A change from the old poutine I

T’S not long since I took a trip across the Atlantic, where we’d been invited to attend the wedding of a friend’s daughter in Brooklyn. A few pleasant (though unseasonably and uncomfortably hot) days were spent in New York, and we’d decided to extend the trip and make a real holiday of it, first by taking the Amtrak train all the way up to Vermont, and then driving through that beautiful, verdant state all the way to New Hampshire.

It’s leaf-watching time and the vast forests were just beginning to turn to their famous autumnal shades; within the swathes of green one could see those famous maple trees in all their glory, orange, yellow and red. It was quite breathtaking. I can’t recommend Vermont enough ; it’s a gorgeous, unspoiled place, quiet and peaceful, with nothing but dense forest for mile after mile, save for the occasional maple farm or picturesque small town.

From the US we drove north into Canada and spent an unforgettable time in Montréal. What a terrific city. Small enough to be manageable and undaunting, it’s a brilliant blend of North American architecture with a very definite European influence. Fully French-speaking, it’s a wonderfully welcoming place, crammed with art, culture and, most importantly, food.

The food in Québec is incredible, and Montréal sits at the heart of a vibrant ‘foodie’ culture. It was impossible not to soak up all the ideas and influences.

We were taken by friends to the famous Au Pied De Cochon restaurant where we were blown away by the ludicrously huge portions; stuffed pigs’ trotters, confit duck, and more foie gras than I’ve ever eaten in one sitting. Quite incredible. There’s an outstanding food market in the suburbs, the famous Marché Jean-Talon, where everything is huge, fresh, and bouncing with flavour and colour. Produce from the region, which evidently has something special in the soil, is sold by smallholders and growers, terribly proud of their incrediblelooking fruit and veg.

There were aubergines as big as rugby balls, leeks like cricket wickets, blueberries the size of strawberries, and strawberries the size of apricots that, unlike our hothousegrown imports, tasted intense and fragrant.

There was grass-fed beef, marbled and dark, plump corn-fed ducks and chicken, and in one corner, an unassuming little stall selling charcuterie, game and duck, where this week’s recipe was born.

In addition to their lovely-looking hams and sausages, the stall sold various versions of Poutine. Poutine is Quebec’s fast food of choice, and I’m surprised it hasn’t taken over the world by now.

I guess that, to like poutine, one has to be cool with the concept of chips and gravy. Not a hard sell here up north, but perhaps a bit of a marketing head-scratcher in the home counties. I love it.

The basic poutine comprises a hearty portion of rustling French fries, strewn with fresh curd cheese and ladled with rich, thick meaty gravy.

It certainly fills a hole, and most places sell portions so impossibly huge I don’t think anyone ever gets down to the last chip.

The market stall sold about six versions, with duck, ham and pork added to the dish, but I plumped for the bison poutine. Slow-cooked tasty bison meat, shredded over the top of those crisp, gravy-covered chips. I was in heaven. And I had to share the love.

This version uses confit duck meat, an easier alternative, should you not be able to bag a bison locally.

And this will be a great dish to serve on Sunday as you watch the fireworks – hearty, rib sticking stuff for the bonfire party.