dépanneurs i have known
dépanneur, corner shop, bodega, korean, corner store.
when i was in university, i lived in montreal, on and off for 4 years in an area called the plateau. what i loved about my area was it's multi-culturalism, it's sense of community, and all the funny old men that would sit around on plastic chairs outside the dépanneur, playing backgammon and drinking beer from paper bags. all day. and all night. every day. besides the company of other old men, i think the draw for them may have been the cheap booze.
as a canadian (outside québec, we sell our alcohol in government regulated liquor stores only), this was my first experience with being able to grab a beer, anytime! right across the street from my apartment! beer was cheaper than pop and québec became a new heaven for me. anyway, my particular depanneur was more lively than most. for instance, what's his name, who ran the dep with his brother, was always there, and always willing to show you his six toes. he had an extra little toe on each foot, and always wearing flip flops, he never missed the opportunity to plunk a foot up on the counter, yes, right beside the red licorice, and show you. but, most special of all, he brewed his own particular brand of moonshine. for just 8 dollars you could bring in a 2 litre pop bottle and fill 'er up. i did this once, and drank about 2 inches of it while cooking in a punk rock vegetarian restaurant on the main where the only rule was no junk on shift (another story, another time). anyway, about 2 inches into my tea cup of illegal liquid fire, i began to hallucinate. it was a great night. a great dépanneur...
right after high school, i lived in london for a while. there, the corner shop was good for one thing. baklava. still my favorite dessert. i was 17 and still toying with the idea that i was completely responsible for feeding myself, and all the food choices that came along with that responsibility. heady in my new found freedom, i ate a 60p slice of baklava every day for a month. on my way to work. at 7am. hee hee.
in edinburgh, it was 50p candy bars that taste so much better than ours! i only put on 10 or 20 pounds...
anyway, i one day found myself all grown up, interning in new york, with a bit of money for proper groceries. living in brooklyn, my corner store became the bodega or the korean. the bodega was a block down and to the left, and good mostly for desperate late night cigarette and ice cream excursions with my roommate. ah, but the korean. never before had i encountered so much goumet food in one little store. amy's organic soups, gourmet perogies, 5 dollar packaged blackberries that i could have picked and consumed in 2 minutes in the wild near my childhood home (where blackberries literally grow like weeds). but having to PAY 10 dollars for lilac was the weirdest thing (i could lean out my window right now and pick a bunch). the korean, so much selection, and oh, so much cash at the till.
now, having lived in my location for almost 5 years, when i think of my neighbourhood, one of my fondest thoughts is of my present corner store. i can hear the ringing bell that sounds every time it's door opens and closes (which is often) anytime i am in my apartment. i think it has mixed in with the cacaphony of voices and sounds that fills my dreams at night, and has become background noise as i sit at my computer during the day. it keeps me company. richard orders in alphaghettis, red licorice, zero chocolate bars, and plain chocolate hagen daaz just for me (everyone has switched to that "extras" stuff. too fancy). and any time i walk by, the staff stop their transaction, look out the door, smile, and say hi. that daily hello, or really, many times a day hello, makes this particular corner store the best i have known so far. i think it will be one of the things i miss most upon leaving. and after 5 years of him hinting, i think i may actually go for dinner with the guy who works there. i somehow got roped into a certain bet. if he wins, it's dinner. i'll keep ya posted.
RANDOM FACT ABOUT ME: i have fuzzy leopard print slippers on right now.
when i was in university, i lived in montreal, on and off for 4 years in an area called the plateau. what i loved about my area was it's multi-culturalism, it's sense of community, and all the funny old men that would sit around on plastic chairs outside the dépanneur, playing backgammon and drinking beer from paper bags. all day. and all night. every day. besides the company of other old men, i think the draw for them may have been the cheap booze.
as a canadian (outside québec, we sell our alcohol in government regulated liquor stores only), this was my first experience with being able to grab a beer, anytime! right across the street from my apartment! beer was cheaper than pop and québec became a new heaven for me. anyway, my particular depanneur was more lively than most. for instance, what's his name, who ran the dep with his brother, was always there, and always willing to show you his six toes. he had an extra little toe on each foot, and always wearing flip flops, he never missed the opportunity to plunk a foot up on the counter, yes, right beside the red licorice, and show you. but, most special of all, he brewed his own particular brand of moonshine. for just 8 dollars you could bring in a 2 litre pop bottle and fill 'er up. i did this once, and drank about 2 inches of it while cooking in a punk rock vegetarian restaurant on the main where the only rule was no junk on shift (another story, another time). anyway, about 2 inches into my tea cup of illegal liquid fire, i began to hallucinate. it was a great night. a great dépanneur...
right after high school, i lived in london for a while. there, the corner shop was good for one thing. baklava. still my favorite dessert. i was 17 and still toying with the idea that i was completely responsible for feeding myself, and all the food choices that came along with that responsibility. heady in my new found freedom, i ate a 60p slice of baklava every day for a month. on my way to work. at 7am. hee hee.
in edinburgh, it was 50p candy bars that taste so much better than ours! i only put on 10 or 20 pounds...
anyway, i one day found myself all grown up, interning in new york, with a bit of money for proper groceries. living in brooklyn, my corner store became the bodega or the korean. the bodega was a block down and to the left, and good mostly for desperate late night cigarette and ice cream excursions with my roommate. ah, but the korean. never before had i encountered so much goumet food in one little store. amy's organic soups, gourmet perogies, 5 dollar packaged blackberries that i could have picked and consumed in 2 minutes in the wild near my childhood home (where blackberries literally grow like weeds). but having to PAY 10 dollars for lilac was the weirdest thing (i could lean out my window right now and pick a bunch). the korean, so much selection, and oh, so much cash at the till.
now, having lived in my location for almost 5 years, when i think of my neighbourhood, one of my fondest thoughts is of my present corner store. i can hear the ringing bell that sounds every time it's door opens and closes (which is often) anytime i am in my apartment. i think it has mixed in with the cacaphony of voices and sounds that fills my dreams at night, and has become background noise as i sit at my computer during the day. it keeps me company. richard orders in alphaghettis, red licorice, zero chocolate bars, and plain chocolate hagen daaz just for me (everyone has switched to that "extras" stuff. too fancy). and any time i walk by, the staff stop their transaction, look out the door, smile, and say hi. that daily hello, or really, many times a day hello, makes this particular corner store the best i have known so far. i think it will be one of the things i miss most upon leaving. and after 5 years of him hinting, i think i may actually go for dinner with the guy who works there. i somehow got roped into a certain bet. if he wins, it's dinner. i'll keep ya posted.
RANDOM FACT ABOUT ME: i have fuzzy leopard print slippers on right now.
posted by LEAH FRANCES @ 9:21 PM
1 Comments:
At 11:46 PM,
Anonymous said…
ha. dépanneurs. when i first moved to ontario from montreal...i had no idea what they called a dépanneurs around here. i was wondering around the neighbourhood, asking people where the dépanneurs was....they all looked at me like i was a looney. then, a guy stops packing up his minivan and says that around here they are corner stores, and that there is one just round the corner. by the way, if you are in singapore...the are canteens. learned that the hard way again i completely understand the interesting cultural dfferences.
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