by ALICE AND YANKA

"Alice! À l'aide! Y'a d'la guerre partout pis ça goûte le crisse! J'ai besoin d'un rince-bouche! Où tu m'emmènes?"

"Ben, to the Main pour encourager les waitress qui travaillent la nuit. You know, them ladies who work all night to pay their Plateau rent and freeze all winter?!"

So voilà! Recumbent under the great neon whiteness, our asses hugging the beautiful leatherette banquettes, we overdose on the numbers and letters crowding the menus. The hush-hush conversation in the kitchen is always more interesting than the inventory of all one could eat at the Main, so we won't bother. Their menu's probably plastered all over every drunk's hungry mind anyways.

We risk a Grille-Cheese ($3.75). With bacon trapped inside. We let this silk-thin, hostie-like creation dissolve under our palate, right behind our laugh: HAAAAA! C'est un vrai winner. As an extra to go: dick pickle with pickled tomato balls (priceless). C'est tellement beau qu'on laisse tout ça sur le windshield d'un char. Your char, hopefully.

Skala "Alice, ça sent encore la guerre. Ca puire! J'ai mal. J'ai besoin d'un drinque. Où s'cachent donc les vrais?!"

"À la Skala, Yank! C'est là qu'les chômeurs dépensent leurs chèques pis nous aussi!"

Sitting close to the plywood walls, we try to wallop our jukebox into submission while the simplest stuff shines before our eyeballs: une belle quille de 50, par exemple - no glass needed so beautiful it is. Meanwhile, the background of Turco-Greek music spurs our anticipation as the fine waitress jauntily brings our perfect cheeseburger (dirt cheap) on a white plate. Noooo trimmings necessary. We think Skala might be holding a fundraiser to heat the bathrooms properly in the winter, so send all your donations to Skala Owner, 4869 Park Avenue, Mtl, QC.

Hot Spot "Alice, j'ai rien toujours du génocide dans tête, ça m'brûle partout, ça m'perce les neurones! Où se terrent donc nos amis?"

"Sur St-Jacques la magnifique, vieille carcasse! Au Hot Spot!"

Ahhhh, Hot Spot. All our attention is focused on the most exhilarating string of words ever to be strung, i.e. the menu. Callalou Salt Fish aka Morue Salef, Stewed Cow Foot, Goat's Head Soup, Jerk Chicken, Beef Liver, Oxtail, Escovich, and so on. And if by any chance, you, customer, ain't into making l'Équipe Spectra the sole commander of corporate entertainment, Hot Spot has Festivals for $1 each! Dearest Hot Spot, our radioactive magic wand graces you with eight bright, bright stars (3901 St-Jacques W.).

And Hot Spot? Would you perhaps know what can be done about this mess in Iraq? Go on, tell us! We have no qualms about your people's revolutionary proclivity. We're all black, we who devote 40 hrs of our weeks to slaughter. Tell us where to start. Lacking inspiration, Hot Spot? Just think about them traitors at Hydro-Québec, or those working for la STM. That'll surely bring your blood to a boil, non?!

"But, Yanka, this has to be about food, épaisse! We're supposed to throw-up exclusively positive and happy reviews so as not to infuriate the readership! We're getting sidetracked ou quoi?"

La Croissanterie Figaro Being inexorably attracted like magnet to fridge to places we despise, we are frequent visitors to La Croissanterie Figaro (5200 Hutchison). We're still at loss as to why, exactly, we still put up with the warts-and-all verbosity of all the dumb jet-setters who gather there. Maybe it's the croissants. Maybe it's the coffee, so decent that we flaunt our stretch marks everytime their cups pop into mind.

It's certainly not the weekend crowd that keeps us comin' back, though, for it is loud, pedantic and, well, plain fake. Nor is it the rude evening host who only caters to the "beautiful." Three stars for food and feeling, un hurlement de mort din oreilles pour l'attitude.

Romolo Then there's Romolo (272 Bernard W.). We're addicted. Mais sacrament, can someone please kindly remind the place that the same loathsome CD has been stuck in the stereo for the last three years?! The Doors have got to go, non? And so does "Living in America." This song can massacre any innocent bystander's evening, especially in the brutal wintertime.

Romolo makes a masterwork out of sandwiches, and we urge you to try the prosciutto one. And do try their borscht, 'cause we didn't but many do. There's plenty of booze at Romolo, for those who might be wondering. It's painfully expensive but we're poor and manage all the same.

Well, we could go on and on here, but really, who cares about our vapid stance?! It's just food. And besides, we're already in the red with our word-count. Brrrp.