A lifestyle blog documenting my move from the city to the country (and back to the city) as well as my daily inspirations, including food, fashion, travel and love. And celebrities.
I've written about the wonder known as the Orange Julep before here and am revisiting it now, in my mind's eye at the very least, as a way of escaping winter and researching similar wonders or roadside attractions in other areas (let's just say, randomly, between here and Florida). Tots randomly.
But back to the Julep. Every Wednesday between May'ish and October'ish it plays host to more than just hot dogs on hot rod night, famous for its classic cars even more than its classic cheeseburgers.
From classic Chevrolet El Caminos and vintage Ford Falcons to old-time pickup trucks and more, hot rod night is the perfect opportunity to enjoy a balmy Montreal evening chowing down on classic fast-food fare while listening to Twilight Time and taking a nostalgic walk, or drive, on the wild side.
The bonus is all that travelling through time really works up an appetite. And then, just like that... craving satisfied.
"Happy Days" indeed:
On a (once again, totally random) side note, I'm told there are a number of similar but uniquetourist-friendly stops or roadside attractions on the route (I-95 South) between Montreal and Florida. I'd love to hear about them!
The Sunshine (or Orange) State is callin'... Just sayin'.
Williamsburg, Brooklyn may well be recognized as the "influential hub of hipster culture" but the corner of St. Viateur and Casgrain, in Montreal's Mile End (Canada's hipster capital), is hot on its heels.
Hot on the heels of a falafel sandwich from The NEW Green Panther, I headed further east on St. Viateur Street than usual last week and discovered the most amazing NEW bohemian micro-neighborhood.
Of course, I fear an imminent hipster invasion. Like all hipster hoods, the area is in an old working class, industrial one known as the schmatta (garment/textile) neighborhood and used to be populated by Eastern European, Greek and Portuguese immigrants.
These days it's full students, artists, eccentrics and a few remaining Hassidic Jews.
While creeping gentrification is a concern, the micro-neighborhood still features a slew of traditional social clubs as well as an old Polish church. (Though it must be noted that said church does, in fact, play host to a hipster music festival.)
St. Michael's
It's a special blend of old and new.
Much like the hispter itself. Appropriated from the 1940's jazz scene and used by hepcats cooler than the cat's pyjamas, the term hipster was originally used to describe "a generation (...) suddenly rising and roaming America, serious, bumming and hitchhiking everywhere, ragged, beatific, beautiful in an ugly graceful new way--a vision gleamed from the way we had heard the word "beat" spoken on the street corners on Times Square and in the Village (...)--beat, meaning down and out but full of intense conviction," Jack Kerouac.
With the hipsters leaving Brooklyn for cheaper and more bohemian domiciles, how long will it be before my new favourite micro-neighborhood gets invaded and loses its delicate balance - and cool?
crooklyn brooklyn
But back to my falafel sandwich and whence it came.
Vegan and organic, The Green Panther is "a fresh, dynamic project whose main goal is to develop a more sustainable way of living in today's urban reality by supporting and creating local alternatives, though the use of organic produce (local when available), recycled materials and by raising awareness."
The sandwich I shared with the Original Mile End, or OME, hipster contained an addictive mix of falafels, cabbage, carrots, pickles, sauerkraut and tahini.
the OME hipster
We enjoyed it outside, in the sun, at the corner of old and new.
Though I had tried one of their tacos before, stylishly served out of their eye-catching, lime-green food truck, I really wanted to visit taco headquarters.
And boy am I glad that I did!
Situated in St-Henri (hipster heaven #2), the HQ is located in an old
garage that formerly housed the city’s cavalry. Very cool.
I didn't indulge in tiger meat (as far as I know) but I did devour a Banh Mi taco and a catfish taco.
Taco-licious!
The Banh Mi taco was so good that I wanted to recreate it at home. Amazingly, I found Grumman's very own recipe on the Food Network's website. I haven't made it yet (even though it only takes six hours... ha!) but I'll be sure to report back when I do.
I only have one question.
What, exactly, is a GRUMMAN??? In addition to tacos, I also love everything (and anything) tiki-related.
Tiki culture is defined as "a 20th-century theme used in Polynesian-style restaurants and clubs originally in the United States and then, to a lesser degree, around the world. Although inspired in part by Tiki carvings and mythology, the connection is loose and stylistic, being an American form and not a Polynesian fine art form."
You know who else thinks you'd have to be a "sick, twisted, lonely, f@&$#r with too many cats" not to love tiki?
That's right! My BFF Bourdain.
"Cowabonga! To Don Ho!"
Don Ho, in case you're interested, was a "a Hawaiian traditional pop musician, singer and entertainer," best known for the song Tiny Bubbles.
"tiny bubbles, in the wine, make me happy, make me feel fine"
To honour and celebrate tiki, and my birthday, a group of friends and I recently dined, and danced, at Montreal's best only tiki restaurant: Jardin Tiki (should be hipster heaven #3).
And not a moment too soon, it seems.
Apparently the legendary restaurant is slated for demolition to make way for a retirement home in the near future.
While not up to par to the gourmet garden of delights that is Grumman '78, Jardin Tiki did not disappoint (well... me, at least).
An all-you-can-eat Chinese buffet that features a variety of seafood (not to mention frog legs), a live band and more coconut-based drinks than you can shake a stick at is all I need to have the time of my life, it seems.
Similar to a two-star resort in the Caribbean, Jardin Tiki harkens back to a time when the term "foodie" did not exist and kale wasn't considered edible - never mind gourmet.
The wonton soup was the best I've had in ages and the buffet provided a good variety of shiny orange, red, and... beige.
Also, the bacon-wrapped mini hot dogs were to die for!
Intoxicated by rum, or perhaps MSG, I left Jardin Tiki with a strong urge to go back... in time.
Knock-knock jokes aside (please), the Orange Julep really is one of the most, shall we say, interesting landmarks the city of Montreal has to offer.
Shaped like, well, a giant orange, and visible as far as the eye can see, it is the purveyor of many an earthly delight, including the aptly named Orange Julep drink.
Fresh, frosty and refreshing, the "julep" tastes like a mix of milk, or ice cream, and orange juice.
Its exact ingredients, though, are unknown.
my very fresh, very strong, friend
When an equally fresh, though decidedly less frosty, friend asked our waitress (who, unfortunately, was not on roller skates as used to be the case during the Orange Julep's heyday) what - exactly - the julep was made of, she replied "it's a secret."
And she wasn't kidding.
Built by Hermas Gibeau in 1932 to serve his trademark drink, the Orange Julep's tasty elixir is a faithfully-guarded family recipe.
Aside from mysterious juleps, the Orange Julep also serves delicious hot dogs, burgers, french fries and poutine. Since Mondays to Fridays are now carb-free (for me), weekends are best enjoyed with a hefty side of cheeseburger.
three cheers for cheeseburgers!
Interesting side note: The beau has been staying with me for the past few months. When asked where he lives, he usually replies something like "five minutes from the Big Orange." This is interesting because the beau is a pilot, and the Big Orange once served as a landmark for a pilot whose radar system had failed. The reason for my recent visit to the Orange Julep, other than it being carbfest the weekend, was that it was on the way home from a nursery where I bought my first ever black flower, in honour of Kat Von D.
March 31st, or the day I finally saw Miley Cyrus perform live, came and went with nary a comment from your favourite (well, maybe not YOUR favourite) blogger.
But I'm back from the abyss and ready to blog about MY favourite hot dog riding songstress.
Me and my two "smileys" decided to make a 24-hour extravaganza out of the event. We booked a "shwanky" room at the Queen Elizabeth Hotel, packed a wholesome picnic that included a variety of libations and started the day off right... with a bottle of Moet & Chandon!
After a variety of activities, including a scratch-inducing dip in the hotel's hot tub and an upside-down twerking competition (also known as a twerk off), we were ready to hit the road. But not before we each found the perfect outfit to emulate, and honour, our idol.
Due to my slightly less than successful attempt to create a stunning, last-minute black and gold french manicure we arrived a few minutes late, well into Miley's first song.
Sacrilege.
And then it hit me like a ton of bricks - wrecking ball stylez.
Instead of being the coolest or best-dressed people there we were actually... the oldest.
As I ruminated on this eye-opening (and slightly depressing) turn of events I tried to imagine having to wear Miley's ultra high-cut outfits night after night.
pussy cat
Grandma much?
Speaking of grandmas... turns out we weren't the oldest people at the show after all. There was a 70 year-old woman there with her gentleman friend who was clearly having the time of her life.
As for the show, it was everything I expected. And more. The entire evening had a decidedly "turnt up" vibe that suited us just fine.
And then it ended, slightly less elegantly than it began, with a visit to McDonald's.
Moet, Miley and McDonald's. Who can ask for anything more, really?
Sometimes, I can't see the forest for the trees. I get so overwhelmed by the minutiae of everyday life that I forget how blessed I am just to be alive. After a particularly detoxifying (sweaty!) hot yoga class last night I went home and made an ever-so-slightly barf-inducing tofu and vegetable stir-fry.
Side note: Is it possible to be too healthy, like... to the detriment of your actual health?
When I was done, I felt like I could finally see the forest for what it is.
Life.
My life. When I was younger I used to look down at the ground while walking around (I thought I was looking for lost money but according to a quick internet search it turns out I was actually shy). Everything was dirty, dark and gross. Also, there were lots of cigarette butts. A slight adjustment in my posture, looking up - and around - instead of down, totally changed my perspective (if not my attitude). Life in Montreal has been a little like the filthy ground of my youth lately. Dirty, dark and gross.
Not to mention cold and rude.
And hectic. When I first moved back here in August everything looked shiny and bright - full of hope and promise. The trees, streets and buildings all held a little magic.
That magic has since been replaced by work, apartment living and... the minutiae of everyday life. In an effort to recapture a little of that magic, I thought I'd dig up (or download) some pictures I took of my hometown upon my return.
clearly, i didn't take this one
PS: On my way into work this morning I came across a handwritten sign that someone had made and taped to a pole. It said "Smile!" I wanted to take a picture of it but I also didn't want frostbite. The sign achieved its goal though... it made me smile. And guess what? I wouldn't have seen it if I had been looking down.
the killers
PPS. YOLO. "The battle cry of a generation." Too funny...
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