2013/03/23

• 
  2012.03.22
  Scènes de Montréal – Montreal Scenes
  

  Go away, Winter

  Last year at this time, it was around 24˚C. Right now (Friday 19h00) it’s -4˚C. When I think that we were wearing summer clothes for that 200,000 strong march that kick-started the “Printemps érable” (above), and what I’m currently hearing outside are the plows and snowblowers removing the snow from the last storm on my street and sidewalks, it’s almost to cry. I’m so fed up with winter…

  

  Being informed

  La Presse columnist Pierre Foglia is sending his current column from Baghdad. He was there a few times also before the invasion. How many American journalists, reporters, whatever, went to Baghdad for the 10th anniversary of this stupid invasion? I’m not talking about going around under the protection of their “troops”, I’m talking about meeting and talking to ordinary people, in the streets, in their homes, in the schools, those who get-car bombed daily these days (all days since 2003, in fact) and also those who were showered with fancy American bombs back then. There was talk on a public affairs program a few days ago where some Canadian reporters were mentioning that they and other journalists from Europe were there, in the heart of Baghdad when Bush pushed the Go button, and were in the front seats to witness the carnage, and shared with the Baghdadis their bomb shelters. Meanwhile the Americans were all stashed with their troops, embedded as they said. Not one was seen in Baghdad. It’s no wonder that ordinary Americans were not informed of what was really going on in Irak. Who would have told them? Today, we hear about all those civilians who died since 2003. What about all those thousands of children who died ‘before’ the invasion, because of the heavily supported by the U.S. embargo. Or that Irak was one if not the most heavily surveiled country in the world, including over its own territory, making it the most improbable “danger” in the area. Attacking Irak was like cutting butter with a hot knife, a cowardly gesture. Nothing heroic there.

  

  Seeping imperialism

  Today [Friday] I went to a local Dollarama store near my pad. Dollarama is a large Montreal-based Canadian dollar store chain. I was looking for plasticine or whatever is called that stuff you can mold in the shape you want. It’s for exercising the fingers of my disabled hand. They didn’t have what I wanted, but they also had close by something else I’ll never want: a rubber ball with a map of the world printed on it. Over Canada and the United States, it was stamped in bold “North America”. In smaller letters, over Canada it was stamped “Canada” and over the United States, it was stamped “America”.

  I don’t know who is the person who elected to rename the United States into America on that map, but I do know that the middle finger or my other hand is still working very well thank you.

  

  Da food section

  Today, or was it yesterday, it came back to my mind that March 19 is St-Joseph’s Day. Or, in Italy, giorno di San Giuseppe. And what comes with San Giuseppe? Zeppole, of course. I remembered from past years that they continued to sell them for some time passed March 19 so this afternoon [Saturday] I decided to go buy myself one at Motta’s, next to Marché Jean-Talon. On my way I wanted to stop at Sabor Latino to buy a few cookies and stuff, and other stuff like eggs and tomatoes and Seville oranges (if they had any left) at the Marché itself. Since I knew my shopping bag would be heavy for the return trip, I had decided beforehand to come back by bus and had checked the schedule accordingly.

  I am in a pastry/sweets craze these days. In the last week, I bought at my corner supermarket and ate a small but deep cherry pie (4 servings) and a large piece of date squares (good for about 6 decent squares). Yesterday, my sister who lives about two hours from here came to help me with some shopping here and there. I needed bed sheets, mats for the kitchen, and other stuff. She brought along with her a bunch of carrot cake squares (those topped with cheese). Hers are quite good, by he way. While I was at Sabor Latino, I got the cookies I was there for (wonderful late evening snacks) but got also tempted by a rack full of cinnamon rolls. I only bought one (I’m still in control, somewhat). I also bought one of those Mexican apple soda pops (Sidral Mundet) since I had one last evening with a luscious hot dog I had for supper. There are two varieties, golden and green apples. I needed the green one. If all this wasn’t enough, there is a bread/pastry shop at the corner my street and Bélanger, owned and run by Latinos. I don’t usually go there because they have many specialty breads, but not the kind I usually buy, not being, nor my innards, particularly fond of bread containing whole grains and the likes. However, yesterday, coming back from the Dollarama, I decided to hop in and check things out. Still the same type of breads. They also had quiches. I bought a small one, tomato and onion, and which I’ll have for tonight’s supper. I noticed almond squares and, surprisingly, natas, a Portuguese specialty. I took two of both, not expecting much. I ate one of the almond squares and not much is indeed what I got. I don’t expect more with the natas. Those little things are filled with a crème pâtissière which is not that difficult to make. What differentiates a good natas from other ones is the crust. It has to be flaky and very ligtht, like a croissant, and that is hard to find.

  On display below, sister’s carrot squares and the zeppole, on the left. In the plate, up front, the remaining almond square and the two natas. In the back, the biscuits and the cinnamon roll. It was not dented when I bought it but it kind of found itself in the bottom of the bag at some point. I also always have some Oh Henry! chocolate bars on hand. When I left the hospital they told me I needed to eat proteins galore and these bars, the ones with peanut butter, are loaded with them. Next to the bottle of green Sidral, some black currant (cassis) beer. Quite delicious but to be opened when very cold. It was only lightly chilled when I opened it and it started to foam like crazy in the bottle. I had to quickly find a glass and the nearest one was the one I had used yesterday and not washed yet, hence the beer being flat in the glass. The red box behind it all does not contain anything edible. It’s a pair of Chinese balls, which I also use to loosen up the fingers of my disabled hand. In the top left, my paper, otherwisee known as intellectual food. Rarely contains sweets these days.

  

  Of course, you can’t enter Motta’s without also coming out with a piece of pizza. I took a Campagnola quarter pizza, which is essentially a veggie pizza, and good for two servings. I would have taken a smaller one (1/8) but the choice was not to my taste. I’ll just put have of the pizza in the freezer, unless I have it two days in a row.

  

  UPDATE:

  The quiche was very good. I’m a fan of onions, and since it had plenty… The crust however, especially in the bottom, was still trying to match its name. Gone also last evening was the cinnamon (?) roll. The zeppole had its armageddon today, at breakfast time. If it weren’t for the carrot squares, my stock of sweets would rapidly be getting dangerously low.

  

  

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