June 20, 2010 Montreal: Je suis arrivee!
There is no point ordering a salad at Moishe’s, so I start with the chopped liver, the speciality of the house. Well, that was after the kosher dill pickle and slaw that came with the dark rye bread. The room is jammed, like every other restaurant in the city, and at 10 we are one of the smaller tables. Duddy Kravit ate here regularly, and the smoke from Renee Levesque’s cigarettes still stains the ceiling. The steaks are perfect, and towards the end we get mixed up with several tables of Italianos celebrating Nono’s 95th, and there is some muscatelle from somewhere, and richly layered cake donated by someone, and Armagnac. The cowards head home and we stumble down pulsating St. Laurent – and it is very good that it is down – to Jello Bar. You can buy a bottle of Grey Goose and a bucket of ice, and there is a cool five piece combo playing hip hop jazz, and the place is full, too. When I wake up in the morning both beds have been slept in, which causes a moment of panic until I hazily remember pushing the suitcase off the bed during one of my frequent thirsty awakenings, and wondering who put it there.
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