The Canadian Coffee Break brings together some of the finest Canadian minds in Southern California every week for a topical, lively round-tablesque discussion over very dark coffee. Won’t you join us.
TOPIC #12: POUTINE
Week Twelve has arrived. To celebrate, I finally shagged over to Dusty’s in Silverlake and tried the poutine which, from what I understand, roughly translates to “Fuck Me, I’m experiencing coronary thrombosis albeit deliciously so” from Québécois.
Your topic, naturally, is poutine. I would like to know a few things:
- What, where and when was the best poutine you’ve ever had in your life? What made it so?
- Wikipedia suggests that poutine [pronunciation] is very popular at ski resorts, not unlike “steak chili in a breadbowl.” Makes sense; it’s a heavy comfort food. Have you ever had poutine at a ski resort in Canada? Elaborate.
- Have you ever made your own poutine? How was it?
- As cultural ambassador from your province, you have been tasked with introducing poutine into the menu of five (5) Los Angeles restaurants. Which restaurants do you choose and why?
Sean Chrétien
Though you asked for joyous stories of poutine past, I’m going to have to relay an anecdote of the worst poutine I’ve ever had. You see, I’ve been itching to lambaste a certain breed of poutine since late July – the pseudo-poutine of fine dining eateries in Washington state. Though I was uber-close to the Canadian border two months ago, I decided to order some pou at the Steelhead Diner in Seattle, hoping for a truly visceral/flashbacky experience. Steelhead is situated adjacent to Pike Place, perhaps the most heavily frequented tourist attraction in the Pacific Northwest; however, exhaustive approbation for the joint led me to believe that the poutine would surpass expectations. Not so. Though it veritably was poutine – cheese curds and gravy intact – something was horribly amiss. Was it the presentation? I must admit when my poutine was most formally tabled at my table (Figure 1?), I felt slightly estranged; I was used to eating my pou on dirty city streets out of Styrofoam cups (AKA properly – though I’ve never pou’d at a ski resort).