On the way to the Woodleigh Replicas

We will eventually arrive at the Replicas, so do not despair if you are reading for this reason alone. These posts are like the cliff-hanger at the end of the segments of a serialized novel: a tease to keep the reader going.  To get there faster, I will omit some details, including visits with relatives in Toronto and a very enjoyable lunch in Kingston with John Geddes, who amongst other things heads up CanAssist Africa, about which we had a lively conversation.

In any event, on our annual trips to the East Coast, it is always after Quebec City, along the lovely stretch of highway by the St. Lawrence that I feel truly on vacation — no more big cities and traffic jams but soothing pastoral views.

However, a quieter highway brings challenges of its own.

We rounded the corner at Riviere-de-Loup just after noon and headed south towards New Brunswick.  Lots of road construction meant that we eschewed a meal at Tim Horton’s just then, as we couldn’t see how to rejoin the highway were we to leave it.  This was a big mistake, as there are no restaurants on the subsequent stretch of the Trans-Canada Highway.  And while the rolling hills making up the last sputter of the Appalachians provide excellent views, they destroy radio reception and with not much to distract us, we got hungrier and hungrier.

Mind you, we were kept alert not only by looking out for a place to eat, but also for moose. The powers-that-be in Quebec have not seen fit to build moose fences along the highway, and apparently a moose called Prudence is very common there. Her name and picture are on a lot of signs although the moose on the signs has antlers, so I feel Prudence is a bit of a misnomer. We did not see any sign of her, thank goodness, and finally just before we got to New Brunswick, we spied an Irving gas station and restaurant and turned off the highway to eat.

Greg sensibly ordered the fish and chips; I was captivated by a salmon pie with egg sauce. It sounded tasty; I had visions of flakey pastry, a light sauce and delicately flavoured local salmon.  I was so hungry that it was not until about halfway through the meal I realized how wrong that was. Where was the dill, the crunchy onion and celery bits, and the delicious pastried salmon? What were hard-cooked egg slices doing in a pale sea of sauce. Why did the salmon seem tinned?  Silly me (although at the restaurant beside the gas station in Fortune, PEI, you do get an excellent meal — but more on that later).

What redeemed the meal unexpectedly was dessert. Amongst the apple crisp, brownies, and death-by-chocolate chocolate cake listed on the menu, there was, unaccountably, a “gateau Reine Elizabeth de luxe.” (What made it de luxe, apparently, was a layer of mousseline.) I have never before seen a Queen Elizabeth cake on a restaurant menu, and Quebec was the last place I would have expected it.

Not only that, but this spring for the first time in decades, I have twice made a Queen Elizabeth cake.  The reason?  To celebrate Her Majesty’s Diamond Jubilee, first at the Anglican Ladies' Guild and later at  the Horticultural Society's pot luck dinner for weeders and waterers. So my gustatory antennae were up. Although it was against our better judgement calorifically speaking, what else could we do but order a slice and two forks. The cake came with the mandatory coconut-brown sugar icing. What a treat. Only a quick turn under the broiler to brown the coconut would have been needed to boost an 8.5 to a 9.   The sloppy salmon pie and enervated green beans and carrots medley faded from my memory, as we resumed our journey towards Woodstock and a place to sleep overnight.

 To be continued …