Judy P's Tickle Trunk

or this post is not about hockey.

“Where did you watch the game?” The assumption was, of course, that you did watch it. And it wasn’t the gold medal game of which they were speaking, it was more likely the semi-final men’s hockey game of the 2014 winter Olympics, Canada versus the United States. Mid-day on a work-day. Everywhere you went on Friday someone was watching, listening to, or discussing hockey. Including myself.

I was in Halifax to run errands. After a visit to Renovator’s Resource, one of my favourite stores in the city, I ended up wandering Agricola Street. It was warm and I wanted an excuse to be outside. Many of the local businesses have seen some spit and polish like this little framing shop. I love the trim details and the careful paint job but just look at the light-pole: it just looks weary. Scarred and bleeding from the thousand and one staples and tacks it has borne over the years; posters and flyers advertising everything from the Coloured Hockey Championship at the New Exhibition Rink to lost cats  to punk rock concerts at the Pavilion.  How much prettier our cities would be if only they ran the power lines and phone cables underground.

Agricola St. boutique

Hunger got the better of me when I spied this unpretentious looking deli; it would likely be better than fast food.

I couldn’t likely go wrong with a bowl of soup and a quick coffee to fuel the remainder of my errands, what the hey. The door jangled as I stepped inside and a lady sitting back on to the window looked up expectantly from the papers she was shuffling. The little devil on my left shoulder whispered in my ear “Why would you choose a window seat if you are going to face the counter?” The little angel on my right retorted “Maybe she grew up in the wild west where it was best to sit with your back to the wall and close to the door so you could make a quick exit before you got inadvertently tangled up in a bar brawl.” The waitress, who was sitting on a retro chrome and vinyl stool at the far end of the counter, hesitated before she pulled her eyes away from the tv in the corner and started to get up. “Sit anywhere” she instructed as she picked up her cloth and moved behind the counter. She was certainly over thirty, with a low long blond ponytail,  black rimmed eye-glasses and was  wearing a red gingham shirt with the sleeves rolled up. “Is that the hockey game?” I asked. She nodded yes. “Well, I’ll sit right here then” and I maneuvered my stern onto the third spinny stool in the row. It was surprisingly comfortable. I liked the waitress already; her calm deliberate movements gave absolutely no indication that she was put out by having her post lunch-rush rest interrupted. We talked hockey as she passed me the menu. US versus Canada, first period, no score.

Cafe with Bergeron.

This was a real menu; real deli food. It had everything from bissel of potato hash with challah to smoked meat on rye. There was kugel and knishes and varnishkes but I was really feeling the nostalgia of the diner atmosphere  so I wanted diner food. There, a Hali-dog would do quite nicely and I wouldn’t have to get a Costco hot dog later. “Come with fries?” I asked, thinking not likely. There was no smell of grease in the diner at all, just a faint pleasing aroma of the corned beef and cabbage they had served as the day’s special. Yes, there would be fries. Gingham Girl delivered my order to the kitchen and cleaned a couple of tables before she presented me with my food, sporting a smile that said “I know you’re going to love this.” She then took an order for a  Reuben from young fellow with tidy black hair and black rimmed glasses who had just come in and sat two stools away. Soon G.G. delivered a thick,  juicy sandwich, returned to her stool and then she, the young fellow and I watched the hockey game. We all wore glasses and could only see the puck when it was scooting down clear ice; thank heavens for the commentary and the habit of hockey players throwing their arms in the air when someone scores. We felt like old friends gathered in the living room as we exclaimed over each good save or close miss. It was good fast hockey indeed, end to end play with no team having any clear advantage. Tidy young fellow commented “there will be more people watching this game than there will be watching the final because the US is playing ” and I thought “Wait a minute, I thought this was the final!” “He SCORES” the announcer bellowed and we leapt off our stools with a “whoo-hoo” and a “YES”, The lady sitting back on to the window looked up quickly and raised an eyebrow but we were so excited that Canada had scored that we had no inclination to be embarrassed. We were winning.

Although I was invited to stay for the whole game, I left the diner after the buzzer for the second period and listened to the remainder of the game on the car radio. There were no other goals scored and thus Canada was slated to play the Swedes for the gold on Sunday. I’d have to watch that one too now, I supposed.

Hali Dog platter

But what about the food? It was wonderful. The Hali-dog had  carmelized onions and cheese and salsa and a very tasty sausage. The fries still had their peels and were cooked to a sweet golden brown. The coleslaw was not the horrible pasty stuff made with Miracle Whip but had a nice piquant dressing. Malt vinegar topped it all off. If only the straws had been paper I would have felt transported back in time to when everything was in black and white.

Thank goodness the Olympics are over and I can get on with my normal business. GO CANADA!!

©Judy Parsons 2014

click on any picture for a larger view