A Visit to Montreal

For a reason that I don't recall, one day in the mid-90's Eunice and I decided to vacation in Montreal, Quebec, Canada. We were very friendly with a couple, Alex and Betty, from a neighboring town. He was a psychiatrist and his wife was a well known local artist. They were from Montreal originally and that may be the reason we decided to go. When Alex and Betty found out we were planning on visiting Montreal they provided us with information on the places to see and the restaurants to frequent. They also asked us to go to the Jewish section of town and get a couple dozen bagels from a certain bakery which they hadn't had in years. That's probably why they encouraged us to go.

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Well we had a great time. There are many fantastic places to visit and we must have crammed as many of them as we could in two weeks. Museums, parks, plazas, the waterfront, the old city, Cirque de Soleil's headquarters, Notre Dame, 17th century buildings and the Botanic Gardens to name a few. We never even got to the Casino. A wonderful city. One of our favorite restaurants was the Cafe Stash. A great Polish restaurant where they had great Polish cooking and a fantastic selection of Vodka's which were served at room temperature. Absolutely delicious. We also had our favorite French restaurants because, after all, Montreal is a French city. It's the spoken language and English is used only as a secondary language. In fact the law requires that signs must be posted in French and English translation is permitted, but only as a smaller sub-title. They actually give summonses if this is not followed.

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Well, we went to the Jewish quarter and found the bakery that Alex told us about and the day we left we loaded up the car with his famous bagels. We also found a great kosher breakfast place which we would frequent quite often. And of course Schwartz's delicatessen.

Eunice, being brought up in a Kosher Jewish environment, remembered all those days when she was a child at her Grandmothers knee. The following is the way she expressed it.

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POEM

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The Magician

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It was magic when I saw him,

Magic, here in this foreign place

Midst the oui's and voila's.

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His beard and hair were black

With curls that tumbled over his ears.

His high hat and long coat were black too.

He carried a prayer-book

Tightly within his hands.

I smiled at him

and remembered

The smell of freshly starched

clothes in the Synagogue,

the silent vigil of the earnest

bowing their heads in silent prayer.

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The borscht on the dining room table.

Rich, deep red, almost black.

Like red velvet, which tasted

sweet and pungent:

The sizzling of potato latkes in the

frying pan.

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The shimmering of Sabbath lights

in a darkened room,

Which would dim, then rally,

then fade in a wisp of gray smoke...

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As I watched the man scurry away,

he carried my childhood with him,

In fast footsteps that clattered

On cobblestones,

Past shadows of ornate

Trellises which framed cozy

homes where families gathered

for dinner,

and here midst the wine

and the pate's, there was

Black Magic.

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Eunice Verdi - written in Montreal probably in the mid-90's