Friday night, Mothboy IV, LittleN and I all went out for Japanese food at a place called Kazu and dancing at Le Saphir, a local montreal goth club. The food was excellent. Mothboy IV had sashimi, LittleN, having a sensitive pallet, went along with a teriyaki burger, and I, being interesting in trying cool things and having the grim, determination to punish myself for a period of picky eating during my early childhood, ordered the salmon head. It was very, very good. The meat was very tender, oily and full of flavour. I even ate the eye, though that part is severely over rated since the flavour is meh and the texture is rubbery. Also the lense is a hard little marble you can’t actually chew.
The skin was the best part, first seared on a flame grill and then roasted, so it was crisp, sauce laced and peeling right off the bones and meat. It’s also really filling for such a small food to bone ratio, so unlike my partner, Mothboy, I didn’t need to get a slice pizza afterwards. It’s also filled with fat, wich as I mentioned, gives it a great flavour but if you try one expect to get oil spatters and use a napkin.
I also discovered I liked sake. It has a nice, sweet but not overbearing rice taste and for the second time in my life I got slightly sozzled. So out of all the booze I’ve tried, sweet cocktails and beer aren’t to my taste, but I like Port, Madera and Sake. I’m undecided about wine yet, as it’s okay, but it doesn’t really contribute much to a meal, and that’s the only way to drink it without being sick.
Saphir (or “The Sapphire”, as us anglos call it) is a grungy club with two floors and dangerous steep staircases connecting them. LittleN is plotting the seduction of a woman we’ll call Peta-R, though in a vague silly sort of way, and her motivation for dragging us along was because Peta-R is decidedly of the goth persuasion. The club is well stocked with people of this sub culture, with most of the woman affecting a sort of dark-punk slut aesthetic, and the male garb all over the place. There’s a $5 cover, and with the weaving and bobbing of the crowd, the low volume of drinking and the lack of skuzzy men hitting on you, it’s decidedly a dance based place.
Unfortunately I’m not the best of shape, so I was only up for an hour or two of dancing. This involved me awkwardly trying to pole dance and shaking my behind, mostly ignored by a sea of people equally enjoying the music and shaking bits of their anatomy. I was somewhat limited by my choice of footwear, high heels probably being inappropriate for anything except for step dances that have a partner for support and no leaning, but I think I may take pole dancing classes at some point, not to be sexy, but because dance that involves gymnastics is fun and I’m much closer to being able to do a back bend than the splits, a prerequisite for many dances done on the ground.
I must say that my club experience has gotten much better since I took to wearing earplugs. They don’t look very pretty, but it’s the difference between getting a headache and shaving off another few decibels of my hearing, and being able to grab the prime dance spot off to the side of the speakers, where I can weave and bob without kicking someone.
