The "Casse Croute"

If you live in Eastern Ontario, Quebec, or the french parts of the Maritimes, you know about the "casse croute".  Just heard a wonderful piece on "C'est la Vie" on CBC about these marvellous little roadside not-really cafes we all knew and loved, growing up taking family car trips in the country or to the cottage. 

The casse croute doesn't really have an equivalent anywhere else in the world, in fact, I don't even know how to translate it.  Usually, fashioned from old buses or ancient RVs, they stood on the side of the road, usually with a hideous, plastic awning over the serving window.  You could eat at one of the picnic tables provided, or just sit in your car and people-watch fellow travellers from all walks of life -- labourers to millionaires, cops to biker gang members, they all stopped at the casse croute.

They were always run by a ton of members of the same family, all rushing around shouting orders in French.  With names, such as "Chez Bob Burger", or our favourite, "Chicken Blood" -- named by us in honour of  the chickens that used to hang draining in the back after their demise -- the casse croute had absolutely the best fries, hotdogs and hamburgers in the world.  The fries, served in cardboard cartons, were very greasy and slightly soggy, the hotdogs always served in buns with the sides sliced off and the hamburgers freshly-grilled to perfection.

On the way to the cottage, it was a ritual to stop halfway and load up on the best-tasting, greasiest food in the province.  What a treat.  I am using the past tense to describe these establishments, but there are still many thriving on roads and highways all across the province.  Alas for me, the casse croute is a thing of the past, as none exist in Alberta -- or west of francophone Ontario, for that matter.  And you can't compare street vendors to the casse croute because the former serve entirely different food, such as sausages or bratwurst, for example.  No, the casse croute serves only fries, dogs and burgers............and oh yes, poutine!

Personally, I have never tasted poutine -- that uber-greasy bowl of cheese curds and french fries smothered in gravy.  But people love it -- especially the Americans up at our cottage who used to crowd the local greasy spoon in Gracefield to chow down on it.

Ah yes, memory lane once again.