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| - I went to Montreal for the first time - and not the last - from December 30 2017 - January 1, 2018, on a whim, with a boy I just started dating. Having had poutine only once before - sac le blur! how is that? - and being of the mindset that my happy calories should be saved for french fries and cheese and not cookies and cupcakes, it became our intention to eat some Motha Effin' poutine before we left. Besides, it's important to have goals, especially whilst traveling. Poutine seemed to me to be a perfect guilty pleasure to end out the year, before diets and resolutions (bleh!) were to begin. In my defense, I'll say the cold sort of forced us off of the street and into Les 3 Brasseurs on New Year's Eve for a late lunch. In general, I prefer to support a Mom and Pop establishment before some big corporate empire but I did not realize this was a chain and all over the city, until we drove around on New Years Day and passed half a dozen. In hindsight, I feel like I was the unknowing tourist in Manhattan, eating at the Red Lobster.
The friendly hostess greeted us within seconds and seated us in under a minute. Our waitress came over pretty quickly. We each got a beer, and I was excited to try something new because they brew their own. My new friend got either an ale or a lager, I can't remember, but it looked and tasted like a Winter Warmer to me, which is neither ale nor lager. I got their IPA, which did not taste like an IPA at all. What was it missing? Oh, that's right. Flavor! In fact, I'd rather have had a Budweiser, and for you Budweiser drinkers, let me be clear, that's not a compliment. I had the thought to ask her if we got the wrong beers and then wussed out.
The poutine we ordered was good, not great. My expectations were too high. Maybe they always are... They say the best things come to those who wait, and I guess we didn't wait long enough. The couple of days fantasizing about gravy-, shredded meat-, and cheese curd-covered french fries had gotten me all worked up for something that simply did not deliver. The meat was aight, the gravy was meh - and might have been from a Heinz jar - the cheese curds were tasteless (am I the only one who thinks cheese should taste like something?) and I wish they were a little more room temperature. The fries, the foundation of the dish, in my mind, were nothing to write home about. This dish deserves fries made to order, with the skin on, browned to perfection. You know what kind of fries I'm talking about, fry lovers. These fries were the palest yellow, tasty (I'm a food snob, but I'd eat any ol' fry off of the floor if it fell off a plate) but not worthy of such a dish.
Our waitress was friendly. I appreciate that she checked in with us since a Food Runner, not she, had brought our food out. The place was packed, the spirit merry, with most of the patrons bundled up in their coats, hats and scarves at the bar or at tables. I'm glad we didn't get anything else. I wouldn't go into one of these places again except to get a beer, and if I got a bad beer again, I'd speak up.
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