Dear Diary:

So, if you were raised inside a baked potato equipped with a disco ball by vegetarians who didn't believe in free will (and really, who among us was not?) then the other night I ate at a place that will make you feel right at home.

My daughter, her sweetie Christian, their friend Adam and their roomie Marc soak up the wonders of The Spirit Lounge. Yes, I would be talking about the Spirit Lounge on Ontario East in Montreal.

This is a place that puts the word experience back into the phrase "dining experience" in a big way.

They don't encourage walk-ins, they want reservations. They don't have a menu, you eat what has been cooked for the night. They do not advertise, and rely strictly on word of mouth from pleased clients. The walls are covered with crumpled tin foil, there is a disco ball in the ceiling and oh, did I mention the rules?

Adam (checking out the um pepper mill, yes, that's it, the pepper mill), Marc and our server.  That guy was one of the most striking men I've ever seen in my life.  That guy had 'tude, eh. Before we were allowed to eat, our server (a man who had shaved off the front half of his head, dyed the remaining hair black, was wearing a black knit top and bright red sprayed on lycra pants) read us the riot act.

We were told we had to clean up everything on our plates and that there were two portion sizes--a generous regular and a reduced portion. If we did not clean up our plates, we would be fined $2 which would be matched by the restaurant and given to a charity. Dessert was part of the meal, but if we didn't clean up your main course, we couldn't have it. We were also warned that if we ordered dessert and did not finish it we were banned for life from the restaurant.

Not once was the phrase "do you want fries with that?" uttered.

You can imagine how disoriented I was.

We went for the aperitif, a drink in a martini glass that had four kinds of liqueur, plus vodka, topped with a scoop of a magical passion fruit sorbet. If I hadn't had the kids with me, I would have blown off the meal and just spent my night sucking back those lethal glasses of pure delight until I collapsed in a diabetic coma.

Darn kids.

My daughter with our main course.  Yes, we ate off leopard skin table cloths, which made me feel even MORE plain vanilla than I normally feel, thank you very much. The meal itself was wonderful. Spinach salad with sautéed mushrooms and fresh herbs, topped with an apple cider based vinaigrette and a grating of some slightly exotic cheese I didn't recognize. The main course was a sort of crêpe stuffed with lentils, apricots and raisins, with a tangy cider based sauce and a scoop of mango sorbet on top. Dessert was a heavy three chocolate cake and another sorbet.

While I'm no chicken hugger (and I've been known to swallow my herbicides and pesticides as manfully as the next person), we were told the whole thing was vegetarian and whenever possible organic to boot.

Thank heavens for the alcohol, eh. Eating that healthily without cutting it with the alcohol might have done serious damage to my metabolism, you know?

In a way, this place is an anti-restaurant. None of the cutlery matches, all the dishes are odds 'n' sods, it's pretty clear that the folks who run this are doing it on the narrowest of shoestrings. Yet they refuse to compromise their ideals and for very little money provide a unique and tasty meal in a wonderfully quirky yet welcoming setting.

Sitting there in the soft glow of tiny Christmas type lights bounced off the glittery walls by a disco ball, all I could think about was those old black and white 1940's movies I used to watch as a kid.

I used to love the ones with Mickey Rooney and Judy Garland where at some point they decide to put on a show, and out of nothing created a Broadway class spectacular. I was too young to know it was all Hollywood smoke and mirrors. I bought whole-heartedly into the notion that you could realize your dreams on a shoestring if you only believed, if you were willing to work incredibly hard.

Well, someone forgot to mention the smoke and mirrors thingie to the two guys who run The Spirit Lounge, because out of almost nothing they have put on a restaurant and a wonderfully unique one at that that serves good food you won't find anywhere else.

This time of year, when the stores are blaring the message that consumerism is love, that you are what you own, it's a big slice of wonderful to walk into a warm, welcoming place that doesn't buy into that at all.

AND it has a disco ball. Really, what more do you want?


Old Drivel - New Drivel

Subscribe with Bloglines

Want to delve into my sordid past?
She's mellllllllllllllting - Wednesday, Feb. 15, 2012 - Back off, Buble - Monday, Dec. 19, 2011 - Dispersed - Monday, Nov. 28, 2011 - Nothing comes for free - Monday, Nov. 21, 2011 - None of her business - Friday, Nov. 04, 2011 -

.:Cast:. .:Diaryland Notes:. .:Comments (2 so far):. .:E-mail:.
.:Adventures In Oz:.
.:12% Beer:. .:Links:. .:Host:. .:Archives:.

Cavort, cavort, my kingdom for a cavort Globe of Blogs 12 Per Cent Beer my partners in crime

A button for random, senseless, drive-by linkings:
Blogroll Me!

< ? blogs by women # >
« Bloggers over forty + ? »
<< | BlogCanada | >>
[ << ? Verbosity # >> ]
<< x Blog x Philes x >>

This template is a riff on a design by the truly talented Quinn. Because I'm a html 'tard, I got alot of pity coding to modify it from Ms. Kittay, a woman who can make html roll over, beg, and bring her her slippers. The logo goodness comes from the God of Graphics, the Fuhrer of Fonts, the one, the only El Presidente. I smooch you all. The background image is part of a painting called Higher Calling by Carter Goodrich which graced the cover of the Aug. 3, 1998 issue of The New Yorker Magazine.

Kids, don't try viewing this at home without Netscape 6 or IE 4.5+, a screen resolution of 800 X 600 and the font Mead Bold firmly ensconced on your hard drive.

©2000, 2001, 2002 Marn. This is me, dagnabbit. You be you.