I once visited Quebec in the springtime fog. |
Quebec City sprawls in the gentle grip of another May fog. Le Chat Grippe has a place set for you. We were visiting the old city on a senior trip. After an afternoon wandering and souvenir shopping, we had reservations for dinner and culture. The only thing I could pronounce on the menu was sole fish. Fillets swam in butter, lemon juice, dill, bread crumbs, and a pound of sea salt. If I never again partake of such a dish, nor see it as an option among French made delicacies, I shall be happy. There was something about grease and fish and lemon topped with dollops of fresh cream that made my stomach crave Burger King, instead of foreign cuisine. "Tu n'aimez pas les poissons parce qu'il ne nage pas." No he didn't swim, as I idly pushed him around in his plate bound pool. It was only the first day of the trip. Already I was bored with guided tours and strange accents. I wandered out of the restaurant, toward Le Chateau Frontenac, with a half pack of cigarettes, and no plan to rejoin my classmates soon. It was 6 p.m., a dark haired girl leaned on the stone facade of the hotel. I had found some excitement. Quebec City sprawls in the gentle grip of another May fog. |