Friday, April 21, 2006


Montreal, 4.15. When I left the Omni Hotel earlier to have Greek for dinner, it was 12 degrees. By the time my baklava had been wrapped up, it was 5 degrees. (Did I mention I was melting in my tanktop and flipflops during the day, schlepping up St. Laurent to Schwartz's? Their smoked meat sandwich was out of this world, and no, the service is not nearly as bad as all the guidebooks would have you believe.)

It was the best Greek I've ever had, by the way - though unfortunately, the name of the restaurant has crucially slipped my mind. But for those of you who are interested, it's right across the street from St. Viateur Bagels, where you can find some really great bagels made by really crochety old men. Screw the bagels, though. The Greek food is what you really want to check out. I won't hesitate to recommend top-notch Greek in a friendly setting over bagels baked by bigot bastards, regardless of how good they might be. I can see how baking bagels 24 hours a day, 7 days a week might put a damper on your quality of life, but don't take it out on me.

Juan Pablo dropped me off back at the hotel at about 1. From there, I went to play pool downtown with Kyle. It was my first game in years and it showed. But it was a great night out nonetheless and it reminded me of my glory days spent playing pool at Dugan's in Saratoga Springs most nights of the week. We took a walk around the imposing McGill campus to work off some of the gyros and Tanqueray in my system on the way back to the hotel.

Sufficiently stuffed and somnolent. Tomorrow is my last day in Montreal before I fly out at 6.30AM on Saturday. I miss it already.


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