Still Not Passing As Canadian

On Saturday, Ward and I decided that as much as we love family togetherness, we were a little sick of staring at each other in our (still) empty house. I saw a mention of a Rib Festival nearby, at which the title of Best Ribs in Canada was up for grabs. The website claimed that not only was it the second biggest rib fest on the continent, it also had plenty of beer to wash it all down and rides for the kids. So, off we went.

And yes, the park was beautiful, and yes, the ribs were delish, and yes, we had a blast. I actually stopped feeling like I had a giant American flag tattooed to my forehead and I started to feel more in my element.

But it all came to a screeching halt when I paused for a moment at a souvlaki stand to ask, "What's 'poutine'?"

I swear it felt like all sound around me stopped, as people covered their mouths with their hands in horror. The lady behind the counter narrowed her eyes and asked, "Where are you from?" I half expected her to end the sentence by calling me "Yankee," but it never came to that.

"Um, Rochester, New York," I stammered.

"Oh, "she said. "It's great that you came all this way for the festival. Poutine is fresh-cut fries with cheddar cheese on top, covered in hot beef gravy, to melt it all together. Want to try it?"

Sweet Nelly.

So, my friends, even though my coronary arteries have been spasming for the last 24 hours, I can honestly say that I have found the world's most perfect food (although a side of ranch dressing would be nice). It's everywhere here, even at McDonald's. It's so good.

I think I will bathe in it tomorrow.

Eh???

Okay, so we're here in the Great White North, and it's 110 degrees out. What up with that???? My brain hurts from all of the unfamiliarity and homesickness and trying to maintain normalcy for the kids, so I'll give a few of the highlights from the past few days....feel free to put on some Bryan Adams and settle in with a Labatt's.

- We almost didn't get across the border. I can't go into details yet, but it was all very White Nights. Trust me.

- Grocery shopping was like traveling to Oz. Most of my usual brands were there, but in different packages. I walked by the Kraft Parmesan four times because I was looking for the familiar green can, when it's actually packaged in a giant Yoplait-looking container here.

- Butter is typically not cut into quarters here.

- A woman at the store asked me about the twins, and when I answered, she cut me off with a hearty , "Are you from the STATES???" Then she, crazed, whipped out a pen and paper, wrote down all of her phone numbers, and begged me to call her. I guess she wants me to be her little American mascot. I'm great as an ice breaker at parties.

- The food here is really, really good, and really, really authentic. Chinese takeout is the real deal, without a crab ragoon in sight.

- I went to a party the other night and was told that I have an accent. Never mind that the host is Syrian, his wife is French Canadian, and the other guests were Hungarian, Romanian and Polish. Almost the entire Eastern Block was represented, but I have an accent.

- The cable guy overheard me talking about current events, and he chuckled and said, "Americans are funny." And then he walked away. The cable guy.

- I found out that Canada has a special visa for strippers. It took my husband forever to get his papers as a physician, but a stripper can hop right on into, well, Canada's lap. Sorry, I couldn't resist.

- JCrew ships here from the States!!! Woo HOOOOO!!!!

- Twelve bottles of Harp beer went for $20.00. Even Bud is that expensive. Hubs says that unless I plan to jump on the pole for some cash, we only get one beer each every two days or so.

- My son doesn't understand why he has to say "bum" here, instead of "heiney" or "butt." I tried to explain that we've entered polite society, but he's hanging on strong to these words as well as his favorite, "heiney gas."
His new teacher will be thrilled.

There's so much more, but I have to go hang toilet paper holders in my, er, washrooms.