Monday, August 06, 2007

 

Putain! It's Poutine

I don't have much to do with Canadians really - I have not come across that many of them in my life. But, if I were forced to make a generalisation about them based on the one or two Canadians I have met, I would say: "They mean well" and "They are harmless" , which everyone knows is just another way of saying that they are saved from being fucking irritating, by the fact that they are just a touch too boring.

The ones I have met have been the French variety, and for all they claim to be bilingual, they speak both French and English with a peculiar accent. That ubiquitous squawking effort Celine Dion is from there, you know the one with the great big husband who got her famous and I can barely understand her - she mumbles away there, "my heart" something or other. Spit it out, woman.

Like the real French, French Canadians eat some weird shit. I went to a national day celebration at their embassy a while back and the food they had was just extraordinary. Shot glasses with raw elk in. RAW ELK. I think it is terrible to eat elks - the poor animals, but if I were going to shoot and gut and skin one and go to all the trouble of slicing bits of meat off it - I'd go the extra mile and cook it. Fucking filthy feckers, raw elks. And they made us watch a propaganda film of people fishing in the snow, and smiling eskimos and lots of chinese children in Vancouver all plump and happy, and everyone was smiling and no one was eating elk at all, apart from us. I think it was their idea of a practical joke and that afterwards they went inside and lay on the floor howling with laughter "We fed them elk - RAW ELK, those stupid cosmopolitan, Quebec-ignorant fuckers". Well you did not feed me raw elk - my elk is in the flowerbed along with the blob of wasabi you so kindly put on the top, so stick that up your holes.

And then I was talking to this Canadian woman and, tactfully, I didn't mention the elk even though, as you might have guessed, it is still an incredibly sore point with me, and she said to me: "What is your favourite food" and I said "Chips, in french that is frites not chips, french chips are crisps - they call our chips french fries in american". Such a palaver communicating with these people. "OH" she said "Then you will love a very famous dish we have in Canada, it is called Poutine". "Is it a form of chips?" I asked, as I am extremely fond of chips. "Oh it is better than chips" says the Canadian. "You haven't lived until you try it. So just today I found a restaurant giving out about how it makes this dish, this "poutine" thing and I ordered a bowl of it. Dear God, I would eat six shots of mustardy elk rather than one mouthful of that shit. A cereal bowl, filledto the brim with HP sauce, full of soggy chips with cubes of half melted edam on the top. Like a runny turd with huge worms and stones in it - just fucking rank. I don't know if the Canadians have it in for me, or if they have no sense of taste altogether on account of the cold but they are unmitigated cunts when it comes to cooking. Take sandwiches if you go there, they are entirely mental.
Noreen

Comments:
"My elk is in the flowerbed" - is this out of some weird phrasebook? It certainly seems to belong in the company of "My postilion has been struck by lightning" and "Do not keep me waiting, my good man - do you not see I am the bearer of Her Britannic Majesty's passport", both of which were once imagined to be useful for the Englishman Abroad.

Bonjour, monsieur. La plume de ma tante est plus grand que le sac de boule du Sac de Boule, et tandis que nous sommes sur le sujet, mon elque est dans le lit des fleurs...

You could get a long way with that.
 
Philip, are you as tedious in real life as you portray yourself online?

Get laid you pedantic cunt
 
he he Peter you made me larf out loud
 
HP sauce? Not gravy?

The French should stick to French food, and the Brits should stick to what passes for food. Although chips are valid, minus the huge worms and stones.
 
Poutine! It's Peter Pedantry

Nonny addresses Tired of Peter as "Peter". This is jolly interesting, as it implies that "Tired of Peter" is Peter, and that, conversely, Peter is tired of Peter. Presumably Peter's pettifogging peroration pertaining to pedantry proclaims the presumptuous prejudice peculiar to persons preoccupied with petty personality projections and probably pasty-faced with pathologically perverted proclivities.

So that, it would appear, explains that.
 
""Do not keep me waiting, my good man - do you not see I am the bearer of Her Britannic Majesty's passport"

Should it not be the bearer of one of her Britannic Majesty's passports? Being as how these passports (plural) would be those of her subjects, and not that of her Britannic Majesty, as, being the Queen, she doesn't need one?

Not wishing to be pedantic, of course.
 
It is, however, a most excellent phrase.
 
Rob is right. However, the phrase is not mine, so suggestions for improvements should probably be sent to Mr Baedeker, circa AD 1880.
 
Elk? good gawd woman don't you mean moose - like us English never eat - cause it tastes shite anyway:-)

Give me a cheese and Branston pickle butty any day

Err - take your own you greedy t**ts ;-)
 
Noreen is right. Poutine is shit. All the Canadians I have ever known have always talked it up like is is the most delicious thing ever. It is God awful and the cheese tastes like snot.
 
Raw elk is actually a corruption of Ra Whelk, the ancient Egyptian god of seafood, who used to appear at every flooding of the Nile armed with sticks of Thebes rock. Eventually the Egyptians were airlifted to Canada by the same aliens who taught the Mayas everything they knew about pyramids except how to make the pointy tops, and of course they started speaking with those nearly-American accents - New England modified by Quebec with a touch of Whangdepootenawah Indian - hence the gradual transmutation of Ra Whelk, as signified by the appropriate hieroglyphs, into Raw elk, as partially digested and disapproved of by Noreen.

Knowledge is a wonderful thing.
 
Be careful of the Canadians. They may seem harmless, but I once found Canadian money in my pocket ... AND I HAVE NO IDEA HOW IT GOT THERE!!! When you start looking you will realize there are Canucks everywhere, and they are not necessarily as loveable as they might seem...
 
Where the fuck do ya get these commenters from? Poutine is yer man in charge of Russia ya dumb bastards.
 
Fuck off Philip, you grandiloquent cunt!
 
You know Noreen; you're right about people that comment on blogs being assholes.
 
Noreen you are fucking magnificent
 
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