Dinner in the Sky

June 20-22

We went back to Rue des Forges for dinner Wednesday night in Trois Rivieres. 

Joanna said she would like roast or grilled chicken. So we stopped at one or two places before we came to Ailes Piquantes Buffalo, which could fill the bill. 

We didn’t opt for any piquant Buffalo wings. Joanna had a crispy roast chicken leg and a portion of tasty, but not spicy, ribs.

I had the steak I was looking for, along with an Alexander Keith IPA that was a bit light and tasted like a lager. The next beer, a Keith red ale, was much better.

Down the street, on the promenade above the river, 30 or 40 people were line dancing. Most were women, but there were some men, too, mostly with white hair.

One of the disc jockeys came out to lead a group mambo that was downright terrific to watch.

Watching all that exercise made me thirsty, though, so we crossed the street to Frida (named for Kahlo), a restaurant with craft brews. 

They serve halfs as well as pints, so I was able to go for four. 

Vox Populi is an India pale ale at 6.5 percent. It’s fragrant and has the pine-needles-and-flowers scent and flavor of a good IPA. 

Tam Tam is called a session IPA. Alcohol content of session ales is usually 5 percent or less. Tam Tam ran 4.75 percent and had a slightly sour edge that’s not common in an India pale, but I have tasted it before. It’s not a favorite.

Gravity Well is a super strong (9 percent) red sour. I like red sours, and most that I’ve tried are much lower in alcohol, some as low as 3.5 percent. Gravity Well was dark red, with a faint sour flavor. It was good and may pair with food.

Saison en Enfer is a Belgian style beer at 6.66 percent alcohol. It doesn’t have a lot of fragrance, but does have a spicy bite a la the Belgians. I don’t now if it’s from cardamom, clove, or some strain of hops.

We were back at Binerie Chik for breakfast on Thursday morning.

In keeping with its ’50s decor, the place is full of vintage Coke ads. Tabletops, chair cushions, stripes in the banquette upholstery are all Coke red.

We decided to take the advice of the lady at the last tourist info office that we visited. We ignored the Google directions.

Instead, we followed a historic road called le Chemin du Roy, the King’s Highway. It closely follows the St. Lawrence River bank. Much of it is the route of Quebec Highway 138, but sometimes it takes a jog through an old town.

It is the oldest road connecting Quebec and Montreal.

The views of the river are spectacular. Weather was perfect for the drive. The water was dark blue under a cloudless sky.

The first stop was at the Shrine of Notre Dame du Cap. The cape, Cap de la Madeleine, is formed by the confluence of the St. Maurice River and the St. Lawrence at Trois Rivieres.  

The main building is a Gothic-inspired modern design. The interior space is defined by soaring arcs reminiscent of, but not quite, Gothic arches. The windows are 20th century replicas of medieval stained glass. Themes range from the French in Canada to the Old Testament.

I’m not fond of modern churches. They feel functional and institutional.

I might have felt the same way about this one except for a very lucky coincidence.

Joanna and I got there while the organist was rehearsing.  

The nave was nearly empty. I don’t think there were a dozen people in the church. That organ echoed like Phantom of the Opera.

We also walked in the gardens. A small bridge over a stream is dedicated to the rosary. According to a sign, the bridge was built in 1924 to commemorate a prodigy, the formation of an ice bridge across the St. Lawrence River in the winter of 1879.

There are bronzes representing the Stations of the Cross. A small monument, according to its inscription, was built of stones carried across the ice bridge in 1879.

We made it to Quebec around four in the afternoon.

The Chemin du Roy became hard to follow toward the end. Along the way, you follow signs with a white crown on a blue ground. The last directional sign we saw was damaged. I still don’t know if I was supposed to go straight or turn right.

I turned and tried to get directions. Nobody at the gas station had heard of the Chemin du Roy. But I learned we were only five or ten minutes from Quebec.

I was looking for a place to pull over where I could compare our various maps to find a route to the hotel.

As it turned out, I didn’t need to do that. Joanna saw “Rue Holland” on a street sign. She remembered that was part of Google’s directions.

We took Rue Holland to the Grand Allee, which led us straight to the hotel.

They put us in a room with a view of the old city, just under a kilometer down the Grand Allee. Through the trees, we can see the St. Louis Gate in the city wall. 

We can see the Hotel Frontenac and the Quebec parliament building. 

We had dinner in a rotating restaurant called Ciel, because it’s on the top floor of the hotel. Seen from the street, it looks like a huge carousel slide projector tray.

The tables are on a floor that rotates 360 degrees in an hour or so. 

We got a look at Quebec in all directions, and had a great meal while we did it. Everything was fantastic.

We started with an appetizer of quail served over eggplant puree and asparagus.

Then there was cod with onion carbonara for Joanna. The cod was delightful. The onion carbonara had ham or pancetta (we’re not sure) in a cream sauce.

I had rabbit saddle. I’m not sure what part the saddle is, but it was damned good. That came with more rabbit braised, carrot puree, and vegetables that I couldn’t identify. Joanna thinks they may have been sliced celery root and fennel.

We finished by sharing a slice of lemon and peanut pie. Lemon custard, like the filling of lemon meringue pie, shot through with peanut butter and wrapped in white chocolate. There were also honeyed peanuts and a lemon froth.

Anything that sounds so wrong has to be good.

I had a St. Emilion, a blend of Merlot and Cabernet Sauvignon. It was so good I had two. Joanna had a Burgundy because she’s a big fan of Pinot Noir grapes.

Joanna gave her toe a wallop on the tub edge Thursday morning. It was sore but not too bad when we visited the shrine. 

She held an ice pack on it during the drive to Quebec. By the time we checked in, the toe had swollen and turned purple. 

She soaked it some more and by Friday morning, much of the pain had let up, but her foot was still too tender to walk on.

Friday morning I brought yogurt and croissants to the room, along with my coffee fix.

I left Joanna to soak at the hotel while I went out to do the laundry. It became quite an adventure.

I had gotten directions from the Internet, as usual. And when I got to the neighborhood, Rue Cartier, it was my kind of place, two blocks, on both sides, lined with bars and restaurants. 

I saw a sign for Lavoir Cartier across the street, tucked between a pastry shop and a Subway. The sign was hanging over a boarded storefront. On no, the place has tanked.

I crossed over to get a better look. No, not quite closed. There was a smaller sign on a door that was literally open, held ajar by a plastic water bottle stuck into the jamb. 

It had an uncanny feeling inside. Like one of those end-of-the-world scenarios where everything is in place but there are no people.

No lights were on. Machines were running. And nobody was home. 

I decided to give it a try. The detergent dispenser took my dollar, but gave no Tide in return.

I remembered the dry cleaner, Teinturie Francaise, was not far back the way I had come. Cleaners within a couple of blocks of each other. A long shot, but maybe they’re related.

They weren’t related, but a man assured me the laundry was open. 

The Teinturie probably does more dry cleaning than dyeing. It also does wash-and-fold. 

It charges by the piece, and when the guy told me what it costs, I decided that $50, even if it was Loonies, was too much to get a small bag of underwear washed. 

I went to a Metro supermarket for detergent and went back to the Lavoir Cartier.

A man was there emptying a dryer. At first he spoke with difficulty, but his English became more fluent as he talked.

He warned me, for instance, about a dryer that took his dollar but didn’t register it.

I started the washer without incident, but then what was there to do?

I hadn’t brought a book. It was too dim to read if I had one.

So I went down the street for a beer, half pint of Loup Rouge red ale.

The TV was running pregame coverage of the World Cup. The game hadn’t started when I went back to move the clothes to a dryer.

Then I went back to the bar for another half of Red Wolf.

There are small brass plates with wisecracks attached to the bar. One says, “Please keep hands off the barmaid.”

When I sat down the second time, there was one right in front of me that I hadn’t noticed before: “Oh no, not you again.”

Serbia was one up on Switzerland when I left to start folding.

It was pushing three o’clock when I got back to hotel. 

While I was gone, the housekeeper had come to straighten the room. When she understood Joanna was laid up, she gave Joanna a massage.

Maybe because of the massage, Joanna was feeling much better when I got back, although walking in shoes still hurt her. She figured that walking in the right kind of sandals would avoid pinching the toe. 

I said let’s get something to eat close by and then ask Google about sandals.

We went to Taverne Grande Allee, next to the hotel, for a bite of lunch. The menu was short in both senses—not a big selection and a lot of fat in it.

We settled on a French Canadian dish called a poutine. The basis of it is French fries with gravy. Add cheese and you get New Jersey disco fries, I guess. 

It is not to be confused with poitrine, which is a breast, of chicken or woman.

The TV was carrying the end of the Swiss vs. Serbs. It was overtime and the Swiss won 2-1.

Joanna and I shared a poutine that along with the fries had cheese curds, green peas, and slices of chicken poitrine. It was fun, and between the two of us, we polished it off. 

I wouldn’t want to do that often, not more than once a year maybe. It could shut down my heart.

I had a couple of half pints, but they must not have been memorable because, less than a day later, I have forgotten what they were.

We went back to the hotel to search for sandals. The housekeeper popped in for a few minutes to check on Joanna, who asked her where we might buy some.

She suggested the Place Ste. Foy shopping mall. I found that online easy enough and sent a message that drew an immediate response. 

An operator named Elisabeth was typing (so the computer said) within seconds after I sent my question. She wrote that we could try Aldo and another shoe store.

We got a cab outside the Concorde, but found the road full of kids. It was a prom, graduation party, or reunion. We’re not sure what.

The sidewalk was crowded with everyone watching a line of cars one after one stop at the door of the hotel. Couples posed for photos as they stepped out.

Even so, we were able to get under way. We got out at Simons department store and found ladies’ shoes but nothing that looked good for walking. 

The saleswoman suggested we try Little Burgundy. We found the store readily enough, but nothing that would help Joanna’s foot.

We went to Clarks across the aisle. It took Joanna a couple of minutes to find what she needed. Joanna has bought Clarks shoes all over the place. 

She buys them at Willowbrook Mall in Wayne, N.J. The grey bucks she has been wearing on this trip came from Clarks in Rockefeller Center. She bought a pair of shoes at a Clarks store in Canterbury when we went to visit the cathedral. 

Now she has bought Clarks in Quebec. 

We put the grey bucks into the new shoebox and Joanna, walking much easier now, wore the sandals.

On our way out of the mall, Joanna stopped and thanked the woman who had sent us to Little Burgundy. We asked another lady at Simons if there is a cab stand at the mall. She said no, and then phoned for a cab to pick us up.

The driver asked where we were from. We told him New Jersey. He was from Lebanon, “a long time ago.” He was a Christian refugee from the civil wars of the 1970s and ’80s.

He loves Donald Trump, he said, “because he fights for his country.” 

He is also loves Quebec “because there are so many McDonald’s.” He drives his cab at night, and McDonald’s is open 24 hours. So he is a happy guy.

When we got back to the hotel, it was time for dinner. We had eaten lunch around two, and it was seven when we left the mall. 

Joanna on her new comfortable sandals walked down the block with me to a brew pub called Inox. 

Quebec is a party city in the summer, and when we got to town, it was getting ready to celebrate the Nativity of St. John the Baptist on the 24th. So more flags were out than usual and the crowds were starting to get friskier. 

By Saturday afternoon, there were people draped in the blue and white Quebec flag, and others with the flag painted on their faces. We saw a man in a blue and white fright wig.

We sat outside at Inox and took the photo of the day, which may give an idea of some of the festivities this week..

The Inox beer menu had four drafts on it, none of them proprietary. Two were from Goose Island, so all was not lost.

When I asked the waitress about the beer selection, she showed me another menu with a page of Inox in-house beers. All right. I had plenty to keep me occupied.

The food menu was mostly hot dogs and other sandwich food. We opted for a plate of cheese and cold cuts. OK, but uninspired

Joanna is not a big fan of cheese. She didn’t eat much cheese, if any, until she started hanging around with me.

There was one cheese with a single streak of blue mold down the middle. It tasted mild to me, but Joanna stayed away from that one.

Joanna decided order red sangria. It was more a wine punch—red wine, 7-Up, and orange juice with a wedge of lime and one of orange.

I had three Inox beers.

Trois de Pique was listed as an ESB, one of my favorite brews. This one was too light, though, to be a satisfying extra special bitter. 

A double IPA was the best of the lot. It was strong, around 7 or 8 percent alcohol, fragrant, and bitter.

For dessert I tried a something billed as a sour red ale. This was another miss. It wasn’t sour enough to pucker, and it was overall lightweight.

That was pretty much it for Friday. We were tired and went back to the hotel to put our feet up.

Joanna put hers on ice.

Good night, all, and may all your ascenseurs climb to the ciel.

Harry

June 24

Sounds like fun, Grasshopper! 

Great maid! I suspect she has a serious tip in her future.

Excellent travel tales. I wish I had made it to Quebec City before leaving the U.S. Sounds like a place I would like.

Larry