Kim visits Montreal
It's not that difficult to find Sylvain Gagné's restaurant. It is, as Meg said, written up in several guidebooks.
And late morning isn't a bad time to arrive, at least on weekdays -- the breakfast crowd has gone, the lunch crowd isn't really there yet. There's no line out the door, no wait to be seated, just a hadful of patrons lingering over coffee at the tables on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant.
It's a beautiful summer day in Montreal.
And late morning isn't a bad time to arrive, at least on weekdays -- the breakfast crowd has gone, the lunch crowd isn't really there yet. There's no line out the door, no wait to be seated, just a hadful of patrons lingering over coffee at the tables on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant.
It's a beautiful summer day in Montreal.

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Hastily, she adds,
"Or we could go out somewhere, or-- I don't want to be any bother--"
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"Let me just tell them we're going."
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"I'll admit the thought had crossed my mind. Go ahead, I'll wait here."
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"Be right back."
It only takes a minute or so.
"There's a place a couple blocks from here," she says, when she comes back in. "I can't vouch for their coffee personally, but Alain likes it."
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"And in any case, it's a pretty morning for a walk."
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"So, what do you think of Montreal?"
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She considers for a second, but really, it doesn't take long.
"I like it. I think if I was going to spend any great amount of time here, though, I'd have to get a lot better at French."
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Not that it was bad a year ago, it was just very learned in a classroom.
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Kim shakes her head.
"There's something to be said for it, anyway."
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"A little?"
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And then continues, "Are you learning any of those?"
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She shrugs.
"If I were going to pick one to start with, it'd probably be Welsh."
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Given family history and all.
A moment later they're settled at a sunny table, looking at menus.
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"Maybe a muffin too. According to this, they're homemade."
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"The muffin part, anyway."
She still doesn't drink coffee.
"And tea."
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Years of experience speaking here.
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"Would I do that?"
A beat, and she grins.
"Besides, I'd give you half of mine in trade."
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"Blueberry, I guess, then," she says.
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She shakes her head, smiling, and leans back in her chair as she stretches.
"I'm out of the habit of long train rides."
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". . . can you take a six hour train trip from Glastonbury and not wind up in some body of water or other?"
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