Sunday Afternoon Salmon Tartare 5:53 p.m.

One of the blessings of leaving near the Atwater Market is that you can choose to have a salmon tartare on Sunday afternoon for no reason in particular. This recipe is borrowed, probably mostly in spirit, from Bar & Boeuf. Bar & Boeuf is a wonderful restaurant in downtown Montreal across the street from my office, where my roommate also happens to work. Because my roommate works there (and is such a wonderful person) I was able to spend a shift in the kitchen, mostly observing but also deveining fois gras poorly. Watching orders of tartare being prepared reminded me that I loved these raw bits. I also realized that I had yet to make one at home. Anyway, this is a very basic salmon tartare that's lovely with a glass of Sauvignon blanc on a Sunday afternoon.

From Cooking & Food (Montréal)

Ingredients are as follows:

• sushi-grade salmon
• dash of olive oil
• minced shallots
• chives
• finely chopped dill
• coarsely ground sea salt
• fresh ground pepper
  
• lime zest
• fresh lime juice

Rinse your salmon in cold water and pat try. Cut the salmon with a sharp knife into small cubes. There is a specific way to cut sushi, I'm not entirely sure if it does in the case of tartare. Well, I'm sure it does to some people but it doesn't really to me.

Add a dash of olive oil and coat the salmon until it's got a bit of a sheen. Add everything except the lime juice and mix gently together. Refrigerate for about an hour.

From Cooking & Food (Montréal)

Now that that's done, slice baguette into to fairly thin pieces, drizzle with a bit of olive oil and bake in an oven at 425 for a couple of minutes, or until they're slightly brown.

Assemble and enjoy!

From Cooking & Food (Montréal)

Best Quote Ever 7:18 p.m.

I mentioned to Joe (we're being more conscious about our meat consumption these days) that he could get organic sausage or bacon for tonight's perogie dinner if went to Atwater Market, which is about a kilometer further than the IGA. His response was: It's too cold to be moral.

Fair enough. At minus 26 with the wind chill, I'm tempted to agree.

monday august sixth otseven 10:32 a.m.

the man at the brulerie st-denis explained to me this morning that an americano is an americano in french and in english. americanos are bilingual.

had my first canadian hostel experience last night and the coffee was required. some poor soul who'd taken a bus all the way from vancouver (life is too short) stumbled into the women's "dormitory" at 815 this morning and woke me from my restless sleep. there had been thunder and lightning and i dreamt about all the terrible things that happen to women in hostels, until the poor soul stumbled through the door and brought light and noise with her. i didn't dream or sleep after that.

montreal is depressing on mondays when it rains. the streets are mostly empty and those left on them aren't smiling.

the berri-uqam metro smelled like pizza when i dragged my ass through it at 11, looking for a locker to stash my bags.

i bought a brass padlock in a dollar store from a man who spoke neither english nor french, but whose skin was the colour of coffee.

the security guards at the bibliotheque et archives nationales were very gentle with me and directed me to lockers.

there are no flights out of this city today

et

tu me manques.

montreal smoked meat and prepared mustard... 6:20 p.m.

a few kosher pickles, quartered lengthwise, a small brick of aged cheddar. two bottles of beer, three cigarettes, a trashy paperback thriller, an overstuffed pillow in a stained case. a laura secord cream egg, uneaten, a thirty-five minute bubblebath, three scented candles spilling wax, a clean aids test. two unreturned long distance phone calls, a dirty daydream between dirty sheets, a birthday. greenlseeves, a half-quarter lost. a hell of a lot of rain. monday.