Gilded Age and Golden Dog

June 23-25

Joanna’s foot was much improved, so we were able to tackle the Old City on Saturday.

Not wanting to push things, we took a cab to the Chateau Frontenac to get us started.

When you reach the hotel, the cab takes you through a stone arch into a courtyard. There’s a guy by the door who’s wearing a top hat and checking in luggage.

I’ve been to Quebec a few times before, but had never stepped into the hotel, so we toured the Frontenac lobby. It’s a well-maintained hotel built in late Victorian times. It’s a little stuffy looking, but that makes it fun. 

Think Gilded Age. It’s an interior designed for ladies in long dresses, and for men in three-piece suits by day and dinner jackets at night. Most of the men and women we saw were in Bermuda shorts and jeans. 

The place speaks of privilege and money.

The privilege is more a relic of the past, but the money is very much present.

The lobby has large-scale sculptures on display for sale, with prices in five and six figures.

We passed some old folks who had fallen asleep on a banquette. The sleeping man had a dog on a leash. The dog came over to say hello, but the man slept on.

The dog may have been the hotel mascot, a trained service dog that has been adopted by the hotel.

The hotel is next to a boardwalk called the Terrasse Dufferin, which overlooks the lower city and the St. Lawrence River.

In the summer this area is full of street performers. A string trio was playing reels from a gazebo on the boardwalk when we came out of the hotel. The crowd’s a lot more restrained here than in Trois Rivieres. Nobody was dancing.

We bought drinks and a sandwich at Starbucks and watched a juggler in front of the Champlain monument. 

Nearby is the Anglican Cathedral of the Holy Trinity, which sponsors an artisan market—tents set up with artwork and handicrafts for sale. 

The church contains memorial plaques to various prominent members of congregation. One is dedicated to four generations of a family named Hale. 

The first was a military officer. The sons of each succeeding generation were public officials.

One, we read, had been influential in arranging a gift to the cathedral, a silver communion service from George III.

The silver service is on display in a glass case on one side of the nave.

The Catholic Cathedral-Basilica of Notre Dame is not far away from there. Its most imposing feature is the gilded altarpiece centered on a replica of St. Peter’s in Rome. 

Above it is a painting representing the Immaculate Conception of Mary. Above that is a golden sculpture group of two angels flanking the Virgin, probably a reference to the Assumption. 

Crowning the very top, near the vaulted ceiling of the apse, is a Resurrection group, a huge figure of Jesus standing in front of a starburst and holding the empty cross. 

On the level with the model of St. Peter’s are six figures that I couldn’t identify. One seemed to be dressed like a Roman officer. I wondered if it might be Constantine. 

There were four other men, but if they represent the Evangelists, they don’t have the usual symbolism of winged creatures: a man for Matthew, an lion for Mark, an ox for Luke, and an eagle for John.

The figure to the left of St. Peter’s is a crowned woman. It could be Mary as Queen of Heaven, but I’m not sure.

The streets in the Old City have a distinct Euro feel. Not only are they narrow, but they are also lined by stone buildings. 

One part of Rue Ste. Anne is a pedestrian-only restaurant row. We met a harpist there, and had Campari and soda while he played. 

Then he ceded his place to a lady with fanciful eye makeup and elaborate hair who played violin accompanied by a man with a guitar.

Joanna saw a sign for Pandora, so we stopped at a stored called Mos, where she found a charm with a blue Quebec fleur de lis for her bracelet. 

I finally got to have dinner at a place called Aux Anciens Canadiens. It is in a 17th century house on Rue St. Louis, near the Chateau Frontenac. 

One of the 19th century residents of the house was the author of a novel, “Les Anciens Canadiens,” which is the origin of the restaurant’s name.

The menu serves food that would have been eaten by the early colonists. 

We shared three dishes. 

One was a pate made of caribou, bison, and deer meat served with a sweet carrot sauce. Next were croquettes of smoked bison with Parmesan cheese and a tomato relish. 

The main course was Grandma’s Treat: a slice of meat pie, a couple of meat balls, bits of fried pork fat, a savory fruit concoction, and baked beans.

It was all delicious, but also heavy duty. 

I opted for a Quebec wine, Opailleur red, which was very fruity. The flavor carried illusions of blueberries or tart cherries.

Joanna had a Rothschild Mouton Cadet, a good dry Bourdeaux not heavy on the oak.

The crowds were reveling late for St. John’s Eve. The nativity of St. John the Baptist is a provincial holiday, so everything and almost everybody is done up in blue and white, the colors of Quebec. 

I was up until 2 a.m., and the crowd below in the street was still howling. How can anybody shout so loud for so long?

The weather turned rainy on Sunday. We left the hotel later than usual and walked for a couple of hours. 

We stopped for wine and soup at Freres de la Cote on Rue St. Jean Baptiste, which was closed to traffic for the holiday.

I wondered if the restaurant’s name, had anything to do with the Jesuits, who were headquartered a block or two away. I looked up the phrase later and found that the Brethren of the Coast is the name of the loose organization of privateers and pirates based in the Caribbean.

Joanna and I shared a plate of snails cooked in olive oil and served with tomato relish. It was full of subtle flavors and downright stunning.

Then we each had a bowl of a superb French onion soup.

This place had Opailleur wine, too, so I tried the blanc. I’m not a big fan of white wine in general, except for Cote du Rhones. The Quebec wine had enough flavor to hold up to the snails and the soup.

We walked a little more, back to the neighborhood of the Frontenac. There were no cabs and the rain had let up, so we decided to walk back to the hotel. 

By the time we got there, we needed a nap.

When we woke up, it was a few hours after the appetizer and soup course, so we went downstairs to the hotel restaurant called Ja Ja for the main course. Ja Ja is an Italian theme restaurant with pictures of motor scooters.

Joanna had seafood in pink sauce over penne. I opted for spaghetti Bolognese. 

I’m from New Jersey. If there’s one food I know, it’s pasta. Both dishes were OK. Not great, but more than satisfactory.

I had a Nero d’Avola and Cabernet Sauvignon blend. It was good, but I would have preferred Nero alone. 

Then I ordered Nespolino, a blend of Sangiovese and Merlot, which was better.

We weren’t quite ready to quit, but couldn’t decide between tiramisu and creme brulee with Amaretto and lime. So we had both.

It was about ten when we finished. We haven’t eaten dinner that late in ages.

Monday started with a trip to Cosmos, the usual place, for a quick breakfast of yogurt and fruit, along with my required two cups of coffee.

We finally left the hotel neighborhood around noon or one, just in time to get caught in a thunder storm. We sheltered for a few minutes under the eave of a government building on the Grande Allee and then were on the move again.

We went back to the boardwalk, but the rain started up again, so we went to the bar at the Frontenac for Campari and soda. They serve a little pot of mixed nuts and crackers with it.

The rain had stopped when we made it to the boardwalk, but the wind was brutal. We walked downhill a short way till the hill shielded us from the wind. We were on a street we hadn’t taken on before. It led to the former post office and the Golden Dog.

I had forgotten the Golden Dog.

There used to be a bar with that name on the street across from the post office. Now the name is on a jewelry store.

The golden dog itself is on a plaque over the main entrance to the P.O. It has an inscription in French that begins, “Je suis un chien qui ronge l’os.” Or, “I am a dog that gnaws the bone.”

It also says, according to the Amerique Francaise website, “A time will come that’s yet to be when I bite him who’s bitten me.”

Clearly someone in Canada who speaks French was nursing a grudge when that went up.

We wandered into some shops, including one place selling everything from nostalgia toys to copies of Playboy from the 1970s.

We stopped at Brethren of the Coast again for a quick Opailleur rouge and watched a few minutes of the World Cup. 

By this time, both breakfast and the bridge mix at the Frontenac were far in the past. So we strolled up the hill from Rue St. Jean Baptist to Rue St. Louis to look at the restaurants there.

One interesting place served several kinds of pies, including salmon and shepherd’s. But it was one of those impossible joints that play Muzak for the deaf. Or to make you deaf.

I reluctantly opted out.

We wound up at Cafe de Paris. There was a special on Chateaubriand for two. I haven’t had this in so long, I had forgotten that it is steak. 

Joanna and I can't share steak. She likes it cooked too much for my taste. I like it red.

I had confused Chateaubriand with Boeuf Bourguignon, the wonderful beef stew.

It turned out all right, though, because stew was on the menu too.

We ordered a half liter of the house red, which went well with the food.

I’ve had the dish a few times before, and this may have been the best so far. Even the pearl onions were not too sweet. Sometimes I find them cloying.

A guitar player came in and sang some French numbers, and also “the Sound of Silence” and “Take Me Home, Country Roads.”

Later a group of kids, possibly a high school class trip, came in. The guitarist was working with them in another room. We heard them all singing “Alouette, Gentille Alouette” and “Hallelujah.”

The sun was shining and low in the sky when we walked back to Le Concorde.

It was another good day in French Canada.

Stay well, all. And watch what you feed your pets.

Harry

June 26

Your notes are reminding me of how much I want to go back to Quebec! 

I'm glad you're having a good time and that Joanna's foot is doing better. Brian and I have both been swapping off weird lower-leg/foot pain recently so we can empathize. 

Are you staying at the Frontenac? If so, do you like it? If not, are you staying someplace nice that you'd recommend?

Love you,

Kate

June 26

We're at Hotel Le Concorde, up the Grande Allee from St. Louis Gate. We're about a kilometer from Chateau Frontenac. 

Rooms in the Frontenac start somewhere around $500 a night. Even in Loonies that's way too rich for my blood.

Campari and soda at the bar is close enough for me.

Love you back.

Dad