North America's ode to sodium

Montreal has the best food in the world. This is a point that cannot be disputed unless you are a vegetarian, in which case there's likely not much point in differentiating between various regional cuisines. I could be wrong about the vegetarian part, but I am most certainly not wrong about Montreal.

Most of you already know about the smoked meat. And the smoked meat is better than even the most hyperbolic statements you've heard about the smoked meat. I have abstained from red meat since the beginning of the year, but at no point subsequent to cementing my travel arrangements did I even consider not having as much smoked meat as I possibly could during my time in Montreal. And every bite I enjoyed in Montreal was accompanied with the knowledge that none of my friends were eating anything close to that delicious.

(Important smoked meat note: There are few things in this world more intimidating than a question about foreign food preparation asked by someone who is clearly disgusted by the fact that he's being forced to speak English. So save this in your memory for the first time you have the smoked meat: NEVER EVER EVER EVER ORDER IT "LEAN." To use a steak metaphor, it's like asking a $100 fillet mignon be prepared well done. I am positive that anyone in this world who does not like smoked meat has only ever had it "lean," and has that thus determined it's really no different than pastrami.)

But when I think of Montreal and food, it is not the smoked meat I think of. It is, instead, gravy.

The island of Montreal might as well be surrounded by a sea of gravy (it's actually called sauce, or BBQ sauce, there, but it's really just a slightly thinner and tastier version of regular brown gravy). Gravy is everywhere, and served with virtually every meal. Any dish at KFC (known as Poulet Frit Kentucky) is served with gravy, because every meal involving chicken in the city is served with gravy. And it's not the normal, shitty gravy we get at KFC in the states. It's fucking delicious gravy, the kind of gravy that makes you want to drop the pretense and just start drinking it directly out of the styrofoam cup.

It's not only chicken that gets the gravy. Fries get the gravy. You can get Poutine, which is gravy and slightly melted cheese curds on top of fries. Don't like cheese curds? No worries; you will never be looked at funny if you just order gravy with your fries, because that's how the Frenchies roll. Gravy. For. Everyone.

There is not much in the way of nice things one can say about Montreal. The people are shit, and fairly unattractive to boot. The women dress like they're stoned and the sun is a giant black light, and the city serves as the capital of those horrible stetch jeans that look good on approximately 2 percent of the female population. The locals not only speak French exclusively, but they speak a disgusting dialect of French. The drivers are insane, perhaps because one isn't allowed to take right turns on reds anywhere on the island (it's the only part of Quebec, if not the known universe, in which this is the case). The weather is awful, and the mosquitoes are the size of Arizona cockroaches.

But you will never, ever have to feel ashamed if you want to have gravy with your meal. Any meal. Montreal means never having to be sorry for taunting hypertension.