You are pudgy and your hands smell like cow and you wear a funny little paper hat, but damn it, I love you. And I love your meat.
Smoked meat, that is.
I'm talking about Schwartz's Montreal Hebrew Delicatessen, a place I did not know even existed until my worldy husband, the one who knew that people speak French in Montreal and the one who has had to listen to me speak in "zee French accent" ever since I learned this little fact, insisted we go.
He actually said, "You can't leave Montreal until you've had smoked meat." My man is very decisive about "zee beef". I was all like "What eez theez smoked meat you speak about, mon petite chou?"
This is when he starts to pretend I'm married to someone else.
Now, I know that going gaga over Schwartz's is a little like being a tourist in New York City and going gaga over the Carnegie Deli. I mean, yeah, the corned beef is good, but is it worthy of a blog post and a photo essay?
I mean, it's not like I found this little hole in the wall in some Montreal tenement where a little old lady hand-smokes sides of beef in her garage and her place can only accomodate like six people and a dog and requires a reservation four months in advance and like, 30 people total know about it and Demi Moore is a regular. Hell no, I discovered a place that like 10 million people discovered before me.
Somebody call Gourmet Magazine. I'm a freakin' trendsetter.
Everyone knows about Schwartz's and I know this because the Smoked Meat Man offered to take a picture with me holding a slab of meat, and any deli guy that wants to get in on the picture is a guy who gets his picture taken a lot. And the shot would have been great but my boob was hanging out and you know, no one needs to see my nipples. Again.
I will, however, share a little photo essay with you (below) that illustrates our time at Schwartz's which was absolutely, insanely scrumptious.
We're in Montreal for a bit, then on to Miami. We are with one of David's shows, which is always fun for the girls because they love playing on the stage, climbing the wardrobe racks and running around with backstage passes dangling from their necks, which besides being cute, is a strangling hazard waiting to happen.
David is out hobnobbing right now with someone famous "you are not allowed to blog about". Okay, honey, I haven't said a word.
Anyway, I'm drinking alone and watching CNN. That's not a bad thing, right?
PS Thanks for the tip YM #2 in Toronto. What nut would order smoked meat "lean"? That seems rather blasphemous, doesn't it? I'm looking forward to the Poutine next, although I wish you hadn't told me it was actually "cheese curds". Always better to keep me in the dark about these things...