Don't mess with Canada

U.S. Democratic presidential hopefuls Clinton and Obama have been sparring about NAFTA lately as they each try to gain ground in Ohio. Both parties have suggested the possibility of "renegotiating NAFTA" to a greater or lesser extent. Sometimes US elected officials, like all USians, I suppose, seem to forget that the rest of the world has ears. And newspapers. And oil.

Wouldn't you know it? The US's largest supplier of oil isn't Saudi Arabia--it's Canada. Care to guess what kind of import taxes we levy in Canadian oil? That's right: zero. Care to guess why? That's right: NAFTA. If the US starts messing with NAFTA, don't be surprised if Canada starts talking about China's virtues as a trading partner.

Oh, and incidentally, every time you fill up your tank, you contribute to the scourging of Canada. Calgary may get richer for a while off this stuff, but the sheer scale of the environmental catastrophe unfolding in Alberta's oil patch beggars the imagination.

Each truck: 3369.99 hp, 380 ton capacity, 47' x 30' x 21': roughly the size of 1-bedroom apartment.

Maple syrup nation

Being somewhat more travel-prone than your average bloggers, we TruffleWarreners absolutely love maps.

Old maps of Montréal.


Taoist maps of the human body.


Silly maps of the internet.

Give us an adjective, we've got a map to match. Try us. We dare you. And if you think we aren't ready for you, just chew on this: we've even got a maple syrup map. Well, actually it's a food traditions map, but, well... just look for yourself:

The maple syrup nation self-evidently has a manifest destiny to engulf the continent.

In all honesty, I had never really thought of maple syrup as the basis of a food culture. H assures me that it is--but then, H argues with some earnest that maple syrup qualifies as its own food group. Moi, je suis sceptique. After all, the same authority from which we're deriving the very concept of the maple syrup nation also indicates the existence of a clambake nation and a pinyon nut nation. So count me skeptical... but tickled.

Super Tuesday

For better or for worse, J and I aren't the greatest about timely blog posting. If anything, we pre-date a number of posts to fit properly in within our adventure calendar. But I read a very interesting thing in the Montreal Gazette today:

Most Canadians would back Hillary Clinton in this year's United States presidential race, and nearly one in six would forfeit their right to vote in the next federal election for a chance to sway the result across the border, polls indicated yesterday.

There are approximately 30 million Canadians, so that is 5 million Canadians who would rather vote in this U.S. election than vote for Stephen Harper's successor. When I mentioned this to J, he said it was like Americans wanting to vote in China because of their size and growing global influence. But then, there are Chinese that are voting in the U.S., too, and they need a bit of help to get the candidate's names right.

Most Canadians would opt for "Tired Forest," while I would support "Profound Horse."

May the best woman, man, or horse win!

Carpe diem, travellers!

H and I know that most of you out there are daring and imaginative adventurers. Sometimes, though, even the daring and imaginative among us needs a little inspiration. If the travel bug is nibbling you, but you're quite sure exactly where to go to scratch that itch, try browsing 1000 Places to See Before You Die. (Apparently, the website represents an adjunct to the book of the same title, which started the whole 1000-before-you-die phenomenon.)

To be completely honest, I've never even heard of the book, let alone the "phenomenon," but the website contains scads of great travel ideas. Talk about spectacular destinations... You're sure to find inspiration--if not a complete itinerary--here.

We humbly submit that a sojourn in Alsace , dividing your time between Strasbourg and the route du vin, is worthy of before-you-die attention.


And you're just kidding yourself if Prague isn't on your list.

I'm a little embarrassed (on their behalf) to have to report that they're still working up the whole user interactivity thing. If I'm behind on travel book trends, at least I'm not suffering from severe lag when it comes to internet trends. But, even if your own suggestions as to which places are visiting before you die won't get screen time, you can at least still profit from theirs.

The city's hall speaks

Contemporary North American city dwellers, though we have more than enough to feed our stomachs, have precious little upon which to feast our eyes. Generally accustomed to the banal concrete, glass, and steel designs which constitute the unintended legacy the Bauhaus's so-called "International Style," we have limited experience with cityscapes which evoke simple delight and honest pleasure.

Which is reason number 24 gazillion why we're lucky to live in Montréal. Certainly the city has its share of BSSs; it also its share of the good stuff. Imagine, if you will, that this is your City Hall.

Now, if that doesn't say "Cradle of Liberty," I don't know what does.

Whoops! Sorry! That's Boston's City Hall. Not exactly what I was intending, but while the photo's up there, I might as well make use of it. Officially, Boston's City Hall is in the brutalist style (yes, there really is an architectural style called brutalism--technically derived from the French for concrete: béton brute). Personally, however, I've always thought that a more accurate description of the building's style would be man-the-battlements-the-citizens-are-approaching!--but maybe that's a bit bombastic. Whatever we call it, doesn't it just make your inner architect swoon? (On the other hand, maybe your inner architect is just suffering from another bout of who-the-hell-authorizes-this-stuff. Your mileage may vary.)

But back to Montréal. As I was saying: Imagine, if you will, that this is your City Hall.

I'll concede that it resembles Vincent Price if you'll concede that there are worse architectural muses.

Not that it's perfect, but it would be hard to argue that Montréal's Hôtel de Ville isn't impressive, dramatic, and even beautiful in its overwrought way. Basically, then, H and I moved from a city where the municipal government hunkers in a brutalist fortress with Soviet overtones to a city where the municipal government cavorts in a Second Empire wedding cake with drama-queen lighting. It's not like this is the only domain in which Montréal surpasses Boston, but it's definitely one of the most spectacular.

Hours of superpowers

H and I believe--good optimists that we are--that every person possesses at least one superpower. Our friends JD and JB, for example, are able to throw epic parties at will. Our friend CE bakes the world's best bread--without a recipe. Even I have a superpower: I can seduce women more superpowerful than myself at will. I can even get them to marry me.

Of all H's superpowers--and I assure you that she has many--my favorite is unusual in that it seems to require study. Not that H isn't innately talented, but I caught her reading up on how to enhance her already impressive abilities during our weekly trip to the library.

It won't be long before companies start paying her to use their products.

Watch out Hetty Green!

Cultures, colors, and cross-coordination

The Basilique Notre-Dame is not only one of Montréal's architectural jewels, it's a venerable bastion of Québecois Catholicism.

Talk about an unexpected place for a blue-light special...

It therefore came as little surprise to see that its keepers have chosen the official colors of Québec for the church's lighting scheme. "What are the official colors of Québec?" you ask.

A pleasant, if somewhat unoriginal, color combination.

So, when actually stop and reflect upon it for a moment, the whole blue light thing makes sense. But to be completely honest, "Vive le Québec!" wasn't exactly the first thing that popped into our minds when we we first set eyes upon the Basilique's lighting scheme. I mean, think about it for a second. Blue and white holiday lights adorning a religious building in the winter time...

Yep. That's right.

Yes, you too can be the life of every Hanukkah party you attend with your very own menorah hat (only $24.95 plus S&H).

I guess you could say our first thought was something like, "Happy Hanukkah, Montréal!" Not what the decorators intended, I suppose, but still a seasonal sentiment. Nothing like cultural cross-pollination for a good chuckle.

Bonne Nouvelle Année !

Happy New Year, one and all! Our warmest wishes to all of you, our dear readers. May 2008 see you happy, healthy, and hearty. Indeed, may this year be the one in which your wildest dreams come true... except maybe for that one where you showed up at school naked.

Wow. Impressively wild. So... where do you carry your trig homework in that getup?

H and I are enjoying a quiet evening together, watching a few good films and reminiscing a little. Despite all the adventure, we're not all that sorry to see 2007 recede into the past. We look forward with great hope and intense anticipation to 2008. May it be our--and your--most adventuresome year yet!

Joyeux Noël !

A Merry Christmas to one and all! We're down in Cape Cod for a few days, enjoying the company of some of our dearest Boston-area friends. We'll let you know if we happen to see any Real Bearded Santas in our neighborhood--and you should keep a lookout chez vous. They've been known to congregate in unexpected places...

Would you believe me if I told you this photo was not taken at the North Pole?

Give it an inch...

H and I were delighted when snow finally arrived here in Montréal. Since we don't own a car, we were entirely unintimidated to learn that we were living through a record-breaking snowstorm. Heck, we even giggled with giddiness, watching it all come down. It's hard to faze Canadians with snow--even 40+ centimeters of it.

Even the potted plants in Montréal just shrugged and got on with it.

At the end, though, we had so much snow that the politicians started talking about how much it would cost to remove all of it. Care to guess how much? Nope. More. Nope. Even more. Try...

"I will keep your city snowbound unless you give me...

...$20 million Canadian dollars."

Yup. And that was just the first of the December storms. It's since snowed again. And we've heard tell that it will snow at least once more before 2007 ends. We also hear, however, that things may warm up, so we're probably looking at peak snow accumulation here--and let me tell you, if Tom Thumb were a ski-freak, he'd be in heaven in our jardin.

In Canada, it sometimes snows so damn hard you lose your chair.

Having paid my share of the $20 million it took to clear the streets, I'm just wondering how much the city's economy loses per snow day. Is it really worth it to remove all that snow absolutely ASAP?

Google to the rescue. Montréal apparently manages to produce a paltry CAD $96 billion or so of rough economic value per year (that's the 2006 figure). Since there are approximately 250 business days in a calendar year, we can estimate that each of those days is worth about CAD $384 million of rough-and-ready productivity. Now, some of that value doesn't depend on the weather (web-based, residential utilities, etc.), but plenty does. So, I suppose it is worth it.

Even though I checked my math thrice (and H checked it after that), I could hardly believe that Montréal produces CAD $384 million per day. It just seemed like too much. But... Canada's 2006 GDP clocked in at CAD $1.4 trillion. Their 2001 census claims 14,695,130 workers (excluding unemployed) in the country. That divides out to an average annual productivity of CAD $95,270 per worker. (The equivalent figure in the US is USD $91,389.) Bottom line: if you're working and making less than $90k a year (in whatever currency), you're not even making the average. So, I suppose Montréal's numbers make sense after all, given the relative (in)justice of our current economic system. Perfect sense.

Even Canada is becoming wary

It's not often that the New York Times publishes an article which defends (however grudgingly) Canada when it disparages the US. Usually, even the most cosmopolitan Americans chalk up Canadian grousing to Canada's supposed inferiority complex. Sometimes it's enough to make you think that maybe the chip is on the southern shoulder.

Evidently, the various policies of Our Glorious Leader (and I'm assuming you know the ones I mean) have now been in effect long enough that the tissue of international agreements which forms the legal foundation of our fast-globalizing society is beginning to fray at the edges. And I'm not talking about maybe-more-important but definitely-more-fuzzy issues of perception and trust. I mean real, current legal decisions are being taken which are changing the rules by which the game of global political-economy is being played. And there's a definite trend to these decisions--a trend which suggests that American children can look forward to a tougher future than the one we've enjoyed. Welcome to life as a rogue nation.

I'll admit that Canada has its quirks, but somehow the air just seems fresher up here. Weirder, sometimes. But fresher. (And on second thought, maybe not that weird after all...)

One of these men is an eccentric yokel; the other is petting a moose.

Welcome, snow!

H and I are enjoying the snowstorm today. Neither of us particularly minds the cold, but long winters aren't much fun without snow. They're predicting 35cm for this storm. Yay!

In Canada, it sometimes snows so damn hard that even the snow has to sit down to take a breather.

If the snow looks perhaps a bit too comfortable in that photo, don't worry. We couldn't be snugger--not even if we were bugs in a rug.

Dining in the dark

It's long after my birthday--nearly a month in fact--but we finally made it out to my birthday dinner. This year, instead of going with predictably scrumptious (say, L'Express, or Au Pied de Cochon, or Toqué), I decided to go with damn, that's novel. O.Noir ("It's better in the dark!") offers diners the novel experience of dining in utter darkness.

The b-day dinner crew gets ready to raise a ruckus.

When you enter the restaurant, you find yourself in a small foyer, where you read the menu, place your order, and wait for your waiter to guide your party to your table. The menu always features a "surprise" dish for each course. Your waiter--the entire service staff is blind--leads you to your table, and then... it gets interesting.

I wrote a review of the experience for my friend EP, which I think pretty well captures the experience of the evening:

O.Noir was at once a thrilling and a disappointing experience. Our party included me, two MBAs (my wife being one of them), two architects, and a psychologist. We talked a great deal about the design of the space, the design of the experience, and the experience's business proposition.

The bottom line (at least for this particular dine-in-the-dark restaurant--there are others): the food was completely unremarkable in both taste and texture. We had hoped for intense odors, unexpected shapes and textures, and so forth. The design of the space was disappointing in that it didn't seem to harbor any serious ambitions to capitalize on the fact that we couldn't see. Why not playful changes in flooring and wall textures. And the design of the objects we used (plates, glasses, forks, chairs, etc.) was also dull, dull, dull. The flatware could have been shaped differently; the glasses heavier in the base to prevent spills; the chairs at different heights; etc. etc. It was also very, very loud. High ceilings, hard surfaces, and no sound mitigation strategies.

BUT... the possibilities were extremely exciting. Our culture is so focused on vision that we often forget the importance of our other senses. During dinner, we talked about how thoughtful, creative design could have provided a magnificently rich experience. Someone--I can't remember who--suggested "eating gloves," which would be a fantastic design challenge.

As it was, cutting food was ridiculously difficult, so most of us ended up eating with our hands. We speculated that applying the east Asian principle of knifeless eating (all cutting done in the kitchen) might have been appropriate. We talked about adopting a culinary approach more sensitive to senses other than sight: using more aromatic seasonings (e.g., lavender, cumin, and mint), ingredients and dishes which have a auditory component (fizzy water, breads that need tearing, crunchy appetizers, etc.), and texturally engaging finger foods. Out impression was that management wasn't fully engaging the possibilities--for the interior designers and the chef, it was basically just a gimmick.

In all, we essentially paid $55 a head to eat mediocre food during a power outage. A novel experience which provides great grist for a stimulating conversation about innovation and design, but not somewhere I'd spend money a second time.

Hope your birthday dinner causes as much thinking as mine did!

She made it!

Ladies and gentlemen, by the power invested in McGill University by the province of Québec, I now announce that HLMP is officially a Master of Business Administration!

Hide your business plans! Lock away your financial statements!

H loves few things as much as a good ceremony, especially when there's a bagpiper involved. (She is Scottish, after all.)

Yep. There he is. Second from the right in the first row. Can't miss the kilt.

And of course, it's always more fun to do these sorts of things as a group. There really is nothing like a crowd for generating a little energy and excitement. Especially afterwards, when you get to speculate as to where your new wings might take you.

H and friend ML prepare for takeoff.

Congrats, H. You really did earn your wings. We can't wait to see you soar.

The wonder of Stevie

You may not have known, but H's favorite musical artist is Joni Mitchell. Well, to be perfectly accurate, it's Joni Mitchell except for when it's Stevie Wonder. And Stevie Wonder it is tonight, for H has secured orchestra-level seating for the Stevie Wonder concert tonight.

Tix to the hottest show en ville, and I got them at 75% of list price. You may kiss me now.

Rest assured: the concert will rock. And we will be there to rock with it.

UPDATE (26 Oct. 2007): Stevie rocked, we rocked. Assurance rested.

Lookah at the Hookah!

To celebrate the occasion of my acceptance of an excellent job offer, J and I were accompanied by our friends JPhB and AP to a local shisha bar, Cafe Gitano. I admit that I had been eying the lovely pipes in the window since we moved to Montreal, but had never ventured in. The time had come for some deliciously flavoured tobacco shared amongst friends.

JPhB and AP savour every last trickle of Double Apple smoke.

Apparently, the up-tick in hookah bars is not just a local phenomenon, and is being reported by one of the U.S.'s trashiest broadsheets. The hookah (Hindi), also known as a shisha (Arabic), is a water pipe device for smoking, and originated in India but has gained a great deal of popularity in the Arab world. Unsurprising then that there are a number of shisha bars in Montreal, since roughly 2% of Montreal's population is Arabic. According to a very friendly taxi driver of ours, Arabic is the third most spoken language in Montreal (after French and English, of course).

But let's get back to our celebration. I have been a rather vehement non-smoker since, at the age of five, I convinced my mother to stop smoking. However, I have turned a blind-eye to the fact that smoking shisha is indeed smoking. It's tasty, and it's fun...

J on sensory overload from the delicious apple-y magic.


I can stop whenever I want. Really. I can.

Better living through tomatoes

If you've been paying any attention to what you've been eating during the past few decades, you've probably noticed what we have: the US's relationship with what and how it eats is unhealthy--and it's getting worse. Stressed by foolish management practices, soil quality in the US has been declining, meaning that the nutritional punch of crops grown in the US has been declining apace. Perhaps as part of a confused attempt to compensate for this decline, agribussinesses have laced the US food supply with a broad spectrum of literally thousands of additives, pesticides, and other toxins. Also, most of what you eat likely contains ingredients which have been genetically modified in a lab. It's become harder and harder to find good food Stateside.

Despite the fact that American food isn't much good, we eat too damned much of it.

When you say, "Super size me!" to a MacDonald's employee, you just might get what you ask for.

And on top of all that somatic nastiness, the collective psychic relationship with food in the US ain't none too good neither. All in all, it's not easy to eat well in the US if you can't afford The French Laundry (often called the best restaurant in the US; currently priced at USD $240 per head per meal).

But here in Montréal, it's different. How different? Very different. With 1.9 million inhabitants and some 12,000 eateries, Montréal can boast the extraordinary per capita restaurant density of 1 eating establishment for every 158 residents. If that seems really dense, it is. Chicago offers a restaurant for every 359 residents; and Paris, surprisingly (since they can claim credit for inventing restaurants in first place) provides only one restaurant for every 742 residents. At the other end of the spectrum, Tokyo offers its 12.8 million residents an almost unbelievable 190,000 restaurants--which yields a mind-boggling per capita density of 67. Few cities of comparable size offer a better per capita restaurant density than Montréal--certainly none in North America do.

But the restaurants are really only an indicator of the culture's interest in and concern for excellent food. The gems in Montréal's culinary crown are its fabulous open air markets, from which the restaurants receive their ingredients. Can't make good food without good ingredients. The market closest to H and me (there are officially four such markets in the city) is the marché Jean-Talon, located near the Jean-Talon metro station.

Nothing pictured here traveled more than 100km to reach you, except maybe the furniture.

J-T (as H and I have nicknamed it) is open year-round, but its late summer offerings are second to none. I'd put its produce up against anything else I've ever seen. Not Paris's--nay, not even Strasbourg's markets can top it. To help you picture it all, I've prepared a little photo tour, a brief exercise pamphlet for your salivary glands, if you will. And remember that the city's master chefs have yet to get their hands onto this stuff. As astonishing as it seems, everything you see here will actually taste even better once they're done with it.

If you can't think of what you could possibly do with all those berries, you're one more victim of supermarkets and agribusiness.


Ever wonder what it might feel like to palpate a rainbow?


You might even learn a little fractal math--if you don't eat it first.


J-T's coup de grace: tomatoes. Lots and lots of tomatoes.


Yes, even the tomatoes come in a rainbow of flavors.


Half-sunny? Half-shady? Who cares, 'cuz it's all tasty.

John, Wayne, and the Cape

There's probably a good quote somewhere on the value of friends who throw fabulous parties, but I'm not familiar with it. And don't give me that reproachful look, either. I know how to use a search engine. Google let me down on this one: number one spot for a search for "quote friends fabulous parties" didn't even land me on the right planet. And it's not like the rest of the list was much good either.

In any case... H and I are lucky in our friends, and we have one pair of friends in particular, JD and JB, who possess the enviable superpower of throwing hugely overambitious, vastly entertaining, sublimely convivial, and wild-but-not-fratboy-wild parties. I don't care whether or not wikipedia's "official" list recognizes the ability to envision, orchestrate, and inspire an epic party as a superpower; I submit that it is.

Superpower: able to strike any camera colorblind at will.

Certainly, I don't know anyone else capable of the same level of mad planning. So when, several weeks ago, JD and JB invited us to their Cape Cod-based, week-long, once-every-five-years birthday party in honor of John Wayne, we didn't think twice. To be honest, we didn't even think once. OK, to be completely honest, we didn't think at all--we just just said, "Hell, yeah!"

On our way down the Cape, we stopped off in Boston to visit friends RM and NH.

Did you bring us goodies from Montréal? Feed us teh goodies!

As all Bostonians known, there's nothing like a late summer stroll through Boston Common to get you in the mood for a party. I mean with all the dancing girls (and boy), we were beginning to wonder if maybe the party hadn't already started without us.

When we asked about the John Wayne birthday party, we were subjected to several Turkish tests for drunkenness, which made everyone feel awkward.

After indulging in an appropriate amount of strolling and loitering downtown, we were finally able to tear ourselves away from Beantown and make our way down to the Cape. In true party superhero fashion, our hosts had landed a spectacular setting for our festivities.

The inlet's still water holds the sky as a bowl holds water.

And what seaside setting would be complete without an Escher-esque dock with a dismaying habit of swaying when you walk on it? Our hosts thought of everything.

Look, ma! No hands!

But of course, this seaside isn't just any seaside. It's Cape Cod. Which naturally means that there's plenty of minigolf nearby. H even won a free game by getting a hole-in-one on the 18th hole. No horsepucky.

J watches in horror as H clinches the win with style.

Still, as with so many grownup affairs--and certainly all affairs in which we're closely involved--it was the the food which crowned the event. Some of JB's sailing friends, who hail from Maine, hauled down an army barrack's worth of fresh oysters, fresh Maine lobsters, and fresh steamer clams for our delectation. And let tell me you, that's an impressive spread of fresh.

The raw oyster: an entire ocean distilled to a single, slippery sip.


Ever see James Cameron's Aliens? Yeah. Serious creature carnage.


Traditional Zen koan: Is bowl full or empty? (Answer: Depend on size of nearby sailor's appetite.)

Probably you've been wondering why it's called the "John Wayne Party." Well, John and Wayne are two of the attendees (yes, two different people), whose birthdays fall close enough together that it constitutes an excuse to throw a single mondo party as opposed to two wee parties. Too, the "real" John Wayne (he was born Marion Robert Morrison, didn't you know?) was born 100 years ago this year. And seeing as his birthday's in May... well that's close enough to count as yet one more reason to throw a mondo party. Not--as you might imagine--that we need much of an excuse. But it has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?

Oh, and one very important lesson we learned during the party, which we delightedly pass on to you, our dear readers:

Everything--and we do mean everything--is a hat.

Happy trails! (Yes, yes. We're perfectly aware that John Wayne never said that. Close enough.)