Halifax: Lobster
In the Seinfeld “man hands” episode, Jerry watches in horror as the woman he's dating tears into a lobster with her meaty paws. He's right, it is a bit unsettling. But the spectacle also speaks to one of the joys of lobster – it's a primal food you get dirty with.
This is one of the few foodstuffs the average urbanite will take from its living state to the plate. And, yes, it's arguable that plunging live creatures into scalding steam before ripping them apart is barbaric. But if you're not opposed to that sort of thing, it can be hugely satisfying.
And if you're visiting friends down east, you have access to some of the best lobster around.
You don't have to do the dirty work yourself, of course. It's in a lovely club sandwich at Hamachi on the Halifax waterfront, and Ray Bear is said to be doing good things at his eponymous new place. But having someone else do the work misses part of the experience.
Better to pick up a bunch of tender little lobsters – directly from the fisherman if you can, because they need all the help they can get this season – and dig out your host's biggest pot.
This is a gathering for good friends, people you already know you like.
Once the lobsters are steamed (not boiled), try dipping the flesh in a bit of vinegar, which is lovely for cutting the richness of the meat. It also goes well with melted butter, of course. But it goes really great with a bottle of champers.
Oliver Moore is The Globe's Atlantic Canada bureau chief.
Montreal: Orange Julep
My favourite Montreal thing in the summer is going to the Gibeau Orange Julep. It's not something that makes me proud – the city offers much more sophisticated attractions, both gastronomical and cultural.
Still, I love it. That massive orange ball, sitting above the Décarie Expressway, kindles the tot inside all of us, making us want to know what's inside. And even when we do know – pipes channelling a frothy orange drink, a steamy kitchen producing the crispiest French fries and hot dogs, all served by cashiers with sparkles on their nails – the nostalgia is a draw in itself.
The original, built in 1932, was only 11 feet high. But the current 60-foot sphere was built in 1964. In good weather, the ball's windows remain open, serving Juleps and hot dogs almost 24 hours a day. Parked cars surround it like a bull's eye.
Montrealers cling to the Julep's drive-through image – even the ones too young to remember the legendary roller-skating waitresses – and the owners, who clearly understand how to capitalize on urban folklore, blast fifties hits such as My BoyLollipop and Don't Be Cruel from loudspeakers above the parking lot.
The drink itself is actually yellow, more the colour of orange pulp than the whole fruit. This is likely because of the frothy ingredients, although spokesperson Ray Gibeau would not reveal specifics except to say, via e-mail, that thousands of “freshly squeezed” Juleps are consumed every day.
Such details hardly matter in the summer.
Heather Sokoloff is a Montreal journalist.
Toronto: You Tiao
I love Toronto's Chinatown: the shops along Spadina Avenue with the barbecued ducks, pigs and chickens hanging in the window; the dense crowds and chaotic scenes in and around the greengrocers.
I always buy my shallots and chilies from the women who set up shop at folding tables and chairs on the sidewalk. The smell of the street transports me right back to Asia.
My favourite restaurant in Chinatown is King's Noodle. The front windows are adorned on one side with the requisite barbecued meats. Opposite them, often obscured by the steam from pots of boiling noodles, a clutch of chefs work in silence. The place is always packed, but the whole operation is a study in gruff efficiency. You never feel rushed, but you're probably not going to linger either.
