by ALICE AND YANKA

In the mid-'50s, we were so jacked up on hot-dog fumes and spellbound by the wonders of blowjobs that we completely missed out on the grand opening of Le Roi du Smoked Meat. See, we were only meant to discover this mad delicatessen in 2005, on the first day of spring fever.

Before breakdancing through the threshold of double doors, which you can pull on the right or push on the left, we celebrate the malade mental sculptures of banana peppers, sweet pimentos, dill tomatoes, pickled onions and plastic sundaes stuffed in giant jars in the window.

Jacky, la plus belle et la plus fine, what do you have for us?!

D'la O'Keefe, les enfants, poured in glasses worthy of le Roi.

So as not to fuck-out the delicate balance of this jus maléfique and ruin it for our silvery palates, we must select food from the endless menu very carefully. Coquetel de crevettes et ananas tranchés? Du goudron pis d'la sloshe? It's all too grandiose. La Poutine du Roi ($6.50) is a mystery. No ingredients listed. À qui la chance?

À Alice, who was irremediably contaminated as a child by the deadly grasshopper plague and has had a burning toaster as a brain ever since. This weirdooo looks like a mound of ground baby, pink and smoked, and the thousands - no, billions - of grated meat particles are definitely having a love fest dans les frites, la gravy pis l'cheese! It's really not bad at all, surtout with ketchup.

Second plate to land on the table is for our special guest, un mirobolant polonais noirci par ses périples en pays exotiques. Pour lui, it's the Super Smoked Meat on rye with Swiss cheese and trimmings ($9.95). The paper mats boldly state that, "Le vrai goût du smoked meat sans bière est un jour sans soleil," so Jacky brings on a pitcher of Vieux-Montreal ($9.95), a beer the likes of which had yet to water our gosiers. Does it seep from the sewers of Vieux-Montréal? "Non, c't'une compagnie grecque qu'y'a ça!" Fiou!

The Polak must use fork and knife to work her way through these four storeys of a sandwich - the rosy, sweaty meat, stacked high with a slice of Swiss cheese on top. C'est bon? Bah. It's not bad, but it ain't great either. C'est comme ça.

Les brochettes are number nine on the table d'hôte: assiette de souvlakis (2 bâtons!) with rice, tzatziki, Greek salad and fries ($9.95). The préambule is a tiny glass of tomato juice, and hopélaille, in no time, Yanka introduces O'Keefe to Tomato Juice and the infallible chaser is born.

We know chaser can't even begin to describe this elixir, and when we get our friend Master Pipo on the phone, he gets it right: it's a Pulping Drink of Passion. Ouiiii! Pis, number nine? Well, the fries are undercooked and les chunks de porc, sauvagement embrochés on a bed of yellow rice, are marinated to perfection in garlic, lemon and powdered oregano. So what if the meat's nervous and riddled with des filaments de muscle that make a happy home between the choppers? Y'en restait pu à fin. Aussi, by mixing everything up, feta féroce, garlicky tzatziki, stressed-out pork, oily olives and a sliver of raw onion, we got tapas du peuple.

By 5 o'clock, the place is full, un reflux gastrique de happy off-work workers, horny moms, vicious kids, retirees and lonesome men reading and drinking wine. The conversations unfold in a crazy language that stirs the ears and echoes of "fait pas ta smatte" float in the greasy air while the waitresses on break, chins in hand, have that faraway look that screams two weeks in Florida. Bon voyage mesdames, it's been real.

On va vous débiter à la chainsaw cheapmotel@hotmail.com

Le Roi du Smoked Meat
ADDRESS: 6705 St-Hubert
TEL: 273-7566
CARDS: Shitty ATM machine
HOURS: 24/7. Delivery from 11 a.m.–5 a.m.
BONUS: They sell cigarettes in the front, $8.50 a pack
SMOKING: Oui, in the back, ben loin du soleil
BEST QUOTES: "Y'a une roche pognée en d'ssour d'la porte."
WHEELCHAIR ACCESS: Oui
PICKLES: Un ordre de dill for $1.25
WORST FEATURE: La maudite radio Rock Kétaine du câlisse. Why?
RATING: Not up to Polish standard! 8/10