by ALICE and YANKA

We've been ready for the track since we were four. Thirty years later we're moving in on the red-and-white Hippodrome de Montréal pretty damn essoufflées, 'cuz the parking lot's immense. But then we pass clans of black men looking like they're up to something fun, so we feel rather hopeful.

We're dumb as hell and still make out the rules of horse racing. Our first bet is a WIN on Lyinsonofabeach; he curses our evening and we end up losing all our money. As well, it takes us a while to figure out our surroundings. The place is huge. Dazzled by the thousand drinking stations, we soon get lost searching for not' place à nous. Nonetheless, our hunt is rewarding, as les coulisses dissolues de l'Hippodromes sont délicieuses. We suggest, though, that you stay away from the VIP section ($3 cover/law firm caca), otherwise you might end up at Le Centaure restaurant upstairs. We were fooled into checking the place out when hunger came knocking. With its faux-chic crowd aveuglé par les moules au vin du buffet @ $29.95, Le Centaure will remain forever in our heads as a square room with square tables and fluorescent white table cloths deflecting our fun. Bref, à fuir. "Back to the bleachers!" "Aux gradins tabarnak!" and liquid diet it was.

Alcohol is magic and beer is readily available at l'Hippodrome, Labatt Bleue being the ubiquitous choice. But first we go for a Smirnoff Ice since the prices are competitive and we've never had one in a plastic glass before. Also on our menu are a pack of cigarettes ($8) and a bag of Mexicana chips ($1) - very spicy.

The bleachers are the best place to be. Seemingly, it's mostly older men who take to the wonderful vice of horse gambling. They dress like fucked-up royalty with crazy beat-up overcoats and they crown themselves with superb hats from the '40s and '50s. Nos hormones s'enragent. In the bleachers, one can smoke with impunity and joy, and everyone does. We feel at home and sometimes we spit. The floor is full of the stuff, some fresh, the rest a paved crust. And when you just so happen to be wearing some sizeable, satin-pink bunny ears, well, you make good friends. Chinaski, t'es où, man!? Tous tes amis sont ici. Reviens!

We had been warned that the jockeys are short and not that sexy. We didn't notice because we're too taken by the names of the horses. Christ! We fall in love with Crésus Popette (race 5, horse #3)! We don't reap anything with the bastard, but damn, the name, it just explodes like a firework amongst the fine, fine evening. "Popette, coooome on, stie!" We also can't resist betting on Star Quantum Leap and Run Up The Flag. Fuck you George Bush.

Since our mission includes sampling food and we're not drunk enough to steal a horse and gallop into the sunset, we surrender to the big Bâton Rouge nearby. We order only appetizers and get fake baguette loaded with butter & cheese ($5), the biggest baked potato we've ever met ($4), a salad with ginger & lime dressing ($4.50), and finally, la pièce de résistance: les Tendre de Poulet Bâton Rouge ($7). These fried chunks of friture sitting on top of soggy fries give us the willies, and dipping our fries into the sauce goblets only make things worse: the yellow one is not mustard and the BBQ one tastes like melted tires with spices. Bref, Hippodrome rocks; Bâton Rouge, not.

Hippodrome
Address: 7440 Décarie (métro Namur)
Phone: 739-2741
Hours: 9AM–3AM
Live racing: Fri–Sat 7:25PM–10:30PM; Sun 1PM–4:30PM
Racing program: $2.50
Vegetarian friendly: Hay
Credit cards: Only at Le Centaure
Guichets automatiques: Oui
Wheelchair access: Oui
Rating: ***1/2 out of ****

Bâton Rouge
Address: 5385 des Jockeys
Phone: 738-1616
Hours: 11AM–11PM, (Sat to 12AM)
Best features: Baby back rib framed picture on the wall
Vegetarian friendly: Spinach reggiano et al
Credit cards: All and Interac
Wheelchair access: Yes
Rating: ** out of **** sober. Probably more if you're stoned.

Resto Bizarro commentary? cheapmotel@hotmail.com