Premiere Moisson saw us twice this day: first up for breakfast.  This man was slicing the tops of all his bread with a razor, just before sliding them into the oven.  He was really quick with that blade.

We took it all back to the room and looking out at our view, enjoyed our meal at our own little sky-cafe.

I was determined to shop, or at the very least, look.  So we walked over to Roots (a clothing shop).  I couldn’t fathom paying some of these prices, and besides I’d spent the morning packing, which included getting the wooden box we’d bought yesterday in the bottom of my suitcase, much to my husband’s amazement and delight.  So, I walked down into the underground mall and found Dave there, snapping away with his camera.

These are vast spaces, that I’m sure are hooked into the office towers we see all around us downtown.  Flying sculptures fill some of the space, as well as a runway, for fashion shows (Dave figured it out).

Looking up into one of the open space towers.

I think the whole place was on sale.  Clever punning here.

We made one more stop to Premeire Moisson for our airplane meal, then grabbed our suitcases and checked out.  Our bus stop for the 747 Express Bus was right across from the Maria Queen of the World cathedral.  These statues on top represent the patron saints of all the parishes that constituted the Montreal diocese in 1890, when it was completed.  I like to think of them as bidding us farewell.

Au revoir, Montreal!

This deserves its own post for one reason: Première Moisson Bakery. Première Moisson means “First Harvest,” which I assume refers to the wheat in their flour, or possibly the fact that everything is so fresh looking in the morning.  I’d read about it before coming to Montreal and was delighted to find out how close one of their shops was: about a five minute walk and then down into the underground Main Train Station.

You’ve already seen some of this place in the post on Montreal.  I went along the entire case that morning, snapping photos, like any dumb and besotted tourist in love. So here’s selection of what I saw that morning.

Three shelves of pastries, with duplications.

Baked goods.  The special for the first day was a Apricot-Almond-Coconut loaf.  We didn’t get that one, but we did buy the next day’s special of Raspberry Bread.  It was like a large folded over half-circle, with a layer of fresh raspberries inserted in the folded-over space before baking.  The result (which we bought and took with us on the airplane and ate mid-flight) was like a slightly tart raspberry jam inside of a lightly sweetened soft dough.  It was divine.  They actually have a book on baking, but it’s all in French and Metric measurements–a little difficult for us American bakers.

Cakes.  Dave was temped to try and figure out how to take one of these on the plane.

This was the next section over and some had shiny chocolate ganache as a frosting.

This is the sandwich section.  We bought the pear-cheese on hazelnut-golden raisin bread and the roast beef on an herbed roll for our “airplane food” on Wednesday morning.  I don’t see them here.

This was a close-up of the lentil salad from their salads section (we took a small container for our travel lunch).

You’ve seen this case already but it’s worth a second look.

Première Moisson has figured out how to do what I wish the French would have done: combine an almond croissant with a pain du chocolat.  I had a chocolate-almond croissant both mornings; it was heavenly.

We ate this little treat right after our lunch of Vietnamese Spring Rolls which we’d picked up in the underground.

Backing up, this was Dave’s Croque Monsieur (grilled cheese and ham sandwich) that he had at L’Express on Sunday.  The french fries had such a unique and wonderful flavor that the waiter offered to find out for me which kind of potatoes were used.  He came back with the answer “The Chef says it’s a secret.”  I do know that Canadians pride themselves on their new potatoes that were appearing in all the stores and on menus, but this didn’t remind me of a new potato.  The little sauce was fresh mayonaise.  Dave said when he was in France it took some getting used to, but now if feels normal (although he still uses catsup when we’re at home).

A little luncheon quiche, with green salad.

That night we went to L’Academie (check map on Canada page for restaurant info) and we both had the same thing (it was a special): gazpacho, which was very good–cool and a bit piquante.

Then nothing-to-write-home-about ziti in sauce.

Monday’s lunch was at Cafe des Arts in the Marche Bonsecours.  Grilled panini, two drinks, a cool place to sit for a while and a most unusual biscotti that was studded with nuts and chocolate chips.  We bought another for the road.

We dined that night in Old Town, where we nabbed (by 10 minutes) the early-bird dinner.  This was Modavie and that table is not set because they had a jazz singer and guitarist in for entertainment.  As we were eating we saw a group of six older customers come in and sit at the bar.  They enthusiastically applauded the duo and after a couple of drinks, they left, but not without one woman coming up and kissing the singer.  Her grandmother?

Sometimes you can tell a lot about a place by their breadbasket.  These all tasted like store-bought breads.  The long roll was especially grocery-store like.

Mine was a raspberry sauce over salmon.  That’s a bottled raspberry sauce dripped on top of over-cooked salmon.

Dave’s was chicken something-or-other, which even he didn’t finish.  The potatoes and vegetables were good, though.

But on the other hand, I can’t say enough good things about Olive et Gourmando, an extrememly busy, but efficient place in Old Town.

Several walls (and surfaces) are coated with blackboard paint.  This one says something to the effect of “eat your vegetables.  No, brownies don’t count.”

This was our salad–so refreshing on a day where the weather was about 104 degrees in feeling, when the temperature and humidity were combined (in their “humidex”).  I’ve posted the recipe over on Elizabeth Cooks.

We also had this panini, and I’m pretty sure it was The Cubain: ham, braised pork, homemade mayonnaise (chipotle peppers, pickles, lime, and coriander), with gruyère cheese.  I didn’t write it down, but took it from their website later on.

On Sunday, we passed by this young man handing out pizza samples–they looked great.  Notice the heart-shaped trash can below.

This is the famous St. Viatueur bagel shop.

Fresh bagels are in a mound to the right of the wood-burning oven.  Watching the fellow in black was poetry in motion.  (I should have watched the man in white shape the bagels.)  After they were shaped, he threw them in a “honeyed water” (from Frommer’s guidebook) and the fellow in black scooped them out with a strainer and coated both sides with sesame seeds.

He lined them up on the long narrow boards, then put them on the left side of the oven (below).

When they were done to some degree of doneness, he took the spare board, scooted the bagels all to the right, then flipped those on the board onto the floor of the oven in one deft move.

And those on the very far right, were removed by sliding that thinner, spare board underneath them, then flipping them out into the sloping channel, where they’d tumble down into the mound.  The nearby fellow would bag them up.  We shared one.  It was really good.

Last eating adventure for that day was a Schwartz’ viande fumee–smoked brisket, stacked really high.  We knew to order the garlicky dill pickle.  To eat it,  I would cut a bite of sandwich, add some mustard and a pickle slice and pop it in my mouth.  They charge you an extra dollar-fifty to share the sandwich, but I don’t know how I could ever eat one by myself.  The fellow waiting on us had the answer: “Skip lunch.”

I forgot to take a photo of  Suite 88, the chocolate shop we went to in Mont Royal, but this one from their website will do.  I liked their chocolate bars (favorite was the”Gingembre”–ginger in dark chocolate, and “Cinq Epices” with had five different spices in the milk chocolate).  A fitting end to eating in Montreal.

This is in two parts–Nova Scotia and Montreal.

We learned quickly to dial down our aspirations for food in Nova Scotia, with occasional exceptions.  Sorry to let you in a big secret, but in a land where Tim Hortons is as big as McDonald’s in the States, you can also expect some of the same mediocre food as you would find in the States.  This is frustrating for travellers, but we soon learned to adapt–full was the only criteria in some places–not flavorful or wonderful.  We weren’t in France or Italy, after all.

In order to spare you the agony of another Tim Hortons sandwich (which really isn’t bad, if you get used to it), not all of our meals are here.

First breakfast at our B&B in Truro: cheesy turnover, a slice of Canadian bacon, scrambled eggs and three halves of grape tomatoes.  It was all set on lovely china, and they had really good hot chocolate for me.  Dave and I didn’t end up sitting next to each other because of the way the first two couples sat at the table–I had the better meal partners (they were from England, and funny).

Our restaurant in Georgetown, Prince Edward Island: Clam Diggers.

Charming design, with peeling paint as an accent.

The only reason why I show these two meals is to give you an idea of the adjustment we were trying to make, racheting down the expectation level.  Later, when I mentioned to the American innkeeper at Glendyer Inn that we’d had a wrap, she slowly shook her head.  “They don’t do wraps here very well,” she said.  No, they don’t.  Notice that the wrap is grilled/toasted.

Things picked up in Mabou at the Red Shoe Pub, although the texture of the hummus was not typical.  This was the starter to a fine meal, where I had the linguini with lobster and asparagus, but the photos didn’t turn out very well.

We saw these in a grocery store in Truro–they give a thermometer to approximate the temperature of the peppers inside.  I could use that kind of help at the grocery store.

At the Bell Buoy Restaurant in Baddeck, we each had lobster, and it was great fun as well as fresh and flavorful.

Don’t we look pretty dorky in these dumb bibs, but there is some squirting as you dig out the lobster meat with these:

The first night we were in Halifax, we ate here, at The Carleton, in the oldest building in downtown Halifax.  We both had linguini with seafood and it was very good.  It was served with (what else?) toasted bread.

The second night was Subway in the Halifax Performing Arts Center (we were running late so had to eat stadium food), but the last night we came to FID.  With the delivery of the bread basket, we knew we were in new territory, insofar as Nova Scotian food was concerned.

The “Mayhem” salad was a work of art, which we planned to share, bit by savory bit.  We wrote down what was in it as we went:
thin slice of turnip
wedges of radish, roasted zucchini, roasted yellow squash
peas
“quickled” beet–a beet pickled quickly, in other words
pea pod
puree of butternut squash
smear of balsamiced honey
shiitake mushroom jelly (that was a new on on us–kind of like clear little lumps)
quickled fiddlehead
quickled cucumber (English-type, julienned)
confit of quickled onion
poached whole shallot
currents
plump dried cranberries, softened

All on a little tiny plate.

Even Dave’s knife was beautiful.

Dave ordered “7-day marinated hanger steak with roasted garlic mashed potatoes.”

I had “caramelized sea scallops with pork belly, young beets and chard.”

We both had smiles on our faces.

Dessert was sticky toffee pudding.  The toffee was the sauce, the pudding was the super-moist cake.

That’s the end of Nova Scotia.

The little black car to the right was our main mode of transit around Canada, and we logged some 1202 miles driving around Nova Scotia, Cape Breton Island and Prince Edward Island (thats 1934.4 kilometers, which sounds like a whole lot more than the miles equivalent).  Here it’s parked on the car/people ferry from Prince Edward Island to Nova Scotia, heading across the Northumberland Strait.

Like good little passengers, we hung around for a few minutes, but then went upstairs to the Feeding Frenzy Lounge, where it smelled like scrambled eggs and bacon.  I guess all the Asian tourists were hungry; there wasn’t a seat available inside.  So we headed outside into the wind and cold.

Because it was a rainy day, and the usual scenery was obscured by fog and damp, I tried to see the ferry in terms of shape and color, instead of looking for the usual tourist views.  What follows is a few of our shots on that gray day.

I wore this coat three times.  Here’s one.  The other two were schlepping around Green Gables, and watching fireworks in Halifax on Canada Day.

The name of our ferry was the Charlottetown, even though it sailed from Wood Islands.  The rope mooring the ship to the dock is about to be cast off, which made me wonder how in heavens name did they get the rope out to that peg in the first place?  You could lose sleep over these little questions of life.

The bolts have an almost sculptural quality to them, smothered as they are in white paint.

Tourists.

Any color pops out on this white ship.

Like this orangey-red deck atop the navigation module.

And this blue padlock.

We went up on observation deck, where the wind was whipping around at a good clip.

These modular benches appeared somewhat two-dimensional, flattened in the low light.

The girl in pink backed into the shot, and I liked that spark of color.

As you can see, we had the place mostly to ourselves.

But the wind became too cold, so we went back down to the Lounge, and then snuck down to the car deck, where we climbed in and let the boat rock us to sleep.

We awoke when we heard the voice over the loudspeaker tell us to return to our cars.
Check.
Land is sighted: Pictou Harbor on Nova Scotia.

Another day we took the rope-drawn ferry across St. Anne’s Bay.  There was about a 5 minute wait, then the ferry showed up, off-loaded, loaded and we had about a five minute ride across.

The Torquil MacLean is the name.  I thought it was tradition to think of all boats as feminine, but I’d sure like to meet a lady with the first name of Torquil.  According to the locals, this is known as the Englishtown Ferry, because it lands in Englishtown (where we were headed to).  The website explains the name and few other tidbits:

The Torquil MacLean holds 15 passenger cars but can handle larger vehicles (including semi-trailer) as well. It operates 24 hours a day and is the busiest of the 7 inland ferries operated by the province of Nova Scotia, handling an average of 600 vehicles a day.  The Torquil MacLean is named after the man who ran the first ferry (a row boat) at this location in about 1871.

Of course the other types of transport were jet airplanes, but that’s nothing unusual in this day and age, and you can imagine them yourself, although none probably have the name like Torquil MacLean.

This was our first lighthouse that we saw, near Cavendish, Prince Edward Island (PEI) in North Rustico Harbour.  It has the shape, and the cupola on top, but alas, I think this is just a house.  We turned 180 degrees from this site, and saw this:

We soon figured out that the shape of a squared-off building tapering to a cupola (and a place for the light) were a popular theme.

This next one was spotted from our ferry across the Northumberland Strait–which one is the real lighthouse?  The closest building sat on the breakfront, which we glided past as we sailed.  We think the one in the background is the real one, because we glimpsed a flashing light.  All the lighthouses used to be manned, but slowly they were automated.

One fiddler we met got his start working in a lighthouse, as his first job demanded 11 months of isolation, before the crew was moved to a 28-day rotation.  We met him when we stopped on the east side of Cape Breton, coming down the Cabot Trail; we didn’t buy his CD of fiddle tunes, instead buying another where we could hear the stomping feet in the background (his recommendation).  He was quite garrulous–obviously making up for lost time.  Click on the picture to be taken to his website.

A third little building right as we’re leaving Wood Islands, PEI; I still think the real McCoy is in the background.  Click to enlarge and you can see the light.  I went onto the Canadian Coast Guard page and these three are known as the harbour and breakwater “lights.”  That’s what they call them–not lighthouses.

Pictou, Nova Scotia has a lighthouse on their pier, but again, it’s just a building shaped like a lighthouse for all I know.  Inside they had a map with lights for all the lighthouses in Nova Scotia, with the red, yellow and white lights blinking off and on, supposedly corresponding to the actual lighthouse.  This one was like a mini-museum, with lighthouse trinkets for sale.  The website that lists all of these is the Nova Scotia Lighthouse Preservation Society.  Good way to waste some time looking at their interactive maps.

Looking for something else, we found this lighthouse in the Mabou Harbor.  I wish we’d taken the time to get out and take some better shots, but we felt we didn’t belong.  According to the NSLPS webpage:

“The pyramidal wooden lighthouse at Mabou Harbour was built in 1884 to guide coastal steamers transporting non-perishable goods into the only protected harbour on the western side of Cape Breton Island. At that time, a number of general stores served the countryside for miles around. At various times gypsum was shipped from here, and there was a lobster and salmon canning factory right next to the lighthouse. Now, the pretty lighthouse is the Mabou Harbour Museum and Tourist Centre, opened in June 1998, to showcase the history of the lighthouse and the village.”

Now I really wish we’d gotten out of the car.  Before we left Cape Breton, we saw one more “light.”

On the east side of Cape Breton is a huge salt water lake, still connected to the sea, called Bras d’Or.  This lighthouse, at Baddeck, sits on the point of Kidston Island.

The lighthouse in the evening, after our lobster supper.  I picked a buttercup flower from the grass and held it under Dave’s chin: yes, he likes butter.  When we were children, we morphed that old wives’ tale into “if you see yellow, that person’s in love.”  I like that one better.

The next up close and personal was near Halifax, on our way to the famous Peggy’s Cove lighthouse.  Obviously McDonalds is trying to fit into the territory with this design.

Peggy’s Cove is really as beautiful as everyone says it is, and windy, too (see post for that day for tourists with windswept hair).  We parked our car at the visitor center and walked in toward the lighthouse.

This is taken from the sea-side of the lighthouse, looking back toward the land.  The rocks are massive, and so right for playing.  I wish we had the grandchildren with us, as we remembered the fun they had in Pacific Grove, clambering all over the rocks.

The heroic shot, one of many that we took that morning.  The only lighthouse souvenir I purchased was a small wooden model, for sale in the restaurant in Baddeck.  It now sits on my kitchen windowsill, lighting my way to the dishes.