernism of the old world's fair site, so we took the metro to Parc Jean Drapeau on the Ile Ste. Hélène. As we rode out, we watched as person after person departed at previous stations until, by the time we arrived, there were only a few souls left. Walking in Parc Jean Drapeau was like stepping into a ghost town of the former world's fair. The park was nearly deserted and every building looked as if it had been unoccupied since '67. Granted, this island is still home to a modern-day Six Flags and tourist season had only ended a month prior, but we were completely on our own.

We took in the sites that remain of the fair: a giant Calder sculpture that frames a view across the St. Lawerence River of old town Montréal and Bucky's geodesic dome, which is now home to an environmental museum. Seemingly alone, we wandered through the park and happened on (it wasn't difficult to miss) a fenced field where every schoolchild from the greater Montreal area was being held prisoner - er, playing. Playing and screaming. Mostly screaming. In French.

We made our way back to the city and to a former iron foundry that now houses galleries and a lunchtime hot spot called Cluny Artbar. A very raw industrial space with a comfortably bustling vibe, pictures of their pug mascot grace the walls and all of their tables are made from reclaimed bowling lanes. We ate a simple panini with Italian meats and fresh mozzarella and a heaping plate of roasted vegetable antipasti. The real standout, though, was a cream of chicken soup with chipotle chilies. It was like 1950s comfort food but with a smoky, spicy bite and incredibly fresh flavor.

Afterwards, we cut across the financial downtown to do a quick tour of Old Town. It was very pretty, but more in a living-working-city way than the picture-book charm of some European cities. We found Notre Dame cathedral, which was a very New World, if a little overdone, homage to Ste. Chapelle in Paris. Unfortunately, we missed the laser light show. We went down to the waterfront and sauntered (jauntily) through a decidedly shuttered-up Old Port. From what we can tell, Montreal has two seasons (according to the tourist bureau) - Summer and Winter. In Summer, you can rent paddle boats on the canals and enjoy "crème glace" while walking down quaint Euro-inspired streets. In Winter, you can ice skate on those same canals and, one can only presume, buy warm cider and spiced nuts on those same quaint lanes. In Fall, you can look upon the boarded up windows of summer tourist shacks and read the advertisements for the winter amusements yet to come. This was probably for the best because both Summer and Winter attractions seem to consist of a lot of overpriced bottles of maple syrup and plush mounties. Still, a quiet walk among abandoned canals and vacant historic streets was pretty nice.

Walking back through Chinatown, we stopped at Camellia Sinensis in the college-y Latin Quarter. Just like our with coffee experiences, coming from Portland we were spoiled in our expectations. To their credit, they did have a nice tea menu (we had a mellow wulong and a very fine 1995 Pu-erh), but Asian-tradition tea parlors tend to make us tense. Too quiet. Too many good vibes. Too many bodhi seed bracelets. Maybe we really are just high tea sort of people - the Brits got it right with the scones and sandwiches and cream and crumpets. Asian tea is just too austere. With that in mind, we decided to go about as far on the opposite side of the spectrum from austere as we could.

Au Pied de Cochon. This restaurant was the reason we first became interested in Montreal. Years ago, P had seen an episode of an Anthony Bourdain food show set in Quebec and Martin Picard's Montreal restaurant. The moment that stood out in P's memory? Chef Picard telling his staff to "kill" Bourdain by serving him every dish on the menu. Now remember, we said we felt too austere - Picard's dishes are Quebecois comfort food (not light too begin with) of the most decadent variety. And so platters of foie gras-stuffed pig's feet, boudin noir, entire guinea hens, duck pot au feu, and maple candied pig's heads came right off the line and onto Bourdain's plate. P was transfixed.

If we lived here, we both agreed we would have to designate a "PDC" budget. This is the sort of place you could eat at every night of the week (if your arteries could withstand the onslaught). The space was a warm and inviting room with a long bar, lots of rustic wood finishes, a huge brick oven, and a cold display case packed with lobes of foie gras. Others have aptly described the interior as resembling a sugar shack cabin - just one that is overflowing with crowds of people who all seemed to know one another. The staff were all incredibly attentive and accommodating, but the menu itself is what is truly sublime.

We began our meal with two well-advised cromesquises du foie gras - easily the stand-out of the evening. With the appearance of small croûtons, they were actually cubes of breaded, deep-fried, liquefied foie gras. Toss one in your mouth, close your lips and it is the damn most rarefied popper experience of your life. We followed it up with a salad of local blue cheese, walnuts, apples and endive, imagining it to be a bright counterpoint to the meat-heavy rest of our meal. Not here. The mountainous salad was the size of A's head and was really just a pile of some amazing cheese and nuts doused in rich dressing. More salads should take a cue from Au Pied. When our mains came, we were already stuffed, but we are professionals, so we didn't let it phase us. P had the potee du PDC, a cast iron pot filled blood sausage, French-style saucisson, pork, mushrooms, onions, and cheese-curd laced mashed potatoes. You know, for balance. The deep sweetness of the boudin and the rich pork fat were cut by a bright vinegary note in the broth that laced the pork roasts. And the fact that you could get a bite of garlicky, cheese-y potatoes with each forkful made it all the better.

A went the dainty route and ordered a pizza. Pizza with a full slab of foie gras on each slice. Saying no to the exclusivity of certain ingredients, Picard easily has over a dozen preparations involving foie gras, and the helping is always generous. Picard has rejected the pretenses of so many new restaurants and opened a place where people can just revel in the full sensuality of simple food. But to fully understand this, you need to think about "simple" the way this man does. When you get over the cost, foie gras is about as simple as you can get - it just tastes good, all on its own. "So", Picard thinks, "why not capitalize on that and use it as liberally as you would butter?" And that is exactly what he does. The foie stands in for the more traditional anchovy on Italian-style pies, and all of the other ingredients are orchestrated around it to play off of its richness. Figs provide the honeyed sweetness, arugula offers a bitter edge, goat cheese adds a nice tang and paper thin prosciutto serves as a basil chiffonade garnish.

Not wanting to miss out on a single aspect of Au Pied, we didn't shy away from dessert, even though our digestive tracts were ready to resign. We chose the tarte d'érable (pour deux!), whose humble appearance belied its decadence. Its flavor and consistency struck all of the notes of a classic pecan pie filling (sans the nuts) - buttery and custardy, but heightened by that unique maple sweetness. Paired with a glass of barely-frozen ice cream, it really was luxurious. A is quite the crust aficionado and she could have sworn theirs had a generous helping of leaf lard, but we looked into our PDC cookbook later (yeah, we bought a souvenir from dinner) and found only butter. That is some masterful crust. We paired the dessert with a 1994 French ice wine (their one and only dessert wine) because that's just the way we roll. We aren't sure what more we can say about Au Pied de Cochon than that we had superlatively high expectations going in and they were completely warranted in every respect.