My food is looking at me. I’m not sure how I feel about that. But he is. Or she is. OK, it is. A fried pigeon- head and all – at Le Cristal Chinois, as authentic-as-it-gets Chinese restaurant in Montreal’s Chinatown. That’s one thing you gotta love about Montreal, the culinary diversity is immense. And tasty. That includes pigeon.. Le Cristal Chinois is on the sixth floor of a building near strip joints in a seedy yet safe-feeling area of town. I take the elevator up and step into noisy nuptial bliss of four weddings going on at once. I flag a waiter to get a seat near one and have fun watching the photo montage of the happy bride and groom and the crowd dancing to DJ-tunes like “The Twist” and a rap version of “Stayin’ Alive.” Though it’s a young crowd, they dance modestly in gentle side-to-side motions, like old white people at a wedding (that includes me). I check out the huge menu. Abalone. Shark-fin soup. Swallow’s nest. Nope, I’m going fried pigeon. My waiter looks at me. “It’s a pretty small bird,” he says in perfect English. OK, so I also go with bean curd and seafood soup (quite good, could use more salt) and duck au jus orange (absolutely divine, sweet, thick breast in succulent orange sauce with orange sections wedged into the slices). Then comes my pigeon, quartered, the head and neck separate. With one eye staring at me, seemingly sutured but looking my way. I look back and eat the other parts first. It’s quite good, fried crunchy and seasoned perfectly. That leaves the head. “Sorry buddy,” I sigh, picking it up. “The time has come.” I bite through the skull, revealing the tiny gray brain. I bite that, relishing the texture and taste, not unlike pate. Seriously. I realize it’s the first brain I’ve ever eaten. Well, sober anyway. All in all a great meal for $45. I slip the waiter $15 for the tip. It’s the least I can do to honor the pigeon. For the less adventurous but deep in the pockets, consider m:brgr, aka Mr. Burger, home of the $100 burger – and equally good, cheaper ones. The C-note variety is made with twin patties of Kobe beef, bacon, foie gras and honey truffle aioli. What besides that makes it worth 100 bucks? “The experience,” smiles Jeff Dichter, owner, and a philanthropist who donates a portion of all proceeds to Montreal children’s charities, including the Montreal Children’s Hospital; Dichter had an ailing child years ago (now healthy) and made it a priority to never forget those in need. I opt for the $39 foie gras burger, with Kobe beef, truffle carpaccio (didn’t know it existed), thick and creamy foie gras and honey truffle aioli. It is absolutely splendid, topped with what I think is a green olive but actually is an Italian dwarf truffle peach – which I also didn’t know existed. All of it, including the sweet potato fries I try and pulled-pork poutine, a heart-clogging concoction of pork, gravy-drenched fries and gooey cheese curd, along with a couple of mohitos, gives me a “mouthgasm,” as I tell Dichter. He laughs and asks if I want another classic here, a massive chocolate chip cookie baked and served in a cast-iron skillet and topped with ice cream. I look at my swelling belly and decline. You get no food at Ziggy’s, a very local bar on otherwise tourist-trendy Crescent Street. “It’s a local bar,” deadpans owner, aka The King of Crescent Street, Ziggy Eichenbaum. “I don't serve food. I cater only to alcoholics.” Ziggy’s is tucked below ground level down concrete stairs, past a mailbox with Montreal Canadiens stickers on it. Inside, the place bleeds Canadiens’ bleu, blanc, rouge, right down to the depiction of legendary goalie Ken Dryden on the men’s room door. “He heard about it,” Ziggy smiles, “and had to come see it. He said ‘Ziggy, I’m on the bathroom door?’” In one corner of the joint are red seats from the old Montreal Forum near a photo of Ziggy with the Stanley Cup, taken with four superstar Canadiens of the past, Jean Beliveau, Yvan Cournoyer, Henri Richard and Guy LaFleur, on the occasion of the team’s 100th anniversary in 2009. Celeb sightings here are common, including local sports stars, car racers in the Montreal Grand Prix, MMA fighters who come through town, and American movie stars like Robert DeNiro, Joe Pesci and Channing Tatum. Sir Ben Kingsley came in once. Ziggy asked him about “that turtle movie he was in,” which was the little known “Turtle Diary” in 1986. Kingsley’s eyes lit up. “He jumped over the bar and kissed me!” Ziggy laughs. “He said ‘That was one of my best movies!’” Pro golfer Payne Stewart became a friend after Ziggy, not knowing who he was and that he was in town for the Canadian Open, offered him tickets. Stewart came back often, even giving Ziggy a putter in the shape of - there's no other way to put this - a cock, that Ziggy will playfully and happily show off. A must-have concoction is the kamikaze, a shot of Russian vodka, triple sec and lime syrup, sweet and sweetly deceiving. We slug down three and stumble out into the Montreal daylight, happy for the impromptu encounter with the King of Crescent Street. Later, as I sit on the street near the Montreal Jazz Festival with a hot dog, a sole pigeon pops up at my feet. Looking at me, I swear, with an evil eye. I feed him bits of the roll, figuring it’s the least I can do to honor my food source. |