by ALICE AND YANKA

Dearest Yanka,

Dearest vieux débris, how I missed you, my friend, while scotch-hopping away in the land of Guinness, home to wood-table-infested pubs and hot men with crooked autoroute-like teeth. One must surrender to madness there, which is not unlike spending an afternoon sa brosse à la tavarne with our war make-up on! Hungover for weeks and you weren't there to pour vinaigrette down my throat.

But that's okay, 'cause before I knew it, t'was off to Switzerland, home of lukewarm everything, to milk some cows. We made some raclette en ton honneur, ti-cul, layers of pickles, onions, potatoes and cheese. Ô so much cheese, Jésusse! Mon estomac? Un lac de fromage figé!! How many drinks to get over a cheese-induced breakdown?! Loads, but the plane's maudite piquette was so dreadful I watched the fucking movie instead, wishing I'd taken the radioactive pills I was offered before leaving the Confédération Helvétique…

Upon landing in Dorval, I counted 18 hours without sleep, so when my phone rang wildly I knew something was up. A wicked voice said, "Meet me au Barraca in two hours for drinks and finger food." I know, the music sucks and the crowd's tacky, but it was Monday, the place was almost empty and the lights were on low; nobody could see I'd been transmuted into a Raccoon from Hell.

And for once, in this realm of inconsistency, the tapas were festive. Oui! Ch'te jure, c'tait l'party dans l'assiette, la fiesta dans l'faux silverware! First, beef empanadas. Who knows what's in 'em but sinking those motherfuckers in the green sauce is like calling Gavin on a bender at 5 in the morning and howling toxins into his tiny ear. Fucking great! The jambon de bayonne seemed happy to be there, all slick and friendly. Super good salty almonds everywhere. Chorizo was huge and hot, 15 slices of stallion-like stuff. Poulet Xerès is chicken non-grata, though. Pis les drinks?! C'est fucking cher, fucking shit. They mix drinks for a little less than your rent, mais bon, it does the job and the choices are endless. Pis toi, Blacko? How's Lake Orion?

Love, Alice.

Dearest Alice,

Well shucks, vieille crisse! Detroit's insane, still fucked-up from the riots of the '60s and '70s. The white folks skipped town real fast and set up what's now a never-ending suburban nightmare, while the city, the coloured and the poor were left for dead. Sightseeing in the city's a trip in itself: jungles of dilapidated mansions with trees shooting out through the roofs and entire streets completely abandoned.

Yet, underneath all this misery is where you find the richest and sexiest underground culture in the Midwest. Crazy shows all the time, calvert! Hurry up you fool and pay us a visit. We'll take you down to Hamtramck, the Polish 'hood, where we can hum along to some Polish Elvis.

I was there prowling for pierogies last week, and that's how we ended up in a rathskeller of a place called the Polish Village Café (2990 Yemans). On the menu cover is a kneeling gentleman lifting the skirt of his country gal with the tip of his cap so we stepped right in. My Polish companion broke the ice and two bombas of Okacim beer appeared on the table pronto! As for my pierogis, well, the dough was hard, the taste insipid. L'apocalypse! Neither the meat, the cheese, nor the sauerkraut passed the muster. My partner faired better in his choice of grub. In fact, I downed his entire cup of zurek: this creamy, hammy gem of a soup is addictive and seasoned to a tee. The nalesniki (crèpe) stuffed with kraut was decent, said he, but nothing like his mama's.

I tell ya, it was a fucking relief to get away from the American way for even a short moment. My crazy friend seemed satisfied with the evening too, pierogis on his corduroys and wondering whether we'd make it home after so much piwo, knowing that cops lurk every-fucking-where in this state. But that's another story.

Love, Yanka.

Barraca
ADDRESS: 1134 Mont-Royal E. (at Christophe-Colomb)
PHONE: 525-7741
HOURS: 3PM–3AM everyday
ALCOHOL: Yes
WHEELCHAIR ACCESS: Yes
VEGETARIAN FRIENDLY: Olives, nuts, drunk men
CREDIT CARDS: Cash only
NO-SMOKING SECTION: Yes
PRICE: Expensive booze, cheaper food
RATING: **1/2 out of ****