mistaken for restaurant owners.

It’s school’s bloody fault for getting in the way of updating, but it hasn’t stopped the snapping of photographs, but it’s somewhat blocked the uploading stream. Coming back from the (only) brew shop (I know of in downtown Montreal), the boy and I were feeling inspired enough to swing into a butchers shop on St. Laurent (around Pins).

“What do you have in the way of bones?”

The heavily-accented middle aged woman behind the counter looked at us, with eyes sparkling. “You own restaurant, yes?’

Well, no, we just wanted to make stock and have been trouble locating bones. We’re easy, really – chicken, pork, beef. Apparently kids these days don’t cook the way we do.

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