For my 28th birthday, I treated myself to a vacation. I chose Montreal because it wasn’t blatantly Canadian…and, okay, because going where I really wanted to (Puck’s hometown of Winnipeg) would’ve been too stalkerish. I never would’ve resisted running into his mom accidentally-on-purpose with a loaf of my best homemade bread (more on that later). Besides, I’ve been to Winnipeg—-in the dead of winter, mid-snowstorm—-and it’s about as stimulating as my sex life these days.
All week, I’ll be posting my journal entries from my Quebecian adventure.
DAY ONE
Oh, Canada! Right off the bat, who do you think I ended up behind in the security queue? Yup, a total hockey hunk. I could’ve switch lines and got through faster, but I was perfectly content to stand there, admiring his ass, concocting randy conversation starters in my head. (i.e. “That’s a long, hard stick you’ve got there.”) I got so worked up, I could’ve totally dry humped him right there.
When I walked through metal detector, a massive guy with crooked eyes greeted me.
“Hi there, Princess,” he said. “Where are you headed?”
Whenever I’m confronted by airport authorities, I feel like I’m hiding something worse than the dirty thoughts in my head and enough produce in my suitcase to start my own fruit stand.
“Montreal,” I said.
“Are you going to the draft?” he asked.
I giggled uncomfortably. I didn’t look butch enough for the Army…did I?
It wasn’t until I arrived at my departure gate, where Hockey Hunk—and a plane full of his teammates—were boarding, that the NHL draft was taking place IN Montreal, precisely over the dates of my trip!!! OMG.
If this plane goes down, I thought, I will die a very happy woman.
The flight, despite being packed with hard bodies, was far from appetizing. I was seated right next to the bathroom. I mean RIGHT next to the bathroom. I could have reached out and touched the toilet if it weren’t for the folding door. Most of the players were married and not one talked to me. Hmph.
Upon my arrival in Canada, I chose the customs line with the hottest agent: dark hair, dark eyes, serious expression. (i.e. like Puck, only in his twenties and really pissed off.)
CANUK: “Traveling alone?”
ME: “Unfortunately, yes.”
CANUK: “Where are you going?”
ME: “Montreal.”
CANUK: “Do you have any friends there?”
ME: “No…”
…but thanks for making me feel even more lonely and pathetic than I already do!
CANUK: “So what are you planning to see?”
ME: “I don’t know. I don’t have an itinerary.”
CANUK: (with unabashedly suspicious eyebrows raised) “Do you have your return ticket?”
ME: “It’s an e-ticket.”
CANUK: “Didn’t you print it out?”
ME: “No.”
CANUK: “That’s odd.”
Guh-reat. Now he was pegging me as an idiot, too! How could I explain that despite being a writer with three computers, I didn’t have the Internet and the printer hooked up to the same laptop?
CANUK: “Why is the name Rivera on your ticket and Veldey on your passport?”
ME: “Rivera is my married name; Veldey was my maiden name.”
(I got married pre 9/11, when the U.S. Government didn’t require new passports when you changed your name. They just put an itty-bitty stamp on the penultimate page.)
CANUK: “Are you married?”
ME: “No, I’m divorced.”
CANUK: “So why is your name Rivera?”
ME: “Because it was such a hassle to change it the first time! Jeez.”
CANUK: “What nationality is Veldey?”
ME: “Swedish.”
Enough with the Inquisition already! I just wanted get to my hotel, collapse on the bed, and sleep for five days straight.
The Canuk customs agent scanned me with a poker face. For a moment, I thought he wasn’t going to let me cross the border. Finally, he slid my documents through the slot, nodded toward the exit, and mumbled something.
ME: I’m sorry, what did you say?
CANUK: (Without even the suggestion of a smile) “I said, ‘I’d like to take this opportunity to say how pretty you are.’ ”
I froze, mouth agape, completely flabbergasted and disgusted all at once.
Had I known that playing the sex-kitten card was the way to get through customs, I would’ve used it! Hell, I would’ve given the Canuk MY card if he hadn’t been such an ass to me for the first 10 minutes of our conversation! I might’ve even fucked him in the airport bathroom had he propositioned me. (That’s where the term “lay over” originated, I assume.)
After winding my way through the next customs line, I saw the Canuk outside of his booth, chatting with another agent. When I passed by, Canuk pointed me out and they both chuckled.
“What the fuck?” I wanted to say. “Did Puck set you up to this? Or are all Canadians expert mind-fuckers?”
The trip suddenly seemed like a stupid idea. Here I was in the homeland of the most unreadable man I’d ever met, surrounded by guys with the same blank slate expressions and dry humor.
No worries—as soon as I arrived in Montreal, I realized how un-Canadian it was. The cab driver was talking a blue streak, but all I could understand was “Michael Jackson dead!”
Aside from “bonjour”, “sacre bleu”, and “ménage a trois”, I don’t speak a lick of French.
“But, Erica,” you’re saying. “Plenty of people in Montreal know English.”
I agree. They KNOW English—but they refuse (sadistically, I swear) to speak it. I’ve never been in such a stuck-up, cliquish culture.
I arrived at the Hilton (Kanye West’s “Heartless” pumping in the elevator! Can I get a “hoot hoot”?), but I was too intimidated to order food over the phone and too disoriented to go out at night alone, so the furthest I ventured out was the market across the street.
The evening ended with me heating up a bag of frozen veggies, tuna, and cheese in my room’s microwave. For dessert, I had grapes and dollops of peanut butter eaten off my fingertips.
If only bakeries were open at night, I could’ve bought some brioche—the one other French word I know. A loaf of my Cinnamon Swirl Pumpkin Brioche would’ve really hit the spot. Bon Appetit!
CINNAMON SWIRL PUMPKIN BRIOCHE
INGREDIENTS
Dough:
2 ¼ cups white flour
1 ½ cups whole wheat flour
1 packet yeast
½ tablespoon salt
1 tablespoon vital wheat gluten flour
½ teaspoon cinnamon
¼ teaspoon ginger
¼ teaspoon nutmeg
¼ teaspoon allspice
1 cup pumpkin puree
2/3 cup warm water
1/3 cup vegetable oil
2 eggs
Swirl:
1/3 cup brown sugar
1 ½ teaspoons cinnamon
¾ cup raisins (optional)
Egg Wash:
1 egg
½ tablespoon water
1 tablespoon raw sugar
Brown sugar & cinnamon flavored whipped cream cheese
(for spreading)
METHOD
• In large bowl, whisk together flours, yeast packet, salt, wheat gluten flour and spices.
• Add pumpkin puree, water, oil, and eggs. Stir with wooden spoon until combined. If you have difficulty, use floured hands to incorporate ingredients. (Dough may feel “wet” and lumpy but it will firm up and smooth out later.)
• Cover bowl with plastic wrap and refrigerate at least 2 hours and up to 5 days.
• When ready to bake, grease loaf pan with cooking spray.
• On floured surface, roll dough out into rectangle.
• Mix brown sugar, cinnamon and raisins (if desired) in small bowl. Spread sugar mixture over surface of dough. Roll up into log shape; pinch to seal, and place, seam side down, in loaf pan.
• Cover lightly with plastic wrap and let rest for 2 hours.
• Preheat oven to 350 degrees.
• Whisk egg and water in small bowl. Using pastry brush, coat surface of bread with egg wash. Sprinkle with raw sugar.
• Using scissors, cut small five diagonals across top of bread.
• Bake bread 40 to 50 minutes or until golden brown.
• Remove bread from oven and let cool in pan, turned on side.
• Once cooled, gently work spatula around edges of bread; jiggle to dislodge bread from pan.
• Cool completely on wire rack.
• If not serving right away, I like to put my bread in the freezer for a couple hours, then remove to slice and return to freezer, where it will keep for up to 2 months.
• When re-heating frozen bread, microwave on paper towel for 10 seconds, then toast.
• Spread with whipped cinnamon cream cheese for a decadent treat!
