The neighborhood classics are legendary; it would be a total travesty if I didn't try to visit at least most of them. Initially, there was Schwartz's on St. Laurent. Their smoked meat sandwiches dissipate instantaneously upon consumption. Delicate, woody, flavorful, inexpensive, it is difficult to imagine how vegetarians live, and how I had regularly skipped portions.
Of course, the mustard was a necessity, as it cuts the richness of the pork. The fries were just greasy enough to eat through the brown paper bag. This place made me want to become a regular; I would talk with an Bostonian-meets-Montreal accents and scoff at the occasional tourist. Tres chic.
It is an absolute requirement for these classics to be housed under tight quarters; at least, that was the case when I went on my bagel search.
In America, there is the rift between Chicago deep-dish and New York thin-crust; in Montreal, there is the rift between Fairmont and St. Viateur's. Both bagel locations hold the distinct smell of freshly baked bread; yeast permeates and the hot tongue of the ovens are enough to offer boosts of adrenaline. Both are also adventures, little maisons housed off the beaten path.
Fairmont was quite a walk from the nearest metro station, but it was enjoyable enough with friends. The best aspect of going on an adventure was comprehension of the power of the 24/7. These dynamic duos are open all day, everyday, an incentive for the best and the brilliant.
Additionally, both locations are in suburbia. I reminisced partially about my then lack of silence and willow trees but snapped back to reality, as city life is supposed to be most exciting for any eighteen-year-old.
It was evident to me that the Fairmont headquarters was the most crammed with deliveries and shipments, although presentation is really not expected at this joints anyways. The quality of the bagel is, however.
I admired the industrial-sized ovens and the pristine garments the workers so adamantly donned; I even admired the schtick the woman had towards us, the customer tourists. The bagels, I did not remember so much. Dare I say that the quality could be comparable to a freshly-baked Einstein's? Is the mafia behind my back?
Yet overall, an excellent night's journey.
The St. Viateur's Journey was longer and full of solitude, meaning I was a loner. It seems that the weekend excursion to Quebec City was far too attractive to turn down for most, but not for me. Therefore, I concisely devoted that entire Saturday to morning laundry and afternoon bagel.
It was also the day that I decided to wear my high-waisted denim shorts and dark purple lipstick; a decision that changed my life.
I had already adjusted to Montreal's walking patterns as my school is a decent twenty minute walk each way. Thus, a 30-minute walk toward and backward was not so unappealing. But as I did not consult the advice of a knowledgeable friend and almost Montreal local about my plans, I most certainly deserved the embarrassment I felt.
St. Viateur's is centered around the Orthodox Jewish community. It was the first time I had ever seen a shtreimel, which I believe is worn only religious holidays and Sabbath and black satin robes. Everyone, including the children, wore garments of black and white, and every time a mother and child passed me on the sidewalk, I wanted to run and hide in an alcove and apologize profusely for my lack of dress.
It is not impossible to consider their familiarity with tourists, as I am sure they have seen many a lost individual on their sidewalks. Yet I felt still exponentially awkward about the entire scenario; I am not usually such a freak, I promise.
(via montreal)
Indeed, however, the sesame bagels were totally worth the two-hour journey. That, and the impressively attractive bagel boy. It is universally acknowledged that the art in making a godly bagel lies not only in its ingredients, but also the manpower required to lift the rows of the freshly baked goods from the oven onto awaiting holding baskets. And my, what manpower that requires; what brawn that exists in bagel boy's perfectly toasted upper arms.
I promise I'll focus on the more nutritional aspects of food in my next post.
