The mascot of midwinter Café Falco?

Resolutions mean nothing to me.  But quiet is a resolute panacea.  I’ve given up a few things this month to make room for meditation, drawing, reading and the occasional blustery foray into the few hours of sunshine that we get in January times.

No sex.  No music, television, alcohol, meat, sugar, diet soda, dancing, makeup/jewellery, staying up late, harsh words, daydreaming, the like.  No chaos.

Where I could explain to you in detail the how-it-works of the siphon drip system that Café Falco offers and the origins of it’s countless artisanal accoutrements, I will instead impress upon you that what’s truly important is the expression of inventive serenity that it all adds up to.  It’s hidden in an industrial part of Mile End, the ground floor of an imposing, grey-striked building with an uneventful front and a dubious entrance door.  The inside reveals, though.  Probably one of the nicest places to experience the dead of winter – the warmth and precision of the homespun / futurespun cube-space sets off the snow and slate-sided buildings from across the street well – and really, how better to appreciate the human creation of windows and walls than with hot hands cupped around one of the best kitten-smooth coffees in the neighbourhood?  Stronger than the usual but still long (ie: not espresso), like coffee should be (to this non-European, anyway).

Falco also offers repast for those wanting a bit of gentleness and brown rice to hopefully negate greasy memories.  A chalk menu lists the Japanese/French fare – rice bowls with tofu or meat, sticky onigiri, miso soup, salads, sandwiches on fresh bread from nearby Boulangerie Guillaume and sweet things (muffins etc) from the same place.

sweet potato salad flecked with tiny onion + syphon コーヒー

The miso soup was perfect.  A cup of energetic stillness, made with a proper dashi and sipped from from a dark umbre bowl.  The rice and tofu dish is the kind of thing that I used to eat while vegan, each element (carrots, tofu and lentils) carefully dressed and seasoned individually.  While it’s hard to handle with chopsticks for the exact reasons mentioned here – maybe that’s just a clue to either work more patiently on one’s eating technique, or perhaps use the broth from the soup to clean the last few grains from the bowl as monks do.

The most surprisingly delicious thing was the onigiri – made with sticky soft rice and filled with chunks of sweet salmon – it was a delicate but un-shy example of the form.  It’s not something very difficult to make, but making them this well is rare, and I really should go back to try the others.  I think there were 3 or 4 varieties that day.

There’s a hammock in the corner and shelves of thin brown pottery, sculptures, a falcon, globe lanterns and a happy-looking staff.  Few private tables, but then, we’re all eating next to each other anyway when we go out to that third place, might as well be neighbourly about it.  And peaceful.

(lunch for one, with siphon coffee, rice bowl, soup and onigiri = 16$.  Pricey, but organic and very good)

Wheat transformed to (Yuki) Ramen before your eyes

I stumbled onto Yuki Ramen on a blustery, noodle-needing day, many months ago, wandering through the culinary wonderland that is the Concordia ghetto.  What’s astonishing about the Fabourg building is how spare yet nourishing it is – probably the best “food court” in the city, if it is indeed possible to call it such, when really it might be called a “noshing plaza”.  And what to nosh?  Ramen of course!

At the time I hadn’t even tried ramen yet, not the real stuff.  Not the unboxed unbagged qualifiable japanese true Thing, but that was about to change.  I mean, when you see someone hand-pulling noodles from a sproingy stretch of dough as long as an armspan, mesmerizingly growing and shrinking and doubling over in the hands of the puller expert… there isn’t much else that looks so delicious!  I ordered forthwith.

Well, with a short spell to take out money from a nearby ATM, that is.  (they only take cash).  I ordered the BBQ Pork Ramen, a neat 7$ (about, I don’t imagine it was more than 8$), and awaited my order’s completion.  It took about 5 minutes of absorbing the atmosphere of happy soup-slurpers and then my lunch was ready.

Oho!  It was in pieces!  The way they deliver it is with the chunkies in the main bowl and piping hot broth on the side, that cooks everything fully once you throw it on and everything melts together.  A bit of a stir and an add-in of the nice dark sauce (vinegar of some kind?  it’s been a while) and the umami treat was ready to eat.  And oh those noodles!  Exactly as awesome as fresh noodles should be – strong but yielding, tasting intensely of soft clean wheat, plentiful and warming and fun to slurp.  The pickled WhateverVeg they added on the side deserves mention, too.  Delicious!  Refreshing and sharp and not too salty at all, I wish I knew how they made that.  The pork, alas, was mere pork with a kiss of BBQ red rimmed taste, and the broth of the ramen itself was not going to set any records for perfection, but it was slightly sweet in a good way and did the trick as a steaming home for those wonderful noooooooooodles.

I left warmed from the inside and the outside grey was not so grey at all anymore, belly sloshing with hot sauce and herbs.  Perfect.

Kazu, because yes, it is that good.

I can’t believe it took me that long to go to Kazu.  It lives so lightly on the lips of Montreal food-knowers, spilled out and around to anyone who can hear – go to Kazu!  It’s superlative!  Try damned near anything and revel in the rice puffs and zillion sauces and teenyweeny space and the detailed taste of it all!  Don’t forget to go hungry!  Smile at life for making Japanese pub food easy to get!

It really is as great as advertised, really.  We didn’t even wait to sit – a concern for starving bellies – but going at lunch and on a rainy Sunday may have helped in that respect.  The greyness made the inside even cozier, and the tables were still moving so quickly they were empty for barely 10 seconds before the next contented diners claimed elbow space and cast their eyes up to the fluttering hand-drawn wall of menu items to select their awesome meal.  Geez, they even had a friendly list of Soju drinks!  sweeeeet bippy, I is home.

K, so we actually went at lunch so my dining friend could finally get his ramen virginity taken – he’d never had it before !!  (/shocked face).  I didn’t try much of his dish, but the little I did was nicely spiced and had a definite sensation of soft, fuzzy warm, like a sweater.  Probably so ideal once the weather gets cooler, an inner hug with pork in it!  I think the noodles are made in-house, too.  Seriously.

I ordered the superstar item – the tuna and salmon bowl – and there’s probably not much I can say about it that hasn’t been gushed about before.  It’s a textural wonderland, sweet, crispy, freshest fish creamy, aromatic and damn if that isn’t the best sushi rice I can think of in recent memory – all those things.  *wipes brow*.  Mmmmm I snapped it up SO happily, and I can see why they give you a spoon with your chopsticks – so you can place all the many components just-so and then enjoy each slightly different bite!

We also got some fresh tofu, available only on Sundays, and it was a delightfully light and wiggly dish to enjoy alongside.  It’s fresh but not flavourless, actually having a slightly bitter bean taste that made me all nostalgic for Taiwanese dòufu which is slightly sweeter and served with syrup, but

sparkly umeboshi soju drink!

the savoury Kazu treatment won me over pretty quickly.  The top was scattered with these green translucent herb-squares that tasted of fresh field grasses, and the sauce they used was the perfect soy bath, rich but refreshing in a paradoxical and addictive way.

Criminy I was satisfied with this food.  Totally going back.  And now I can join every other Montreal blogger in having a Kazu post.  Kazooooo!  Geez I want to try that grilled pork neck and shrimp burger……. (there might well be a Part 2 to this post before the snow falls…)