We were in Montreal for the first bachelor party thrown for one of our group of close friends and we are having a great time. The weekend couldn't have gone any better up to this point. To finish the long weekend off right we wanted to go to the best restaurant in Montreal. Our bachelor party guide told us the hottest place to go Montreal was the Time Supper Club and got us a reservation.
As we got ready for dinner that night we were all anxiously awaiting how great this night was going to be. Ripe with anticipation the cab pulled up to a blacked out building. We naturally asked if it was closed, but the cabbie assured us it wasn't so we got out and went inside. In the lobby we were greeted by the hostess who led us over to entrance in the club, which was covered by blackout curtains. As she pulled back the curtains to let us in, we were given our first glimpse of what lay inside. On this first glimpse we all let out a collective "What the Fuck?".
Inside was large dark room with ear-splitting European Techno music blasting from every angle. At the controls was the DJ, he was short, fat and bald, wearing a white wife-beater tank top, a flashing neon medallion necklace, a feather boa and what appeared to be a 6 year old girls princess tiara. To top it all off, inside this dimly lit room this asshole was wearing sunglasses. What had we gotten ourselves into?
Lead to our table through a dining area so packed with tables we had to turn sideways and squeeze through we were finally seated and given our menus. Next problem, it's so god damn dark inside you can't see the person across the table, let alone read the menu. Being a problem solver I whipped out my cell phone and attempted to read the menu by the light from it's screen.
After several minutes of struggling to see the menu and communicate with my friends over the pounding Techno a waiter finally appeared out of the darkness. Knowing booze and lots off it was the only thing that might make this situation palatable we started screaming our orders. "I'll have a gin and tonic!", "A Bottle of Gin" came the reply. "No just a drink!" ... "We only sell bottles". OK there were 6 of us. "How much for a bottle of Bombay?!" ... "$500". .... Are you fucking serious right now? I know we're talking that weird red Canadian money, but that's ridiculous.
About this same time another waiter comes around with a bread basket. He's holding it high so you can't see what's inside, he stares at each person and then looks into his basket and decides what type of bread you get to have ... we all look at each other, there's only one thing to do. Fuck this place, lets get the fuck outta here!
We get up, throw a couple bucks on the table to cover the bread that was chosen for us and head for the door. Do they let us leave? Of course not. The 5'4" Euro-trash, Douchebag Maitre D' decides to block our exit. Sticking he nose squarely into my chest he informs us with his snotty French accent "This is the Time Supper Club! You can NOT just leave!" Grabbing him and picking him up off the ground to move him out of the way "Fuck you Pierre, we're out" comes my reply. One of the greatest regrets of my life is that I didn't just knock him out. Finally we are free of this Euro-trash, Techno hell.
In conclusion the Time Supper Club did everything possible to ruin one of the greatest weekends of our lives. If not for dumb luck and the right magazine being chosen as shitter reading, it would have succeeded.
I give the Time Supper Club 1-star because I'm forced to. I wish I could give it a negative 5. I hope that place burns to the ground and if it does I will drive 8 hours for the sole purpose of pissing on it's ashes.