19 June 2016

Bros in Brossard 1: Missionaries, Chinese Food Golden Bowel Syndrome, Trinidad James

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{[(handsome)(?)?]}manbun wearing pseudo samurai, yumansen AKA manbun manny
Recently ya boi and lesser chink mansen yu felt it was time to take a fiat pilgrimage to the holy land of brossard, BELLE PROVINCE QUEBEC, to bask in the glory of the delicacies the chinkmmigrants living there would dish out to ya bois. So, a chink bike down from Villeray to the ghetto, where ya boi mansen yu mad lives, to bring a boi out of his cloistered league of legend video watching lifestyle and see visions of chinkheritage in bro-ssard. We take the bus to a station in bro-ssard called panama. We on some manny noriega shit. (actually, keep in mind old person face with bad skin). This station was situated between three highways, but conveniently across the sixlane highway from a Renaud-bray, so if we was really finna be WPs after all the chinkstastic food we gonna get. The specific road we landed on after hopping of the boat (公交车), or rue as les Quebecois would say, was named rue phillipine, perpendicular to avenue panama. Apparently ya brossard bros like naming things tropical country names, but a chink digress.  

So for about half an hour, we try to find a way to cross the freeway that has no pedestrian crossings. Eventually we run across the freeway, weaving through hundreds of hummers whizzing by us, and then we just walk across a hill in the cruel june brossard sun, that breeds lilacs out of the dead land, mixing  memory and desire, stirring dull roots with spring rain. I feel bad for trampling though the yellowed terrain of the brossard random ass green (yellow) spaces. 

Anyways, we manage to cross the overpass to the promised land of chinese grocery stores and restaurants. First stop was kim phat, where ya boi lesser chink yumansen bought himself 30 packets of instant vermicelli. No questions. No judgment. No diabetes. A chink ask his chinkmigo if he wanna get buzzed before we eat the greatest brossardian meal of our lives, and he’s like 地狱yeah. So we look around for some beer. Unfortunately, these seem to be very dry chinks as their store did not have the 5.99 PBR promised by Confucius in Analects or the 6.99 Bud promised in the I Ching. Perhaps we hadn't thrown sticks on the grown enough to predict the future. Or, maybe we didn't have the good chi. Or maybe, as males, we stepped in with the feminine right side. Best be on ya most traditional chinkese superstitious behavior. A chink guess he done goofed. So, unfortunately, we settled on Quebecois ice wine priced at 20 CAD which is 2USD which is like 10 RMB which is like a 40 of Tsingtao in Chinkland which is just a nice pre-dinner apero pour les bois. So, we purchase our fancy wine and we walk over to the propitiously situated Kam Fung restaurant which has great ratings on yelp. Unfortunately, a swath of hongkong gerontion were attending a wedding and we got blueballed by bluelipped chinks. Damn.

So, having ice wine in hand, we go to a gated community in brossard (lol), also conveniently placed beside the wondrous strip mall on ave malo. We decide to sit on random oversized cinder blocks placed on a green space and drink our ice wine. A WP washing her car with a hose stares at us. I stare back and wave. She retreats inside and does (i don't know what the proper verb is) up the blinds. Once we open the ice wine, we stand up for the 4km trek to the next highest rated chinkstaurant, Golden Bowl. On the way, everyone that passes us gives us strange looks. I say 恭喜发财,新年快乐to all involved. Feeling like the bompton gs we are, i pull out my trusty iphone binq and blast suwu YG’s new fire album, Still Brazy. Of course, being the savvy bink i is, i bup the iphone binq ébouteurs so that my amigo yumansen hears the brisp bality of 2012 iphone sound. I believe that he was in aural exstasy.

We were hoping that on the way we would find nice suburb girls just tanning, maybe shirtless, maybe even a barbecue, so this would be a real suburbia movie we walking living breathing legend i know you well. We instead found many old people tanning, non-shirtless, no barbecues. Very disappointing. Although, we did come across several unlocked lexuses with their windows down, sadly, neither of us know how to hotwire a car, because WE ARE NICE CHINKS. THE CHINKS—THEY’RE NICE JUST LIKE US!!!!!!
-whitest wp in existence

Back to the exploration of brossard, for whatever reason, there are several very strange street names. In my take on the epic tradition, i will choose not to explain them a la catalogue, but rather i will give you a list of these names

•      Stravinsky
•      Schubert
•      Milan
•      Rome
•      Trinidad (james) this was where the video for ——— was filmed
•      Strauss
•      Schumann
•      Tahiti
•      Tchad
•      Rembrandt
•      Renoir
•      San Francisco
•      Compton
•      creole
•      suwu
•      occident
•      coolie
•      oceanie
•      orient
•      oslo
•      ovide
•      oregan
(four of these are fake)

Took us a 40 minute walk past something like two hundred houses in a row with backyard swimming pools before we arrived, but when we arrived, it was like jesus or moses or who gives a fuck finding water, i have no idea what i’m saying, i just like making fun of jesus and moses because the wps and the Christians fucked the shit out of my peoples’ idols among, hmmm all other colored peoples’ idols. So yeah not a Christianity fan. Jesus Montero was my first baseball crush however. And Moses Alou peed on his hands in the 90s because he didn’t want to use gloves. Man still hit over 300 dongs and had a batting average over 300. No judgment. 

Now, on the the bowel show.

Golden bowl is the kind of Chinese restaurant so disassociated and detached from chink that it gives negative eight-thousand-eight-hundred-eighty-eight fucks about the flavors a chink expects. The dumplings are folds of noodles with maybe a singular gram of meat in middle slathered in melted red (?) peanut sauce and sesame seeds. This was, admittedly, something that I had never seen before, yet nevertheless, this was an affront to the name dumpling. Compounding the issue was that when I asked the server for dumplings in Chinese, he had no clue what they were. It took a Chinese man speaking English to a chink man to figure out what a dumpling was. On the menu, instead of 饺子(as a city chink would call it) or even 扁食(as ya boi the country chink calls it), written was 红油抄手, which means red oil folded hands. As I learned, this is a specific country (different one from ya boi) chink way of saying wonton. Fine, but the thangs was not dumplings, wontons, perogies, samosas, whatever. They was some chef Boyardee—fuck that they were fucking flour and eggs wrapped on top of each other and drenched in vitamin m and peanut butter sauce colored red. So this should’ve been a warning to a chink, that somehow, these chinks think it appropriate to put up some obscure ass name for dumpling and that the server had no clue how to say dumpling in regular chinese. This merits 50 belt lashings from your chink father and a couple of tearz from your mother.

 Rest of the meal was fairly standard mall quality Chinese food. ‘Orange beef’ was essentially ginger beef, but, not having tasted this dish for years, I was very confused as to what meat was in the various layers of sauce and bread. It took a salty plate of ‘szechuan chicken’ to figure out that the brown balls of bowel disease were balls of beef. Never before have I thought of the term ‘balls of beef.’ Back to the ‘szechuan chicken.’ The defining characteristic of Szechuanese cuisine would be the interplay of the cooling, citrusy numbness of Szechuan peppercorn and the dry heat of chilies. This particular dish had none of these flavors. In fact, if had asked for all the dishes to be extra spicy, and it seems as though the man took that to be extra non-spicy and WPed the fuck out of my dish. The Szechuan chicken, of course, as if I weren’t expecting it, was just flavored with WP store ‘szechuan sauce,’ a WP sauce of which I still cant discern any flavors outside some perverted white perspective on Chinese food. Buttressing this dish from the plate was a bed of crushed, salty seaweed, which is tasty, but prepackaged, and most importantly non extant in the central Chinese jungle heat of Sichuan. Sichuan is where the pandas are, there are no large salt water bodies in this province to my knowledge.

The fourth dish was a personal canto favorite of mine, them salt pepper fried squid, or cantomari. Not good, bob. It was just salt. I wasn’t quite sure it was squid until i read the bill. I’d probably forgotten what we ordered because of all the vitamin m supercharging my neurons. I also thought they were chinkese salty chicharonnes for a sec lol. Oh hold up, we was gonna get the general tao chicken, that was under the szechuanese tab of the menu, but it was named 左工鸡 which means left cock (also, general zuo, which somehow has become tao?), so no, also it was invented by a Taiwanese man. Whatever bruh.

Final dish was the mapo doufu. First off, there is a misnomer people usually associate with the ‘ma’ portion of the name. It is not as commonly thought, 麻辣, but rather the , carries an alternative definition here meaning pimply. 麻婆豆腐actually means pimply hag tofu, so there. Also, the heat comes from the WP ignored 豆瓣酱, which i believe is translated to fermented bean paste?. Of course there is the numbing coolness of, yet it is a secondary flavor underneath the earthy fermentation of the豆瓣酱. In fact, it doesn’t really even have to be . Semantics aside, the mapo doufu was a f-, which is a higher grade than the q’s i gave to the other dishes (q for questionmark). It tasted ok and had a below average texture. The sauce was however consistent and there were scallions. But the thang relied way too heavily on  榨菜, which is pickled root vegetable, or salty high blood pressure ching chong death weed (still tasty though).

Great thing about golden bowl was that it gave us three bowls of rice. At a usual Szechuan restaurant, ya boi and yumansen could probably eat six rice bowls because shit spicy and that’s what rice is for, but at golden bowl, nah. We didn’t even finish a single bowl combined.

However, I did learn what good water tastes like. The water at golden bowl was perhaps the single greatest drank of water I’ve ever tasted. The clarity and silky texture of the brita filter really shone through the replete vitamin m and the brick of salt them bois dropped down our throats.

When we had finished our food, maybe 1/3 of the way, the lady came over three times to ask us if we wanted to have it bagged, each time we said no. But, we were yelling and laughing very loudly and I was a bro in brossard and wore sunglasses inside, so there was that. Instead they brought us the bagged up ‘food.’ We left no tip and walked out.

Yumansen promptly puked everywhere on the curb. I could see the bits of undigested orange chicken/beef/rat/whatever and the bits of fried something. It was a very red scene. Yumansen first puked four times outside the door on the stoop. Then the chink man came out with a bucket of water to wash the curb and asked us to fuck off with absolutely zero sympathy. I hustled my homeboi to the curb beside golden bowl and he puked three more times. By then, yumansen had a redish chicken dyed beard. So I called him a cab, but he puked again inside of the cab so i had to walk him across the bridge from brossard to the ghetto. As we were crossing the road, I saw the cab driver cleaning out the cab. Lol, yumansen yadonegoofedhardnow. We, or rather, yu left a red trail behind from bro-ssard all the way to the mcgill ghetto. First thing he did when he got back was to take a shower and pretend to do buddhist chants while wearing traditional indian pyjamas. I drank the beers from his fridge and ate the food of the nice indian roommate of yumansen. It was a good day because i didn’t have to use my—

Yumansen and I went to the dep next door and box a six pack of corona then went to drink it all at a brossardian bus shelter. We disposed of the golden bol food in the garbage tin thang that had no bag. A dog walker came by soon after and dropped in a baggy of dog shit. I wonder what gets eaten first by the birds.

Four beers in, I notice a folded note on the ground underneath the bench. Yumansen picks it up, but can’t read it because it’s in French. Alas, always primed to flex my French balls (i never want to have any ties to being a French man), I translated the letter to him. A Christian missionary named Anne Gregoire of St Hubert, Quebec had left this note in a brossardian bus shelter in hopes that someone would visit her Christian website or come to her house to be revealed the word of god. This is how you get killed by a serial murder.

Anyways, i’d like to share the message of god before i sign off. In the letter, replete with orthographic and grammatical errors, mlle gregoire offered the criticism that since there is suffering in the world, god must be bad or at least irresponsible. She promptly says this is false by quoting Jacques 1:18, which in English is “Of his own will begat he us with the word of truth, that we should be a kind of first fruits of his creatures.”

Yes first fruits. I crumple the letter, light it on fire with my lighter and throw it into the garbage bin with the dog shit and the golden bowel food where it belongs. When we finished the beers, we lined the bus shelter in three alternating bottle cap-bottle rows of coronas. The bottle caps alternated being head side up and face down for the extra artsy effect. Then we poured libation on the flaming dog-missionary-shit-trash.

(ok, i did not light the thing on fire, i merely crumpled the note and threw it in the garbage)

we went back to the city and plan on returning to brossard.

Thus concludes the first episode of ‘bros in brossard.”

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