Cher Montréal – Quelle une Fag Hag!

Montréal quickly fades from memory, not because I did not enjoy myself, because I did. We took a horse and buggie tour through old Montréal; we went to the pirate exhibit at the museum,; we had a lot of sex; and we ate a ton of food (French onion soup in the US has nothing to the real thing, by the way. Onion soup in Montréal was to die for!)

It was chilly and raining or misting a good chunk of the time we were there, so next time (and yes, there will be a next time) we’ll go during the summer. The guy with the horse told us about the music festivals that close down the streets of the old part of town (which was impressive in and of itself since he was otherwise obsessed with explaining the difference between old and new architecture in relation to buildings that were fire hazards).

Instead of boring you with every detail, I’ll give you a best and worst. No doubt, you’ll have to hear more when we go again, so I don’t want to burn you out on Montréal too soon.

Worst: Christmas Day. Montréal was built by missionaries and the city is still full of religious people who roll up the sidewalks for Christmas. The hotel bar was open, but expensive and with a waiter who apparently didn’t like his job. Or tips. So for dinner, we went to Chinatown. We picked a restaurant, Ruby Rouge, from a blog about visiting Montréal at Christmas. It was awful. The hot pot was lukewarm, and half the fish in it was rubbery, the dim sum smelled and tasted (I assume) like dog food, and I’m fairly certain the waitress didn’t know English or French.

Best: Le Saloon, and the resulting evening. I couldn’t go all the way to Montréal without visiting the Gay Village. If the weather had been better, we’d have explored more, but even raining, we walked Rue Sainte-Catherine.

Ah, but I get ahead of myself.

After much surfing of blogs and websites, I picked Le Saloon for dinner. In one review, it was touted as a place to sit and dine and watch the pretty boys walk Rue de Sainte-Catherine. The Muse insisted and who am I to argue?

With the drizzle of cold rain, there wasn’t much walking along the street, and the place was fairly packed when we arrived, so when the host said there weren’t any tables on the main floor (I guess he knew about that ‘advertisement’ because I didn’t ask for one by the window) we took a table up on the second floor.

The drinks and the food were wonderful. The Hubby had a gin drink that came with a slice of cucumber in it. I hate gin, but there was this hint of cucumber aftertaste that felt more like a scent lingering than anything heavy on the tongue.

The atmosphere, too, made for a great evening. The Hubby commented that everyone was staring at me while we talked to the host, but then I pointed out that the room was 95% men and they were probably staring at him. (Fag hag? So what? Who’s that with her? Top or bottom?) I watched the table next to us celebrate something with champagne, fascinated by one guy who had hair just like Morgan. I am, after all, a people watcher at heart and so I was eying everyone that walked by – waiters, waitresses, other patrons on their way to the tiny closet cum bathroom. The Hubby commented on a booth of what could be college boys drinking it up and I just smiled. Ialways thought a frat house would be a fun M/M setting.

We left drunk, and with The Muse rambling on about Morgan. Instead of waiting for a cab, we decided to walk down the street and see if we could stumble upon something fun. There are a lot of restaurants, bars, and entertainment on Rue de Sainte-Catherine, but it was dark and rainy and we were chattering away about who knows what. After a brief stopover in a sports bar for one more drink, we walked all the way back to the hotel.

Cher Montréal, we enjoyed our visit and shall return soon.

Ciao,
Pia

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