by ALICE AND YANKA

Six hours ago, a dirty ferret in heat kicked the bones straight out of our skin. Le sang coulait partout, même dans nos caries pas encore plombées. It hurt more than fucking Paul Stanley, more than skateboarding on raw pork chops, more than giving birth to a wine barrel. Restait plus qu’à trouver un endroit hors champ pour se bourrer la face et espérer l’éternité à frencher Klaus Kinski. Fifteen minutes later, on est devant l’shack de Monsieur Georges: la Délithèque. It looks like bloody hell from the outside; it’s in full bloom de décrépitude. Est-ce qu’on s’en câlisse? Oh oui. Monsieur Georges, donnez nous du steak cru pour mettre sur nos shiners.

Just like the balding spot does not make le frère Tuck, there is a lot more to la Délithèque than meets the eyeballs. Monsieur Georges a le soucis du détail. Red walls, éclairage du tonnerre, crazy rack-a-vino, spacious tables, a beautiful ceiling, no neon, bref, it’s an ideal home-deli weird villa de boulevard gréco-romaine.

It does in fact say, “Pas comme les autres” on the delivery menu. There’s a truckload of menus at la Délithèque. Most are very complicated, with lots of text and numbers. Heureusement, pictures are available for those who do not read Plancton and Voltage on a daily basis. The most magnificent photograph is undeniably the whole BBQ chicken, whose tanned, juicy body delicately rests on fluffed super green lettuce leaves. Tel un prince sur sa couchette royale, le langoureux poulet semble dire, “Peuple, mangez-moi.” Who needs art galleries, really.

Tonight’s deliveryman, the great Mohamed, takes us on a grand tour of the second floor. They serve a “brunch extraordinaire!” here every Sunday, but right now it’s dead empty. There must have been a party here not so long ago. The ghost room is still filled with balloons and empty buffet carcasses, set tables, a full bar but devoid of kids and in-laws. It’s really cold in here too. Nipplitis and visions of blood-spattered festivities mark the end of the visit. Brrr.

The other customers in the house—four really fun citizens of the golden era who holler “taaaabarnaaaak” en riant comme des hyènes sul crack—are having beers, pie and cigarette smoke for dinner. We opt for exotic, classic and fucked-up. First, we dial 1-976-PIK-ILIA. Monsieur Georges designed it for one person, but we wonder which one. Our toony’s on feu Mad Dog Vachon parce que c’est crissement gros. Some high and low lights: The sole celery bit is ultra spicy (“Hey, faut qu’on trouve le stash”); the taramosalata is a scoop of hard, bright pink mashed potatoes; there is macaroni salad (“c’est mayonnaisé au delà des limites du réel”); artichoke hearts (“C’est des vrais! C’est des vrais!”); awful feta cheese (“c’est une tranche de styrofoam cuit, ostie “) and pretty little spinach and cheese puffs.

Between the tiny branches of the orange tree that’s drying near the pie rack, we spot the waitress coming our way, arms loaded with more plates. Fucky fuck. L’inénarrable Spéghetti à la Grecque i.e. “frit au beurre, avec feta et morceaux de poulet grillés” ne surprend pas. Il décape toute logique. Monsieur Georges, c’est vous qui avez inventé ça? Chopped spaghetti, butter, parsley, melted feta cheese and chicken souvlaki chunks. Doggy bag mandatory. No problem, c’est encore meilleur au petit déjeuner. Just add garlic, spicy stuff et une rasade d’ouzo.

The cheeseburger deluxe comes with a drink, three onion rings, full access to the salad bar—home to the spicy celery salad stash—and many, many fries. Well, share the fries, as Rozie would drunkenly shriek, nous, on s’en va frencher Klaus.

Souvlaghetti Délithèque: 2 bâtons avec spéghetti gratiné! cheapmotel@hotmail.com

Resto Délithèque
ADDRESS: 2485 Rosemont
TEL: 723-4567
HOURS: 6 a.m.–midnight
CARDS: Oui
ALCOHOL: Fully licensed!
DELIVERY: Oui
VEGETARIAN FRIENDLY: Feasible
WHEELCHAIR ACCESS: Few steps outside & inside,
wheelchair friendly bathroom.
NICE FEATURES: The lamps, the lighting, the ceiling, hot dog Michigan—2 saucisses
THE BILL: $40 for a huge pikilia, one cheeseburger deluxe
with trimmings, one spéghetti à la Grecque,
salad bar à gogo, two sodas and tip.
LAST QUOTE: “J’peux plus manger mais j’munche la salade spicy.”
RATING: Good, for the neighbourhood.