You know if you had really, really been intent on entrapping me on my wedding night, you wicked woman, you would not have dabbed yourself with Joy, but in Essence of Smoked Meat. A maddening aphrodisiac, made from spices available in Schwartz's delicatessen. I'd call it Nectar of Judea and copyright the name.
- Barney's Version
Odd as it may seem, Schwartz's smoked meat has me pondering the art of writing. A weighty subject, I know, and perhaps more than two slices of rye, already laden with thin slices of brisket and gobs of mustard can bear. But Schwartz's, properly known as the Charcuterie Hébraïque de Montréal, and Mordecai Richler, my favourite writer, are the alpha and omega of my Montreal and icons of their respective crafts.
A Canadian literary legend, Richler found inspiration for his best fiction in a tiny slice of his hometown: The Main, aka Boulevard St Laurent, which formed the geographic heart of Montreal's vibrant Jewish community. Anti-heroes are Richler's stock in trade, and his most memorable protagonists -- Duddy Kravitz, Moses Berger, and Barney Panofsky -- are products of the neighbourhood. All three are pricks with wretched character flaws, like greed, sexism, alcoholism, and a love of the Montreal Canadiens, for example. Yet I always find myself empathizing with them when I read their stories. These are not simple characters, and in that complexity lie the qualities that make them likable. I defy anyone to read Barney's Version and not ache for Barney though, or perhaps because, so much of his pain is self-inflicted.
Not coincidentally, Boulevard St. Laurent is the home of Schwartz’s Deli. Richler made no secret of his passion for their smoked meat, and it appears in many of his novels. Its tantalizing aroma is even used by the police as an interrogation technique in his children’s book, Jacob Two-Two and the Dinosaur.
The explicit connection between Schwartz’s smoked meat and Mordecai Richler’s accessible and witty prose has a more subtle corollary as well. Both seem simple at first glance, but there’s satisfying depth, too. And really, aren’t food and writing closely related? Both take raw ingredients and craft them into something deeper and more meaningful. After all, even a plate of fruit requires selection and assembly. There are some principles of preparation that should be followed, be they of grammar or of chemical and molecular reactions, though experimenting with these rules often leads to the most striking innovations. In our society, both food and writing are often created lackadaisically, to perform a basic utilitarian function, and both may be consumed carelessly. Both can express a culture, and even achieve the status of art – but a little junk has tremendous appeal once in a while. A meal can create a narrative, and a good book can be devoured, then digested. Both express the creator’s individual style, intentionally or not, and it’s not always the fanciest and most complicated productions that satisfy the most.
And so we return to Schwartz’s.
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