Planet Quebec

Yesterday I visited another planet in our little system, Planet Quebec. Our happy crew sallied forth in search of maple goodies or rather, Produits d'Erable. (Sacre bleu! C'est beurre d'erable! Resistance c'est futile!) Perhaps you think it a little insane to drive to another country for dinner. But what a dinner! With maple sausages and maple ham, maple baked beans and maple flavored eggs, maple relish, maple mousse and maple tarts, this was one glorious diabetic shock in the making!

The food, however, was not the most exciting part of the trip. I realize now that I have never really seen the Quebecois. I've gone to Montreal, which is a pretty little European city dropped onto our spacious continent, but it doesn't show the true nature of Quebec. Last night was different. The dining room was a log cabin, decorated with moose and obscure farm implements (mostly ice tongs and snow saws). The tables were laid for twenty to sit down and eat family-style, and I was happy to see that there would be live music. Once the food was brought out, the musician set to work. He started clogging on the hollow platform, twanging a Jew's harp, playing guitar or accordian, clapping and singing folk songs in Canadian French. With the first chorus, everyone in the room burst out into song. Our fearless few looked at each other, looked around, and realized we were the only people in the room who didn't know all the words. At song two, he was teaching everyone how to play the spoons, so we all reached for our spoons and started slapping. As the night progressed, the songs got louder and rowdier. The folks at the next table were climbing on their chairs, dancing on the tables, crooning at the top of their lungs. The only song we were able to join in on was fairly late in the dinner when he started playing:

"Ole ole, ole ole
ole ole, ole ole
J'ai chaud-chaud-chaud!"

It was marvellous. It's been a long time since I've been in such a party, and the only time I've ever tried to sing along in a Quebecois twang. In Germany this kind of thing would be fuelled by liters of beer, but here it was merely maple sugar and the spirit of spring! I felt I should raise a french barn or go fell some trees or something, but instead we hopped back in the car and drove the long way back to Deare Olde Boston. Feels a little strange to be back on Earth, but at least I took some beurre d'erable with me for remembrance. Mmmm.