Finding Coq in Montreal

[[Johnny]] and [[Steve]] and I started off Sunday with a languid rise to action, leaving the house just before noon to launch an exciting day of shopping, eating and entertainment.

We landed on Ste. Catherine, grabbed coffee and tentative sandwiches at Indigo, and then split into squads so as to equitably distribute the shopping load. As is my wont in Montreal, I went shoe shopping (alas I discovered that shoe design has trended away from my tastes and I came away empty-handed).

We reconvened mid-afternoon for an invigorating coffee, and then split for a final shopping dash. I took this second opportunity to rediscover Metropolitan News (1109 Cypress St.): I’m sad to report that this newsstand has descended into decay and now contains little more than faded piles of old porn magazines and a morbiund collection of newspapers, the most exotic of which was a week-old copy of The Observer. Sigh.

At 5:30 p.m. we headed to Ex Centris for a screening of Good Night, and Good Luck. The film, a docu-drama concerning the coverage by CBS News of the McCarthy hearings, ultimately amounts to little more than a rehashing of the events, and adds little insight or understanding. George Clooney should just stop it with the black and white vanity projects.

It was in our search for a tasty last supper that we ran into real problems. We had a copy of Cheap Thrills: Great Montreal Meals for Under $15 in hand, and Johnny settled us on a place called Coq et Stock on Mont Royal. We made our way down Mont Royal looking for the giant chicken that Johnny was sure he’d seen earlier in the day only to find that it had been replaced by a Starbucks. Unable to take defeat easily, I got on the cell phone and called the number listed in the book; a confused sounding man answered, and when I questioned, in my proto-French, “c’est coq and stock?” he sounded even more confused, perhaps thinking that I was looking for some all-male action. Fortunately Steve was able to jump on the line and determine that there was no Coq to be had.

We ended up at Le Pistou, just up the street, and spent a plesant couple of hours dining on Mediterranean fare that reminded me of our time in France.

Exhausted from our day of shopping, eating and being pummelled by George Clooney’s direction, we made an early night of it watching the tail end of The Towering Inferno in French.

Today it’s back to the Island for Johnny and I on an afternoon jet; Steve is back at the [[CBC]] informing and enlightening Montrealers about local and regional issues.