I’d love to say that I am being productive while out here, but I’m not. I planned to write. Instead, I study. Compile.
Tonight is my last night. Then the bender continues in T-Dot. Here here.
Everyone I’ve been spending time with has been on a food bender. It’s been lovely, indulgent, fattening. Delicious wine. Or, délicieux rather. Everyone is singlish and eating, happy. Small-knit group of fashionable hip modern people, everyone is good crazy, loud and expressive and very very nice.
Spending time almost exclusively in pretty, charming, and grand old Montreal has much added to the escapist fairytale dream too, and with the addition of Christmas ornaments, lush garlands of white lights everywhere you look beautiful glowing gold in the face it makes you feel lonely in the most loveliest way.
Tres adorablah that they thought this teeny glass of white would suffice yes I’ll have another. Vodka sodas too. Kerouac express choo choo. Being a gypsy lately is working for me, works. Being freelance brings freedom. But it can be a jail as well.
Trout. I completely spaced on the short ribs option, oh well. Have certainly eaten plenty red meat since. Start out light and maintain that for as long as you can. I had beef jerky too while waiting in the Via lounge, and spiked iced tea.
There’s been a burrata shortage in the couple phenomenal restaurants we’ve dined at. People do three things here and they are wine, cheese, meat. Rinse and repeat. So I know and fully understand why the cheese always runs out. I am starting a mega-diet the second I hit Toronto.
A gin drink. I drank like every single booze in the universe this night. People love their brown liquor out here and get mega-buzz-killed when I request vodka so every so often I just run with the herd. They aren’t try-hards out here like in Toronto #Sorry. The more you dress/look/act like a slob the cooler you are I forgot about that. They tried to warn me it was only t-shirts and jeans for the most part though I do spy some fancy girls but yeah it’s like slobs all the way with designer labels. Fashion rules. Sigh. I haven’t worn a fraction of the shit I packed. I suck. This drink/photo inspired the rhyme of the day. I don’t remember what this drink was called because I drank like a skank since I’ve been here. There.
Conveyor belt thing beneath that bar-tabletop. SICK.
And beautiful places only it’s been a total treat.
Calamari friti. The next night we had octopus salad that blew me away.
Start out at the nice places then it degenerates from there but this place is an institution and rules. It’s time to eat again always here. Night poutine.
Another Montreal-must. That box behind it is filled with more food. We finally stayed in and did nothing last night big time couch hang henceforth the multi-boxes of St. Hubert. I went downstairs to grab snacks before all this oh god plus a bottle of offensive red wine compared to all the nice stuff I’ve been having. I had a cider to start’er off combined with a twix bar and experienced a dopamine rush I was trying to figure out what did that to me the cider or the chocolate or a combo of the two a fat person speedball.
I x-nayed fries for myself. Had some sugar pie though. Pie made from sugar. I found myself short of breath walking up the million flights of stairs while eating sour cream and bacon ruffles and was like oh man Lauren you better enjoy this cos it’s gonna stop very soon. I am and it will.
I wonder where we will eat tonight.
I love this bar. I’ll get back to you on the name of it though.
I skipped a manicure so I could sit around some more and write this jam for you. Then shower. Going through some pics of when I first arrived or being on train has inspired me to get clean again. One last dance Montreal.
Being on the top floor with this nice old building view in this BIG (Tom Hanks)-style abode has been fun.
For you guys the world. PEEEACE. UPdate: now cracking open some Veuve.