Regional Cuisine Report

One of the things I always try to engage in when traveling is the sampling of local cuisine. So here is a report on the local eats of the Atlantic Provinces:

I’ve already commented on Digby, Scallop Capital of the World, so I won’t repeat.

In Shediac, NB, Lobster Capital of the World, we had lobster rolls. 2.99 CAD for a small one, which seemed to be the same size as the large. No mayo. Just lobster. Yum.

Prince Edward Island of course is known for mussels, and they are fab there. Also, the Malpeque Oysters are pretty well known, but the ones found in New London, PE, called Raspberry Point are the best I’ve ever eaten, by a lot.

In Halifax and the rest of Nova Scotia, drink Keith’s beer, both the IPA and the red are quite nice. Schooner is also brewed in Halifax and is a nice light amber ale.

Poutine, a concoction found all over the region was obviously originally created by someone who was really stoned and had a wicked case of the munchies. The ultimate comfort food, it consists of French fries drenched in gravy and melted cheese, preferably cheddar. It is embarrassing how good it is.

As a general rule, don’t ever eat at a place recommended by the people who run the KOA campsite, especially if they give you coupons. But you already knew that.

Canadians ARE Different

When I went to University in Scotland, there were a number of students from the United States and Canada. “American” was a term that applied to each of them, and I found that Canadians were upset if we United States inhabitants referred to ourselves as being from “America” because we all were. In the nearly 20 years since that time, anti-US sentiment has grown so strong (with only a brief and incomplete respite during the Clinton years) that Canadians are all too glad now to be different, and not lumped with the other Americans. You are from Canada or you are from the US. If you are a liberal and a tourist and from the US, you are, in fact, somewhat inclined to pretend you are Canadian while abroad.

But Canadians ARE different. We all saw Bowling for Columbine, and noted Michael Moore’s distinctions between Canadians and people from the United States. They have more firearms and less violent crime. Their news really does heavily favour stories about potholes, or the crippling road construction headline that blared at us from the newspaper dispensing box in Antigonish, NS. But more than all that, they are nice. I’m sure there are some mean Canadians out there, but I haven’t met them yet. Waitresses caution you not to order the icky thing on the menu, and give what appears to an “American” to be extraordinary service, because we’re accustomed to the teenaged or 20-something waitresses (servers) who are more than surly, who act as though they are doing you an enormous favour by waiting on you, and who muster the most disdainful glare ever when you ask for more water. Sure they’re working for tips, but so are the US counterparts.

It isn’t just service professionals who are different though, and it isn’t just because I’m “tenting” as a single mother with two young rabbits who aren’t SO helpful when it comes to setting up a tent. People chat you up in the washroom, come over to the tent with a hammer to assist in getting tent stakes into the rocky bottom of a mountain. One woman walked down the street to offer direction or assistance east of Lunenberg when I stopped to take a picture. I eyed her suspiciously, had I been trespassing or doing something else untoward that she had secretly come to chastise me about? Nope, just being friendly.

They also know how to drive here. Since I come from a country with a horrific public transportation system, the bulk of whose economy is based on the almighty auto, it’s amazing that US-ers don’t know how to drive. Travel lane. Passing lane. Keep right unless you’re passing. ‘Nuff said.

Canadians recycle EVERYTHING. There isn’t any of that, oh it’s too much trouble, or it costs too much (as New York State just decided), we can only do plastic number 2 not PETE. They even encourage composting.

National health care.

On parle Français içi. That’s cool.

Last year, when I was making the same rant to my friends at work about how much I enjoy Canadians, one young man said snidely, “Why don’t you just move there then?” Well, were it not for a custody battle, employment, and the fact that I might not be nice enough myself to get in, I would. Let’s see how the next election goes.

Lobby Crashing

There was a time when I would crash weddings (long before the stupid movie came out) because it was fun to get dressed up, the food was usually pretty good, and it was a good occasion to hone my acting skills. Now, I have become a lobby crasher. Clean washrooms, wireless internet. Who wouldn’t pretend they were staying at the hotel to take advantage of these FABULOUS things?

If Only I Were Famous

We had lunch at some shi shi but quaint hotel in Lunenberg that had a pretty great sounding menu. We needed it, especially after the scallops in Digby, "the Scallop Capital of the World", turned out not to be nearly as good as the ones I get from the Bombster in Stonington. As we perused the menu, the server (waitress) told me that there were additionally things not on the menu that might appeal to the kids. Pasta, plain or with white or red sauce. "And," she said as she shuddered, "I hate to say this, but we really do have them; chicken tenders. I'm sorry."

"You've been reading my blog," I said.

Road Food

What is it about road trips that make you buy food you would NEVER eat at any other time? I found myself in an Irving gas station shop in Calais with Beef Jerky and Mike & Ikes on the counter in front of me, and I thought, could it possibly be me that is purchasing these things?

Stupid People Piss Me Off

Last night, we stayed in Bangor, Maine, a sad little town lacking identity, character, and decent restaurants. Our hotel, right downtown, was also a bit sad on the outside, but there was an art show in the lobby, and the room was clean if bare. The problem we had arose not from the hotel, or even the town, but from people who haven’t been trained to behave well, or even just to not behave poorly. Sadly, a group of twenty somethings decided to drink too much then stand in the square outside our window and yell from midnight till four a.m. when I finally woke the concierge to ask him to please make them stop. They were actually sort of apologetic when he did. Which begged the question, did they not notice that their voices were echoing around market square in the fog for four hours after bedtime? Is it possible that they actually thought it was a GOOD idea to yell drunkenly while others tried to sleep? I don’t mind drunk. I’ve been drunk myself before. But I do mind it when drunk is synonymous with asshole.

The Demise of America's Pasttime, As Such

I hate the term “scalpers” and in this politically correct society, it seems strange that it’s still an okay term to use. But more so, I hate the people themselves, not as people but as they represent greed. When I was walking down Yawkey Way from the Kenmore T stop on Sunday, a young Red Sox fan behind me asked his dad why the scalpers don’t save a ticket for themselves so they can watch the game. His father said that they were business men not baseball fans and that their priorities were a bit different.

Massachusetts has a law that states that you can’t resell a ticket for more than its face value. But the man we talked to about trading in our $23 bleacher seat tickets wanted $175 for something better, and would turn around and sell ours for $100, a tidy profit. Meanwhile, Boston’s Finest wove their way through the crowd, placidly ignoring the hawkers. I looked at these people, all men, with stacks of tickets in their hands, hundreds of tickets, and thought, this is why I can’t see a ball game with my kids. By the second day that Red Sox tickets are on sale, it is impossible to buy three seats together in any price range for any home game. I figured it would be tough the year after the Sox won the World Series, but it isn’t sports fans buying the tickets. It is these entrepreneurs. I can’t spend $375 for my kids and I to see a game, which is what the cheapest scalped tickets would cost my family. Isn’t this supposed to be America’s pastime? Baseball too has become something only the financially elite can afford to view in person. Even ancient Rome, a society that was based on eliteness allowed the masses to go into the coliseum and watch the accused being eaten by lions. Maybe we could send the scalpers there.