Homeward bound

I sleep pretty well and rise at 9:30. Breathing still isn't perfect. Better than yesterday, mind. I force myself to write as I didn’t yesterday.

The kids turn up at about 11:45. Checkout is noon here. Which is handy. It still leaves us with some time to kill before heading to the airport. Our flight is at 18:50. Alexei suggest Allô mon Coco, a sort of push diner we breakfasted in when we were first in Montreal.

 

We leave our roller bags at the hotel and set off. It’s only a few blocks. And all on the flat. The kids are soon miles in front of me. With me huffing and puffing along slowly behind.

The place is busier than on our last visit. With a couple of large parties. We get our arses parked and after a while a waiter drifts by to take our order. 

“Espresso martini, please.” I request.

“Aren’t you going to eat anything?” Alexei asks.

“No.” I’m not feeling great. And have no appetite.

Alexei orders a massive breakfast. And a chocolate milkshake. He has a very healthy appetite.

“Do you have beer?” Andrew asks the waiter.

“No.”

“I’ll have an Irish coffee, then. And a chocolate milkshake.”

Rather odd combination there.

“At least you’ll get some calories in you.” I remark.

“Unlike you, Dad.”

“There are calories in an espresso martini. At least, if they’ve put booze in it.”

“Alcohol calories, your favourite type.” Alexei quips.

Alexei takes his time over his breakfast. And we have another round of drinks. Not the chocolate milkshakes, obviously. That would be madness.

We leave at about 14:30, returning to the hotel for our bags. And order an Uber.

The first part of the journey goes pretty well. It doesn’t take long until the airport is in sight. And that’s exactly when the traffic crawls to a stop. The last kilometre takes us a good 20 minutes.

Checking in and security are about as pleasant as these things can be. And don’t take too long. We ditch the last of our Canadian dollars in the duty free, getting a couple of bottles of whisky. Canadian, of course.

Rather nicely, the lounge lets me bring in two guests. That’s a first.

“No need to get our money’s worth today, seeing as we didn’t have to pay.” I say cheerfully.

“Always the same jokes, eh, Dad?” Andrew replies cynically.

“At least I’m consistent.”

“Consistently telling the same bad jokes.”

“That’s what Dads are for.”

Neither me nor Andrew are very hungry. Despite the food looking pretty good. Alexei, however. is eating for all three of us. I get myself a whisky.

“I see that you haven’t lost your appetite for whisky.” Alexei quips.

“It’s purely medicinal.”

“You keep saying that.”

“Because it’s true.”

“Right. Like your ‘reasons’.”

I do have a bit of food. Quiche, a wrap. And a few more whiskies. I need to get plenty of medicine down before the flight.

“Really, Dad?” Alexei says.

“Did I say that out loud?”

“Yes, you really did say that out loud. You really are going senile.”

We get to the gate just about as boarding is starting. Though there isn’t an air bridge. Just one of those weird bus things that can lift up to the height of the cabin doors.

The seat next to me is free. Which is great, leaving me more room to stretch out.

I sleep for most of the flight. Waking up with just about enough time to watch The Other Woman. Which is an OK aeroplane film. If you know what I mean. Not too demanding.

Alexei has to part from me and Andrew when we approach passport control. As he doesn’t have a Dutch passport yet. He’s using his ID card to enter and can’t use the electronic gates.

We’ve already retrieved our bags by the time Alexei appears. In minutes we’re bombing onto the motorway in a taxi.

Dolores is waiting for us at home. With tea, of course. There’s always tea.
 

Allô mon Coco
70 Rue Sainte-Catherine E,
Montréal, QC H2X 0C7.
https://allomoncoco.com/locations/allo-mon-coco-ste-catherine-e/

 

Montreal return

I wake at 5:30 barely able to breathe. Fuck. Just as well I got some more cold medicine yesterday.

The kids turn up at 10:30.

"What's wrong, Dad?" Andrew asks.

“Having trouble breathing.”

“Don't expect me to carry all your bags.”

That's so sympathetic of Andrew. Luckily, I have a roller bag. No carrying required. Just as fucking well.

We check out and get an Uber surprisingly quickly. Not directly to the station, but to La Barberie, a brewpub close by. We have to wait 15 minutes or so for then to open.

It's much more rough and ready than the other brewpubs we've been to. We all get an IPA. Which is pretty sludgy. I can't manage all of mine and the kids finish it for me. How humiliating is that?

It’s just a short walk to the station. But it still gets me out of breath.

The kids are soon metres ahead of me.

“Hurry up, Dad.” Andrew says.

I want to shout “Fuck off!” to him. But don’t have the breath. I just flick some Vs at him instead. Not that he notices.

It’s a lovely old station. Quite small, but with lots of turrets. The diminutive business class lounge is in a modern extension. It’s so tiny, it doesn’t even have its own bogs.

We hang around in the lounge for a while. I drink coffee, which livens me up a bit. Though not a lot.

We're in the same seats as usual. Soon after the train pulls out of the station, the drinks trolley comes around, I get a gin and tonic, the kids Steam Whistle Pilsner. Which seems appropriate for a train.

“I see you haven’t lost your appetite for alcohol.” Alexei remarks.

“It’s purely medicinal.”

“Right.”

I quite like these Via Rail trains. Nice and comfy. And the service in business class is pretty good. With pretty decent wifi. They do have a habit of running late, though.

I have my flipflop fired up and watch some YouTube. With the sound off and subtitles on. Because I’m not a twat. And there have been announcements saying it’s not allowed to have the sound on without headphones.

I don't eat much of my meal. Which is cheese and crackers. Dead good cheese. That’s how little appetite I have. Alexei eats most of mine. I do manage to force down two glasses of red wine.

“I suppose that’s medicinal, too.” Alexei remarks.

“Exactly.”

“I was taking the piss.”

“I know.”

It starts raining about an hour before we get to Montreal. Really pissing it down. Lovely. Thankfully, it’s covered where we’re picked up by our Uber.

We laze around a bit in my room. The kids fetch some food from Tim Horton's. I get a sandwich which I actually manage to eat. Hooray for me! I still feel shit, mind.

We drink some beer and whisky, then crash out. It's been a very frustrating day. I hope I can breathe better tomorrow.

 
La Barberie
310 Rue Saint-Roch, 
Québec, QC G1K 2S7.
http://www.labarberie.com/
 

Montreal again

I rise at 8:30. With a dry nose. That's an improvement. I'm feeling much better. What a relief.

Alexei turns up at 10. As was arranged yesterday.

"Andrew says we can go for breakfast without him." He tells me. And so we do.

Allô mon Coco isn't far. Just around the corner, really. It bills itself as a breakfast restaurant. Really, it's like a posh diner. A licensed one.

Alexei gets himself a mimosa. While I have an espresso martini. I do quite like one of those to wake me up in the morning.

We both get the gourmand breakfast. Which is pretty big and includes two pancakes. Which I don't want. 

“Do you want my pancakes, Lexxie?”

“I suppose so. I’ll see if I’m hungry when I’ve finished my breakfast.”

I'm so generous, letting Alexei have food I don’t like. Father of the year behaviour.

The potato element to the breakfast comes either mashed or cubed. Both me and Alexei go for the latter.

“What type of cheese do you want? Swiss or cheddar?”

They turn out to be fried potato cubes, topped with grated cheese. That’s a new one for me at breakfast.

“We’ve had lots of different types of potato on our breakfasts.” I remark. “Proper hash browns, breakfast potatoes.”

“Poutine.” Alexei chips in. “You made me eat most of it.”

“There was a fuck of a lot of it.”

“It was good.”

“What else? The other type of hash brown and chips. Is that the lot?”

“I think so, Dad.”

It’s a very large breakfast. And Alexei has a chocolate milkshake with his. Along with my pancakes.

“Don’t you think that’s a bit too much for a breakfast. Or any meal, really” I ask.

“It is the continent of over-consumption.” Alexei replies.

“You keep saying that.”

“Because it’s true.”

“Usually when you’re overindulging in something.”

“Fitting in with the local culture.”

“That’s a feeble excuse.”

“Like all of yours.”

“I have reasons, not excuses.”

“Right.”

Our breakfasts come to $91. Which isn't too bad considering we both had a cocktail.

Alexei goes back to his room. About 90 minutes later he and Andrew appear at my door. I have time to look through my recommendations for Montreal and decide on Pit Caribou. Which looks like a nice place. 

It’s a little closer than Dieu du Ciel, in the same direction. We get there a little before 15:00. There are people outside on the terrace, but it's deserted inside. Where we sit.

It’s rather beerhall-like. Less posh and ordered than many of the places we’ve been. There are long, high table, surrounded by stools. Also bench seating and normal-height tables. The small, round tables are decorated with beer-related images: a hop cone, mashing paddles, barley stalks.

I get the Double IPA, while the kids opt for some Lager or other. As they often do. It’s yet another sludge IPA. Which is starting to be a bit irritating.

“What a surprise: you’ve gone for the strongest beer again.” Andrew snipes.

“Fuck off.” Is my witty reply.

“As eloquent as ever, eh, Dad?”

After a couple of beers, we get some bits of food. They don't really do full meals here, just snacks. Which is OK by us. Me and Alexei both get toasties. Something to soak the beer up.

Andrew tries several different beers, as he does. While I stick with IPA, despite its sludgy nature. It's full of alcoholly goodness. Which is the taste I go for.

We spend a few happy hours, pints joyously slipping down our throats. What fun. Then Uber it back to our hotel. Where I reacquaint myself with Canadian Club. And crash out around midnight.
 

Allô mon Coco
70 Rue Sainte-Catherine E,
Montréal, QC H2X 0C7.
https://allomoncoco.com/locations/allo-mon-coco-ste-catherine-e/


Microbrasserie Pit Caribou
951 Rue Rachel E,
Montréal, QC H2J 2J4. 

Dieu du Ciel

I'm feeling crap. And rise at 8. Gulping down some of my cold medicine.

We're supposed to be going to Tim Horton's for breakfast. But I really don't feel up for it.
The kids drop by my room at around 10. Then head off to Tim Horton's. I feel really shit.

"Get me a roast beef sandwich. Or a breakfast sandwich." I ask them.

“OK.”

The kids are gone for a while. Hopefully the cold medicine will kick in soon. My nose is running like a tap. Most annoying.

The kids return a little before 11. With a breakfast muffin for me. And a pile of stuff for Alexei. Nothing for Andrew. Who has to throw up. Then crawls into one of the beds and falls asleep. He’s not much of a morning person.

The sandwich livens me up a bit. Which is good. Alexei and I watch some TV while Andrew sleeps. This is going to be an exciting day.

Around 13:00 me and Alexei go the convenience store, as we've run out of soft drinks. And beer. We pick up a few other things, too. Like a bottle of pinot noir. I also get a roast beef sandwich from Dagwood, the sandwicherie in the shop. I manage to conduct the whole transaction in French.

Andrew isn't looking much livelier when we return. He's still crashed out in bed.

"What's the plan for today?" I ask Alexei.

“We could go to a brewery.”

“Sounds good to me.” I reply.

“It’s not hard to persuade Dad to go to a brewery.” Andrew declares.

“Nor you.” I retort.

I have a look at the places that have been suggested to me. The name Dieu du Ciel cropped up a couple of times. It's not too far away. That'll do.

We set off about 14:30. We should catch it at a quiet time. The neighbourhood it's in seems pretty lively. Lots of shops, restaurants and bars.

Dieu du Ciel has quite a pubby feel. Reinforced by the presence of two handpulls. And a Cask Marque sign by the entrance. Which is a good sign, if you’ll excuse the pun It's deserted inside and we have our choice of seats.

“Ooh, look!. They've got a cask Mild.”

"You get excited so easily, Dad." Andrew retorts.

“I know. It's wonderful, isn't it?”

“No, not really.”

“You really know how to make me feel good about myself, Andrew.”

“Thanks.”

“I didn’t mean that in a positive way.”

“I know, Dad. I understand irony. Unlike you.” Andrew says. “And don’t tell me to fuck off, like you usually do.”

“Go frig yourself.”

“Very original. You twat.”

“Who’s resorting to profanities now?”

“Just shut up, Dad.”

“I was waiting for that. One - nil for Dad.”

“This isn’t a football match.”

“No, it’s a much more important competition.”

“Fuck off, Dad.”

“That’s two – nil.”

I get a pint of Mild, obviously. It's really rather nice. The kids go for something Lagery. There's a really good variety of beers on offer. Two cask beers (the other is an Ordinary Bitter), two Stouts, Bavarian Helles and Amber, a Hefeweizen and, of course, a couple of IPAs, including a non-sludge one.

We order some food: poutine and fried chicken. The poutine is excellent. The best we've had so far.

I have a London Stout next. It's on nitro but is packed with roast flavours. At 5.6% ABV, it’s like an interwar London Stout. Andrew seems to be working his way through the full beer range. As he does. You can’t accuse him of being unadventurous when it comes to beer.

A middle-aged bloke comes over and comments of Alexei's shirt. He's wearing A Montreal Canadiens jersey that I bought for him the first time I was in Canada, more than a decade ago. The bloke is very surprised that someone from Amsterdam should have the shirt.

After 17:00 it really starts to fill up. This seems like a very popular spot. No surprise there. The beers are all excellent and it’s a really cool place. The best brewpub we’ve been to so far. I can understand why several people recommended it to me.

I switch to Peche Mortel, an Imperial Coffee Stout. It's also dead good. I'm very impressed with the beers here. The kids seem pretty happy, too.

“Going for the strongest beer again, eh, Dad?” Andrew remarks, rather aggressively.

“I just happen to like Imperial Stout.”

“And Barley Wine and Quadrupel.”

“What can I say? I like full-bodied beers.”

“Right. Beers that just happen to be high in alcohol.”

“Exactly.”

“You’re fooling no-one, Dad.”

“Aren’t I?”

“Not even yourself.”

The kids nip to the SAQ just down the road to stock up on booze. They get me a bottle of Canadian Club 1858. Which comes in the weird size of 1.14 litres.

We leave about 19:30. With the kids getting more beer in the nearest little shop.

The rest of the evening is pretty quiet with me sniffling while sipping whisky and watching shite on the TV.

Sleep comes knocking around midnight.


Brasserie Dieu du Ciel
21 Av. Laurier O,
Montréal, QC H2T 2N2. 
http://dieuduciel.com/

 

Old Montreal

I rise at 8:05 again. I was in bed before midnight, though. I need to get my rest.

I write for about an hour. I've been so diligent, so far.

Dan. I can feel a cold coming on. Exactly what I don't want: being ill on holiday.

Alexei knocks on my door at 10:30. Andrew is getting up, he assures me. I go down to check. Andrew is, indeed, in the process of getting up.

We've decided that Universel Déjeuners et Grillades looks like a good spot for breakfast. It's a bit of a walk, but not too bad.

"It's licensed, so Andrew will be pleased." I say.

“Very funny, Dad.” Andrew responds.

“I thought so.” 

“You always think you’re funny. But you aren’t.”

“That’s a bit harsh.”

“But true.”

The walk is mostly on the level. Thankfully. Montreal is annoyingly hilly. I really can't be doing with hills. Not with my lungs.

We mostly walk along Sainte-Catherine St. West. Parts of which have some rather colourful characters hanging about. I prefer not to know what they’re up to. I hang on tightly to my phone. Wouldn't want to have it nicked.

It's 11:30 when we get there. Which is a good time. A bit late for breakfast, too early for lunch. So it isn't too busy. The internet describes Universel Déjeuners et Grillades as a diner. Though it's rather more upmarket than that label implies. Quite posh, in fact.

We park our arses at a table and peruse the rather long menu. Drinks first. As it's before noon, I get an espresso martini. Andrew goes for an Irish coffee. Alexei gets a chocolate milkshake.

“Do you want to try my Irish coffee, Dad?”

“Fuck me, that’s strong.” I say after taking a sip.

“Good, isn’t it?”

“It’ll definitely wake you up.”

“That’s the idea.”

“Like my espresso martini.”

“That’s just because you’re a pisshead.”

“What’s your excuse, sorry, reason?”

“Like I just said: to wake me up. Your memory has totally gone, hasn’t it?”

I go for a typical egg and bacon affair. Alexei has eggs Benedict. Andrew has a milkshake, as he isn't feeling hungry, but wants to get some calories in. A big milk shake probably is almost as many calories as a breakfast.

My espresso martini is really good. So good, I get a couple more. The breakfast is pretty tasty, too. And large. I feel totally stuffed. The kids have a couple of beers. Some sort of craft Lager.

We walk back to our hotel. Where we chill in my room for a while. Our plan for this afternoon is to take a look at the cathedral. And wander around Old Montreal a bit.

The cathedral is an impressive gothic pile. Unfortunately, partly covered in scaffolding.

Happily, there's an SAQ (offie) directly opposite. Where I pick up a bottle of Canadian Club Rye. And a cheap bottle of wine. Unlike in the LCBO in Ottawa, there's no beer. Andrew has to make do with cider.

Old Montreal is pretty cool. Varying between old stone houses and massive classical public buildings. All rather European in appearance. We have to shelter in a doorway for a while when there's a brief flurry of rain.

Our next destination is 3 Brasseurs. Part of a chain of brewpubs which, I believe, started in France. I've been to one in Lille, for example.

It's rather large. And rather full. We led to seats towards the back. I order an Ambrée, the kids go for some Lagery thing. My beer isn't great, to be honest. I switch to espresso martinis.

“What’s your beer, Dad?” Andrew asks.

“Ambrée.”

“Is that, by any chance, the strongest beer on the menu?”

“It could be.”

“I’ll take that as a yes. You’re so predictable.”

“I call it consistent.”

“I call you a consistent pisshead.”

“Fuck off.”

“Well, that settles the argument.”

“The beer is pretty crap, actually.”

“Serves you right, Dad.”

The kids - even Andrew - are quite hungry and order burgers. I just have a fried squid starter. A combination of that monster breakfast and my cold have mostly killed my appetite.

“Can you find where there's a chemist nearby. I need some cold medicine.”

“OK, Dad.”

Andrew manages to find one on the way back to the hotel. Which is where we head after a couple more rounds. Arriving shortly before it closes. It’s a bit tricky to find, located inside a hospital. Someone has to open the exterior door to let us into the building.

The medicine perks me up a little. We watch some random shit on the TV. Including baseball with a French commentary. Which is novel. It’s the Blue Jays, of course. They’re the only Canadian team. And they’re losing again. Of course.

"Don't drink all of the whisky, Andrew. I'll need some of it for breakfast." I warn. To no avail.

“Fuck off.”

“How am I supposed to wake up without a whisky eye-opener?” I beseech.

“Try not being an alcoholic.” Andrew replies.

“OK. I’ll try.”

“Really?”

“I didn’t say how hard I’d try.”

“Right.”

“Not very hard. Hardly at all, really.”

“Very amusing. You at your wittiest. That is, not funny at all.”

Despite Andrew’s taunts, sleep doesn't play the stranger, ignoring my cold.

 
Universel Déjeuners et Grillades
359 Sainte-Catherine St. West,
Montreal, Quebec H3B 1A4.
http://stecatherine.resto-universel.com/


3 Brasseurs Saint-Paul
105 Rue Saint-Paul E,
Montréal, QC H2Y 1G7.
https://www.les3brasseurs.ca/fr/trouver-un-3-brasseurs/saint-paul/

 

Montreal bound

I rise at 8:05. Not sure why. The kids aren't due to come here until 10.

I do my usual writing thing. The kids still aren't here at 11. Where the fuck are they? They eventually turn up at 11:20.

"Are we going to the diner now?" Alexei asks.

"It's far too late for that." I answer.

He looks quite disappointed. It’s his own fault for getting up too late. Unless he was just waiting for Andrew. We had planned a diner breakfast. Which is always a good way to start the day. But I wouldn’t want to have to rush it.

Instead, we go to the A&W next the light rail stop. Me and Alexei both get bacon, egg and cheese muffins. Along with coffee and, for Alexei, a chocolate croissant. Andrew doesn't have anything. What a shock.

The place was deserted when we entered. After a few minutes, it's become packed. I guess because it's after midday and this is the lunch trade. Our food is fine, if a little light.

The light rail gets us to Ottawa station in about 10 minutes. It's a very new, rather bland affair. But very functional. Very functional. Though it wouldn’t win any beauty prizes.

Me and Alexei get ourselves sandwiches. Then we go and sit in the lounge. Which is nice and relaxing. I get myself a café latte. I can do with some more waking up.

It's only a two-hour ride to Montreal. Nothing too strenuous. I get a gin and tonic again. While Andrew sticks with Steam Whistle Pilsner. For which he has to show ID. It’s his fault for shaving this morning. He has such a baby face when he’s beard-free. Alexei has a soft drink.

It's very flat outside. And very wet. Mostly farmland, punctuated by the occasional small town. And there are trees. Lots and lots of trees. A surprising number of them bare and dead.

“What do you think of the countryside, Alexei?”

“It’s a bit empty. Lots of trees, though.”

“And lots of maize. Potatoes, too, I think. Maybe some cabbages. Or kale.”

“Fascinating conversation, Dad.” Andrew chips in.

“Thank you.”

“You’re really not very good at spotting sarcasm, are you, Dad?”

“Piss off.”

“Always ready with a witty riposte, eh, Dad?”

“Fuck off.”

“Just proving my point.”

A cold meal is served. Either cheese or salami. I go for the latter, the kids the former. I'm impressed by the quality of the cheese. The red wine is OK, too. I assume that it’s Canadian.

Despite hanging around just outside the station for 10 minutes, we arrive just about exactly on time.

It’s not the prettiest of stations. And seems to be just the basement of an office block. A bit cramped, is how I would describe it. And busy.

The metro station at Montreal Gare Centrale is amazingly poorly placed. And hard to find. It's out of the station, across a busy road and hidden inside an office building. With no sign on the outside. Without directions, you'd never find the fucker.

Our hotel is further from the nearest metro stop than I would have liked. And all uphill. I'm knacked by the time we get there.

Once checked in, the kids nip out to the shop for supplies. Beer mostly. And cola. 

“Can you get me some milk?” I ask.

“For your disgusting cocktail?” Alexei replies.

“Not all of it. I drink some of it straight.”

“To wash down all of your pills.”

“Partly. It’s not my fault I’m old.”

“Why do you mix your whisky with milk?”

“Because it’s easier on my stomach.”

“But it looks disgusting.”

“Tastes delicious.”

“I doubt it.”

Our evening destination is BreWskey Pub. Which is in Old Montreal. Back towards the metro station. Except this way it's all downhill. Or at least most of it. I try not to think about the return journey.

We walk past the town hall. It's pretty impressive, in grey stone. As are most of the buildings behind it in Old Montreal. It looks just like France. BreWskey is part of the very imposing Marché Bonsecours. A massive neoclassical pile.

Is this a brewpub? I’m not quite sure. They do seem to all their own beers. But where are they brewed? Is it here or another location? I’m none the wiser after looking at their website.

It's in a basement and has no windows. Which could be a bit claustrophobic. The range of beers is pretty decent. Seventeen draughts in all, with a Witbier, Kellerbier, Red Ale, Catharina Sour, Irish Stout and, of course, IPA. There are seven of those.

I get Exo, a sludge IPA. They seem to be the only type you can get in Canada. The kids go for Lagers. As they usually do.

It's not full. Only about half the tables are occupied. But it is a rainy Tuesday. A very rainy Tuesday.

We order some onion rings and cod cakes. Both are pretty good. The cod cakes are similar to Thai fishcakes, but without the chili.

Andrew notices that Roi du Frigo is listed as a TIPA.

"What's a TIPA, Dad?" Andrew asks.

“A Triple IPA. Like an IPA, but really strong.”

“I’m surprised that’s not what you’re drinking.”

“Why?”

“You always go for strong beers. Usually the strongest.”

“That’s not always true.”

“Really? Really?”

Just to prove Andrew wrong, I finish with a Roi du Frigo. A sludge Triple IPA. Which is a shame. Andrew gets one, too. I'm guessing because of the strength. The fucking hypocrite.

We don't stay out too late. It's pissing it down when we leave. Not to worry, we're getting an Uber. No way I'm walking up that hill again.

Back in the room, the kids drink some beer and I polish off the Reifel Rye.

Sleep isn't hard to find. It's there, lurking just under the sheets.
 

BreWskey Pub
380 Rue Saint-Paul E,
Montréal, QC H2Y 1H2
https://www.brewskey.ca/pub/