Our uber-foodie friend Evelyn digs into her pig belly at Restaurant DNA in Montreal

And, oh, what a ride.

Trying to write – in flowing, descriptive prose – about the delights of this most culinary of North American cities has escaped my mind, pen and keyboard. I just can’t do the experience justice. Can’t.

So I offer this list of moments instead:

1. Au Pied Du Cochon’s guinea hen liver mousse with sweet aspic and pickled pearl onions nearly brought me to my knees.
2. The melt-on-your-tongue duck carpaccio did bring Adam and Evelyn to theirs. (Topped with simple shaved cheddar, an over-easy egg, button mushrooms, olive oil and salt and pepper – it shouldn’t have been as good as it was.) I think Evelyn called the velvety dish  “Freakin’ awesome” – repeatedly and loudly.
3. Watching the line chefs spin, swerve, and bend was like viewing a chaotic, clattering, French-speaking ballet. Hint: Sit on stools 3 and 4 down from the door (out of 6 total) at the Food Bar – no pepper mills and olive oil bottles block the action in these prime seats.
4. I felt my arteries harden from gazing – zombie-like – at plate after plate of poutine. Cheese curd, topped with fries cooked in duck fat, topped with gravy, finished with a melting pile of foie gras. Yowza! We opted for the foie gras terrine instead. Marvelous.
5. At the chic brassiere, Holder, Adam ordered the BEST EVER beef tartare. Better even than a much-beloved version devoured in Paris a few years ago. Onion forward. Fatty, succulent meat. Touches of red pepper. It had me at first bite.
6. Holder also yielded the most impressive restaurant “triage” I’ve ever witnessed. The waitress spilled Evelyn’s espresso on delivery. Five waiters converged, stripped the plates and butcher paper, flung on a new tablecloth and plopped down a fresh espresso. Within seconds. We hardly had time to blink.
7. At funky Restaurant DNA near the river, my red onion soup with chicken liver dumplings filled me with joy. I mean it. I sat in a warm huddle of happiness – letting the fragrant steam fill my nostrils. Paired with La Barberie Rouse, a Quebec-brewed bitter red ale, it made for a sensory, savory lunch.
8. Each morning we sipped flavorful espresso and munched fresh fruit and flaky, crackly – and not too sweet – chocolate croissants at our hotel – Le Petit Hotel on Rue Saint-Paul in Old Montreal. At $148 a night, this hip boutique hotel is a steal. Best beds and continental breakfast ever!

Now, not everything was wine and roses. Holder’s insane wine list mark-up drove us to cheap-ish Prosecco. The sauce on my gnocchi at DNA sadly resembled Chef Boyardee, and Adam’s chocolate pot de crème would cream Au Pied Du Cochon’s.

But, the things that were wonderful were out of this world wonderful.

Montreal is just a hair over 5 hours from Portland.

If you love food. Go.

Pepper-crusted ahi at David's 388 in South Portland

Oil sizzles in a pan. A pungent haze smells of garlic and butter. Furtive glances flicker from tightly clustered diners. A hostess beams in greeting.

Crossing the threshold into David’s 388 in South Portland last night was — exactly — that.

Upscale, yet relaxed, the restaurant features painted tin ceilings, speckled drop lights and flickering candles on a smattering of two-tops. At the rear, a raised marble Chef’s Counter and four leather stools overlook a compact kitchen.

Ushered through the small, packed space we settled in at the counter. More of an eater than a cook, these “sneak a peek” food bars are just my speed. I felt immediately at home. Tensions of the day eased as I sipped a glass of Pinot Noir.

Order in, I shifted my attention to the action and watched Chef de Cuisine, Bo Byrne, shake and shuffle skillets of all sizes – steam billowing with scent. His assistant chef, Katie, molded little green balls of wasabi to pair with the night’s most popular dish – pepper crusted sushi rare tuna.

Adam opted for this ahi along with crispy duck potstickers as an appetizer. I choose a caprese salad and mushroom dusted haddock.

The Ahi: Served with a Szechwan citrus dipping sauce, the Ahi itself was pink and fresh with a plump sashimi texture. Pepper dominated, but did not overwhelm. Heat (red chile, maybe?) and sesame perfectly flavored the accompanying asparagus. A pile of soba noodles was the downer of the dish. Fixed too far ahead of serving, the noodles were squishy and listless — and lay there uneaten.

The exceptional mushroom-dusted haddock.

Crispy Potstickers: In a word – tasty. Very, very tasty. Hoisin-forward in flavor, the crunchy little pockets crackled when bitten and burst with sweetness and tang. Filled with tender duck, cabbage and carrots, they sat atop arugula riddled with tiny apricot chunks. Killer combination. Our only issue – a tad too oily.

Caprese Salad: While pleasantly — and simply — flavored with balsamic and salt, the salad was the night’s disappointment. Tomatoes were kinda mealy and the mozzarella uninspired. Scants sprigs of basil did little to help. Not totally bad, mind you, just boring.

Mushroom Dusted Haddock: The night’s BIG standout. Moist, meaty haddock encased in an earthy mushroom essence draped over a bed of savory risotto. Spinach, first steamed in vegetable stock, then braised to perfection by the artistic pour of a sizzling ragout, added a bright, fresh zip.

And – OMG — the ragout: a delicious blend of white button, shitake and oyster mushrooms, roasted tomatoes, leeks and white wine — finished with healthy splash of delicate clam broth and butter at the very end. Awesome.

The Service: Excellent, friendly, prompt and laid-back. Truly perfect. Our waitress, Jane (I asked, she didn’t offer – points in her favor), served with a wonderful mixture of warmth and efficiency. Bo and Katie juggled questions from me with poise and professionalism. All three made a point to thank us for coming.

Our Opinion: Mostly lovely food and a remarkably enjoyable dining environment.  We will certainly visit this welcoming neighborhood bistro again.

New-fangled fish and chips at Big Fish in Kennebunkport.

Best thing in a bun: The blackened fish po’ boy at Po’ Boys and Pickles. Massive pile of seasoned New Orleans style whitefish stuffed in a crusted French bread bun — oozing roasted red pepper mayo and Cajun coleslaw. Perfection.

Best tubular bakery item: The chocolate cork at Standard Baking Company. Essentially the world’s most awesome dense chocolate cake packed into a portable, palm-sized tube. A “to-go” cocoa rush.

Best new take on a classic: The fish and chips at Big Fish in Kennebunkport. Tempura-fried ahi crusted with pepper and crunchy panko crumbs. Hand-cut shoestring fries crisped to a golden brown and dipped in hoisin ketchup. Killer.

Best booze named for a dead British actor: The Rathbone Sour from John Myers at The Corner Room. Brilliant at all things cocktail, the mix master has outdone himself with this one. Ingredients — basil muddled in ice, a dash of lemon juice, gin and — the kicker — St Germaine Elderflower Liqueur.

Best reason to stay overnight in Camden: The pork breakfast sausage at The Hartstone Inn. Cumin-spiced sausage patty the size of a fist wrapped in thick, juicy slices of applewood smoked bacon. Seriously. Made by James Beard Award finalist, chef Michael Salmon.

Best thing to squirt in your Latte: The liquid “crack” at Scratch Baking Co. in South Portland. Espresso and sugar boiled down into a gooey simple syrup. ‘Nuff said.

Best noggin’-sized breakfast pastry: The cinnamon roll at The Good Table in Cape Elizabeth. Steamy fresh, the size of my head and wafting with fragrant sugar and spice.

Best drink in a plastic-coated paper cup. The What’s Shakin’ Bacon shake at Silly’s. Thick sprigs of meaty bacon sprouting from peanut butter creaminess. Picture a well-tended chia pet. A mind-blowing blend of salt and sweetness.

The sweet chicken wire bagel bin at 158 Pickett Street.

The Judges: Adam and me

The Battleground: South Portland, Maine — one weekend in late February.

The Weapons of Choice: Everything and Sea Salt Bagels.

The Reason: Foodies we deeply respect deemed the bagels at 158 the “best in Maine.” Yet, the voraciously happy bagel buyers at Scratch seemed to know something. Who was right? Which of these former partners did bagels best?

We were determined to find out.

Scratch: Bagels purchased and brought home for toasting:

My face scrunched in doubt when I first pulled the Scratch bagels out of the bag. They were so light. When they buckled under the pressure of the knife – reacting more like croissants than bagels – I got worried.

Once toasted and slathered in Scratch’s homemade herb and chive cream cheese, however, my fears went out the window.

Good. God. Almighty. They were great bagels.

Light and airy, yes, but intensely flavorful. The Sea Salt bagel, especially, hit my tastebuds with a savory barley malt. Smoky salt slowly dissolved on my tongue. As I chewed, the wheat and grain came alive and perfectly blended with the fluffy cream cheese that was whipped into a delicate froth. Simply marvelous.

Now, bagel purists may say that Scratch’s soft-style bagels are simply rolls with holes posing as bagels. But me? I am more a stickler for flavor than texture. And these were killer.

­

A pile of Sea Salt and Everything bagels at Scratch Baking Co.

158 Pickett Street: Eaten in the restaurant:
Bedazzled by an abundant bagel bin and the aroma of fresh bread, my senses were heightened simply by walking into 158. Tempted by the more expansive options (Scratch only offered three), we nevertheless stayed the course and ordered the Everything and Sea Salt with herbed cream cheese.

Denser and chewier with a more assertive wheat taste,158’s bagels certainly were more traditional. An interesting fact considering the common beginnings.

Piled high with seeds of all sorts – including copious amounts of sunflower – the Everything was the perfect example of what a classic bagel should be.

The Sea Salt bagel, however was a bit too salty. An herb cream cheese­­ mellowed it slightly, but I still puckered.

The Verdict: Scratch by a nose. But, just barely. Both establishments make truly fab bagels. And, If there is one thing I’ve learned, it is that bagel preferences are extremely subjective – and very, VERY personal.

Sign for the French Press Eatery in Westbrook.

The Plan: Hunker down and work and eat my way through half a day.

The Start: 8:15. Breakfast order in, I am booted up and typing at a round wooden table along the large, front windows facing Main street.

The Early Fail: 8:30. A basket of three steaming hot donuts appears under my nose. Crystal clear that the cashier’s minimizing “oh, about this big” hand gesture was utter lie.

Goal sunk.

Even at 2:00 pm – I still couldn’t handle a sandwich.

As big as regular donuts, twice as puffy and piled high with ingredients, these outrageous donuts are not for health nuts or the faint of heart.

Two of my three choices – the Bacon-Maple and Cinnamon Sugar –  even sported mini “hole” versions of themselves tucked into their middle voids. The third, Double Chocolate, was more of a donut sandwich — extra puffy, sliced in half, and coated with a thick chocolate glaze that trickled down the sides and oozed out the middle.

Completely ridiculous. And, deadly, decadently good.

At $5 for three, the donut basket was a great deal. It could feed a family of four. A dozen costs $18. One costs $2. Other options included a classic Crueler, Raspberry Jelly, Boston Cream, Chocolate Glazed and a peanut butter-and-banana-filled concoction called The Elvis.

Biting into the donuts caused an intense “fresh from the fryer” reaction in me –  a slight film instantly coated my tongue as the jolt of sugar and fat hit my blood stream. After eating only a third of each, I was ready to explode (okay — confession — I eventually nibbled my way through most of the Bacon-Maple). Topped with real bacon crisps and a dense maple glaze, the mixture of sweet and savory was right down my alley (see Whole Lotta Shakin’)

Decadent donuts (from left to right): Bacon-Maple, Double Chocolate and Cinnamon Powered Sugar.

I sat there in a bit of a food coma and spent the next few hours sipping too many cups of French Roast (beans from Rock City Roasters), working and glancing around at my surroundings. A wooden, almost deco style, semi-circle coffee bar extended across the vast majority of the room – rugged, chipped concrete pillars breaking up its mass. Thin, hand-blown drop-lights illuminated the order counter and expresso machine. Local art and photography graced the walls.

After two hours of morning quiet, I worried that the eatery had yet to capture a following (a cause championed in a January Maine Today review), but by 10:30, the place filled up with “ladies that lunch,” local moms and other laptop-toting self-employeds. A constant chatter and buzz continued until I left at 3:00.

My new goal: Spread the word about the killer donuts and – someday – go back for lunch.

Farmers Fare in Rockport - in a photo from the company's website

I popped by the 8-week old Farmers Fare during a mid-November mid-coast excursion. Local fruits and vegetables, an authentic butcher and deli (think pheasant sausage and fresh quail eggs), still-warm baked goods and hearty prepared foods – all were housed in a massive structure the size of a New England Barn. Four surrounding acres featured demonstration vegetable gardens, native plants, edible landscaping and open space for public gatherings.

It was Rosemont Market mixed with Turkey Hill Farm — on steroids.

The Farmers Fare website outlines the company’s mission as, “to bring a contemporary interpretation to traditions that have always enriched our lives. We will host Sunday suppers, pig roasts, pumpkin carvings and other fun events. We pledge to provide a welcoming atmosphere, and scrumptious local food and products of highest quality. We will provide rooms for lectures and informal meetings about food, cooking, and growing healthy crops.”

Throw in a clever, colorful marketing campaign (complete with hats, tee-shirts, banners and a painted van), and me thinks the Farmers Fare’s eye-catching approach to revitalizing community and supporting local farmers just may just catch on.

And that’s a wonderful thing.

Late Summer Brunch at The Good Table

During her dissertation I caught the word “marscapone” and knew instantly what I was having. I’m a sucker for the Italian triple-cream cheese. Scrambled with fresh farm eggs, pancetta and spinach – it was marvelous. The accompanying polenta featured a prevalent – but not overpowering – lemon zest. A too-ripe slice of watermelon seemed a bit of an afterthought.

Adam’s Lobster Benedict kept him quiet, which is always a good sign. His one quibble – not enough hollandaise. He never thinks his “benis” have enough hollandaise. Come to think of it, he’s probably right — is there EVER enough hollandaise? His side of breakfast potatoes featured sweets as well as classic spuds, and plenty of herbs. Simple and delicious.

Halfway through our meal, the table on the other side received a steaming hot cinnamon roll the size of my head. The smell alone made me lean to my left and peer closely – probably a bit rudely – at the fresh pastry. It seemed a bit light on the icing, so I queried my neighbors for a review.  “Excellent, excellent, lots of fresh cinnamon flavor,” was the response. Did they feel it lacked in the icing department? Not at all. In fact, they expressed relief that it wasn’t drenched in the stuff like so many lesser rolls.

I know what I’m trying on my next Cape Elizabeth excursion.