Bottles and Cans Just Clap Your Hands

I've been in Montreal for the last few days. I was there to see Geoff become a max-level priest. He got some sweet skills when he dinged, like the ability to create holy water. This will obviously be useful in the upcoming vampire apocalypse, which I understand is the main reason he always wanted to be a priest.

But for serious, congratulations Geoff.

Geoff

Montreal is full of good drinks and food. I'm particularly impressed by all the places that brew their own beer. Here in London, the best home-brew you can hope for is Labatt 50 with a bar's own label slapped on it. In Montreal, pubs brew beer that's so unusual it probably wouldn't have enough mass appeal to sell in more than one place, but that's heaven for an adventerous drinker like me. My favourite was Dieu Du Ciel!, which had such wonders as a licorice-flavoured beer and old-fashioned mead. I liked the Charbonniere, a beer that was smokey without tasting too much like bacon.

Surprisingly, I didn't have any poutine in the province most famous for it, but did have some today back in London at The Spoke. I don't know who thought of piling cheese, gravy, and french fries together, but I am so glad they did. Or at least I did was while I was eating it. I'm not feeling so glad now.

Speaking of gross food, though, Nancy sent me, via a co-worker (who apparently reads this blog? HI NANCY'S CO-WORKER!), this link to a whole chicken in a can.

Now I have my own blog about gross food, but this was a little much for me to stomach. Why is it covered in slime? Why is there even a need to can a whole chicken? If we do lose the vampire apocalypse, will they stuff entire people into cans? The chicken in a can fills me with a deep existential dread.

Now I must go lie down until I become numb again.