I am simultaneously looking at Anna’s iPhone and the myriad of signs at the intersection. We have a minivan full of kids and Ontario plates. The guy in the car next to us at the light senses our confusion, rolls down his window and says (in French) with a smile, “If you speak French I could help you.”
“Oui – je parle Francais!”
Then he asks me where we are going.
I look at him.
I look at Anna.
I look back at him.
Puzzled – he asks me if we are looking for downtown. Clearly we are tourists, we must be looking for downtown.
Relieved, I say yes, with a little guilt and hesitation. I am lying.
You see….I could not tell him we were looking for the Orange Julep! The big orange ball/casse croute/purveyor of the deliciously orange-ish/creamy/frothy beverage of my childhood dreams.
I can actually see the crown of the giant orange ball in the distance. It’s one of those places – you know where it is – you just don’t know how to get there.
We pull into the empty parking lot (except for one golden 1986 Cadillac full of gangsta types chowing poutine and slurping juleps). Anna asks me when I was here last. Maybe she asks because it looks so derelict and sort of closed. “Oh…umm…..32 years ago….”
As a kid growing up in Montreal, I yearned to dine at the Orange Julep. My begging paid off one fine day. In what must have been a brief moment of insanity, Mom and Dad succumbed to my pleading. The orange julep was everything I had imagined…I guess. Except…I am not really sure what my 7 year old self hoped it would be exactly. But come on – the restaurant was shaped like a giant ORANGE!! It had to be totally and completely awesome!! That day, as soon as I finished my first and thus far only julep I threw up. So much for that. If that happened to you as an adult, you’d swear off the place, never cross the threshold again – which is, in fact how my parents reacted. But for me, I was confident it wasn’t the julep that made me sick – maybe it was something my mom had fed me for breakfast. I silently dreamed of going back. I was told in no uncertain terms that we would never again be patrons of the gorgeous ginormous orange, but every time we drove by I dreamed of the sweet nectar known as julep sold within. Sigh…..
So today is my day. Back for an orange julep many years later, with my own kids in tow – but this time the kids are skeptical, and I (now the adult….I guess…) bounding ahead, giddy with excitement.
Turns out, not a lot has changed in 32 years. Literally. Maybe the oil in the fryer. Maybe. Oh and it seems they now need a lot of duct tape to keep the old julep machine running. There are a lot of tin-foil encrusted pipes coming from the ceiling. I think there is a crew of oompa loompas up there slicing and juicing the oranges. ‘Cause I am sure they only use fresh oranges here– right??
I ask the girl at the counter “So…What’s in a jul….” and before I can even finish I am dismissed.
“SECRET FAMILY RECIPE!!!!”
All right then….we aren’t getting outta here alive with any top secret julep info – that much is clear. Too bad – if all had gone according to my master plan, I was going to look for a restaurant-sized orange for sale on Craig’s List and open my own Orange Julep in Toronto.
Anna, also a child of the 70’s, is starting to feel the love and the nostalgia of the place. That old eating at a giant fruit magic….what can I say – we fall for it every time. Slightly giddy (perhaps from the 6 hour drive with four kids all singing the Trololol song), she orders a round of combo’s for our crew. To be honest, I find this order a little on the aggressive side, given this is merely an afternoon snack. But who am I to burst her bubble?
We decide to eat (and drink) IN the orange, instead of back in the parking lot – and all settle in to our hot dogs, poutines and juleps.
“Take note children,” I declare….
”This is how a hot dog is prepared!”
Steamed dog, placed into a TOP slice bun, which has been buttered and fried on each side. It is pretty darn good. The poutine is pretty respectable as well.
And the juleps.
What can I say?
Cold. Creamy. Sweet. Orange-ish. Super-frothy. A veritable creamsicle in a cup.
All exactly as I remembered. Even the nauseous feeling about 10 minutes after we pull away.
If you’re in Montreal go check it out – I definitely plan on returning in another 32 years.
7700 Boul Decarie
Call for hours 514 738 7486
