So with an offer from Abby to have a very inexpensive stay in Montreal in the center of city, we packed up for a weekend getaway. The trip north from Boston would nominally take only about 4 hours or so, but with our stomachs in mind we planned a few detours in Vermont. Most importantly, tours of
Cabot Cheese creamery,
Ben & Jerry's factory; a
Lake Champlain store and
Cold Hollow Cider Mill.
The most challenging part of the trip was getting to our first stop, Cabot. Far removed from our highway, and and over abundance of faith in GPS lead us along an unmaintained dirt road in the back woods of Vermont. Cue banjo music. The tour was a flat out bust. A short informational video set the scene, which in my opinion is the equivalent of a movie voice over: its lazy. The tour itself was a 5 minute jaunt down a hallway... and then we were just told to head back. The tasting room held a nice verity of product selection, but still it was rather unimpressive. Not a bad stop if you're driving through, but not at all worth the trip on its own.
A short trek over to Ben & Jerry's was a little better, but not much. The corporate campus is actually a lovely, and large site. Sort of a park and almost recreation center, it would be a perfect location for a picnic and family time. The plant is much like the Sam Adams plant here in Boston, more for tours and show than real production. A short corporate video again took just as long as the tour, here a one room production line. But, we again got samples, and followed up free ice cream with an order of ice cream. Fat kids for life.
After the inevitable wait at the befuddlement of the Québécois guard dealing with a guy living in Boston who drives a California plated car, we found our selves closing in on Canada's second largest city. The drive took us past sprawling farms and rural communities which slowly gave way to small suburbs. The most bizarre element of which was the sighting of
Boston Pizza. You read that correctly. Apparently its some kind of chain "sports bar/ casual family pizza restaurant" according to their about us page. We Bostonians were as confused as the border guard was.
After the inevitable confusion of navigating our way through a strange new city, we arrived late and hungry and at least an hour a head of half of our party. So we were led to my single regret of the weekend: no documentation, written or photo, of dinner (with some investigation I suspect its called Steve's Pizza). On the corner was a simple restaurant featuring burgers and pizza. On the advise of a contact we wandered in off the busy, Friday night street to what was a clean, but unspectacular looking short order. I often feel that the places which invest the least in appearances, the ones that are the most unassuming are in fact the most spectacular locations.
Tempted by the allure of the mysterious, and exotic
poutine I opted for a combo meal of a hamburger, the cheese fries and a beer. The beer order was followed with only: "white or red," and opting for red I was delighted to find a rather lively, flavorful and high quality brew. As for the meal, the burger alone was spectacular, but hardly the most monumental aspect. While the patty was a bit on the small side, it was nonetheless expertly seasoned and grilled to perfection. An absolute delight, bar none.
But the poutine... well, it stole the show. I was honestly wary of the gravy. Gravy is far too often a grim and unpalatable goo. This was light and bound up with the cheese curds beautifully. The curds themselves were similar in texture and flavor to good mozzarella but with a little of the squeak that I understand good curds are supposed to have.
While we were staying, somewhat ironically, in the Portuguese section of town the French influence over our cuisine was ever present and unmistakable. Naturally there were nutella crepes...
But also there were delicate omelets
Croque-monsieurs
And this thing, which I inhaled so fast i was barely able to actually get a photo of it.
I think they called it a rarebit or something like that, but it had cheddar cheese, ham, bread, french mustard and a poached egg.
But alas, all good things come to an end, and come Monday we headed back south towards home. After another odd conversation with a boarder guard - this one about housing prices - we were quickly back into Vermont. Seeking out a breakfast stop we pulled over in a random town only to find a quaint dinner. With almost no hope of being able to reproduce the location or name of the place, I still must attest to the hearty delights that we found within. Simple and filling food was being served up in the home and restaurant of the owners who appear to seat most people at the bar and mix refills of coffee with banter and winks. Thickly cut corn beef hash found its way before me. Much to my delight it wasn't greasy or bland mush, but rather firm and well done comfort food presented in an uncomplicated and honest way. Amid the comings and goings of locals on a first name bases with the owner and his family, we completed our trip only a few miles away from the big city we had just left, but it felt a world away. Amid trees and rolling hills, was a hidden gem of eatery and a rather appropriate sense of completion to our eating tour of the Northeast.
