There are a few things in life that get me swearing like a truck driver from Rimouski, pondering the finer things in life. And ever since I relocated to Toronto, I miss certain comfort foods from my past more then I thought I would. Bagels. Poutine. Blanche de Chambly. Very carbohydrate intensive indulgences – and my waistline certainly reflects these indulgences.

It’s not my fault. I lived in Montreal for most of my life, and certain deliciously cheap indulgences were abundant. Street meat in Toronto scares me when I’m sober, and reminds me not to eat meat from a sink-free source. Continue reading