A visit to Québec: Northern highlights and hijinks
Since several readers plan a visit to Québec*, I'll summarize the three-day getaway spent there last week: touristy, tasty and terribly cold.
One of the oldest cities in North America (founded in 1608), with its historic lanes and walls carefully preserved, Québec is also the capital of the province. A Lonely Planet entry summarizes its allure.
Le Duc chose the location; the city is indeed a romantic sure thing, like San Francisco or Barcelona. A suite in a luxury hotel rarely disappoints, especially when your view is this:
The 122-year-old Chateau Frontenac, flashing a $75-million reno completed last year, wears its age as a badge of honour, and shows not a flicker of the wistful desuetude I recalled from our last stay, 28 years ago:
Our living room included a turret, just visible to the left of the (ornamental) fireplace:
Original fittings like the working mail chute are meticulously maintained:
The lobby feels as if the Dowager Countess of Grantham might be in the next chair:
The grand old landmark glows again, like burnished leather. (Those looking for a B and B might consider the gracious old home where we've also stayed, La Marquise de Bassano.)
Le Duc chose the site for his birthday dinner, Le Pied Bleu, a bountiful and boisterous intersection of deeply local dining and happy anarchy, in the spirit of a Lyonnaise bouchon. We were seated in a butcher shop doubling as a top-notch bistro, run by rambunctious crew who see no reason for propriety, from either side.
I sampled five salads, brought to the table to serve myself, à volonté—followed by stewed rabbit; Le Duc had a charcuterie platter (everything made on site, we ate in the shop), and boudin noir.
House-made desserts, shown above, were served with the same "come up and try this!" generosity. (For a closeup of those desserts, see this review, which named the resto one of the ten best in Canada in 2013.)
Here's the birthday boy; he isn't drinking all those digestifs, but the shot shows how they are served: a hamper dropped at your table with a couple of glasses.
The cheque totaled... um, can't remember, except I thought it was fine. It's not in prime tourista stretch, though only a 10-minute cab from the hotel.
The city's amusements extend from museums to music to macarons, but we were there to be together. Le Duc bought a pair of shoes. I have never seen so much good-looking, functional deep-winter wear offered anywhere; this must be the Serious Boot capital of the world.
In Québec, I was reminded that Montréalers do not exactly own the cred for being people of the farthest North. In a restaurant, a table of three Inuit men conversed intently in Inuktitut (the term for the many variants of Canadian Inuit dialects). My ear was tantalized by a language that existed here even before Samuel Champlain founded New France.
Frigid, crystalline air, the sparkling river, the palpable pride of the hotel's staff, the exuberant local cuisine: celebration, nostalgia, romance. The icing on the cake for Le Duc was the unimpeded sighting of a fisher in a snowy field, viewed from the train window.
And we agree we would travel there just to dine again at Le Pied Bleu!
*In Canada, the proper name of the city is, in both French and English, Québec, and in informal English, Quebec City (without the accent). Like New York/New York City, the short form is more common. Québec is pronounced "kay-bec" with the stress on the second syllable.
One of the oldest cities in North America (founded in 1608), with its historic lanes and walls carefully preserved, Québec is also the capital of the province. A Lonely Planet entry summarizes its allure.
Le Duc chose the location; the city is indeed a romantic sure thing, like San Francisco or Barcelona. A suite in a luxury hotel rarely disappoints, especially when your view is this:
The 122-year-old Chateau Frontenac, flashing a $75-million reno completed last year, wears its age as a badge of honour, and shows not a flicker of the wistful desuetude I recalled from our last stay, 28 years ago:
Our living room included a turret, just visible to the left of the (ornamental) fireplace:
Original fittings like the working mail chute are meticulously maintained:
The lobby feels as if the Dowager Countess of Grantham might be in the next chair:
The grand old landmark glows again, like burnished leather. (Those looking for a B and B might consider the gracious old home where we've also stayed, La Marquise de Bassano.)
Le Duc chose the site for his birthday dinner, Le Pied Bleu, a bountiful and boisterous intersection of deeply local dining and happy anarchy, in the spirit of a Lyonnaise bouchon. We were seated in a butcher shop doubling as a top-notch bistro, run by rambunctious crew who see no reason for propriety, from either side.
I sampled five salads, brought to the table to serve myself, à volonté—followed by stewed rabbit; Le Duc had a charcuterie platter (everything made on site, we ate in the shop), and boudin noir.
House-made desserts, shown above, were served with the same "come up and try this!" generosity. (For a closeup of those desserts, see this review, which named the resto one of the ten best in Canada in 2013.)
Here's the birthday boy; he isn't drinking all those digestifs, but the shot shows how they are served: a hamper dropped at your table with a couple of glasses.
The cheque totaled... um, can't remember, except I thought it was fine. It's not in prime tourista stretch, though only a 10-minute cab from the hotel.
The city's amusements extend from museums to music to macarons, but we were there to be together. Le Duc bought a pair of shoes. I have never seen so much good-looking, functional deep-winter wear offered anywhere; this must be the Serious Boot capital of the world.
In Québec, I was reminded that Montréalers do not exactly own the cred for being people of the farthest North. In a restaurant, a table of three Inuit men conversed intently in Inuktitut (the term for the many variants of Canadian Inuit dialects). My ear was tantalized by a language that existed here even before Samuel Champlain founded New France.
Frigid, crystalline air, the sparkling river, the palpable pride of the hotel's staff, the exuberant local cuisine: celebration, nostalgia, romance. The icing on the cake for Le Duc was the unimpeded sighting of a fisher in a snowy field, viewed from the train window.
And we agree we would travel there just to dine again at Le Pied Bleu!
*In Canada, the proper name of the city is, in both French and English, Québec, and in informal English, Quebec City (without the accent). Like New York/New York City, the short form is more common. Québec is pronounced "kay-bec" with the stress on the second syllable.
Comments
warmest regards,
Janice
You both know how to celebrate in style, one for the memory books I'd say.
In milder weather, Le Pied bleu would be an invigorating walk back up to le Château, but I'd certainly have taken a taxi as well in the bitter cold. I was sure they'd have taken the train: it is a splendid journey. In the autumn, many Asian people come here to do it as the leaves turn. At first, mostly Japanese, but now there are Chinese tourists who can afford the trip, as well as Koreans and Southeast Asians.
And Le Duc is adorable! My hubs will also be turning 60, later this year. I need to step up my celebratory plans!
Right, now Quebec is on my list too... problem is, Canada is tricky to get to from Bristol. I'd have to get to London and do various internal flights, I think. Do-able, but a bit of a faff and a fairly serious investment, I think.
Anonymous: I've heard similar stories. That's one of the hazards of those chutes. Sometimes they are opened and vacuum swept because of that tendency.
Way back in the last century, I went to Québec for a week on a school trip. We stayed at the YWCA?? (only remember that all 20 girls slept in some enormous room with wooden floors and uncomfortable cots.) We walked to the Chateau Frontenac and bought a coke there, the only thing we could afford. Fun times...
Rebecca