It's last-day ever at Moe's Corner Snack Bar, the longtime iconic Montreal greasy spoon at Closse and De Maisonneuve.
Atwater-area roofer Pat Shearing, who moved to Montreal from Matapedia about a dozen years ago, shares this description of his final meal there Saturday.
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Went to Moe's for last time today.
The windows shone with dust and grime.
Across from me a rocker who would have fit in at any Pointe-a-la-Garde fight club was devouring a grand slam to cure his hangover.
I opted to take what he was having.
A hipster couple (complete with Mohawk hairdos, trust funds and septum piercings) ordered a bunch of random cobbled-together menu items to show that they knew the scenes, and took photos on their Iphones to cement the evidence.
Two older blue collar gentleman shared coffees and PG13 stories in the corner.
A Donald Sutherland-ish man read a bad book with an order of pancakes and overcooked bacon.
A rich older couple who looked Westmounty showed up with their son and elected for the bar stools near the cash. They has never been and were told it was closing shop soon.
They silently sipped their coffees and hot chocolates until the sheepish kinda cute waitress asked how they felt about knowing that this would be both their first and last meal at Moe's, the son answered with the single predictable lame word "sad" as he picked at the undercooked home fries.
I quickly wolfed down my meal and jacked a teaspoon for the memories, glancing over at Eddy, thick skinned, resplendent in a well worn baseball cap and some grease stained jeans, and for one brief moment I understood him completely: the muscle cars, the vintage decor, the ghosts of the Forum hard boiled in their glory.
All had eaten here, the pimps, the gang leaders, the rich, the homeless, the drunks, the prostitutes, the well-to-dos and the do-to-wells, the capitalist brothers who sell computers over the phone, the Socratic anarchist cousins, the American tourists who feared for their safety wandering that last stretch of downtown near the forum ready to run at the drop of a pin, the grid-less, the grinders, the strappers, the coked-out hustlers, the boys, the West-enders filing in for their daily steamies...
This would be my last time at Moe's and I knew it...
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Atwater-area roofer Pat Shearing, who moved to Montreal from Matapedia about a dozen years ago, shares this description of his final meal there Saturday.
===
 |
| Pat Shearing |
The windows shone with dust and grime.
Across from me a rocker who would have fit in at any Pointe-a-la-Garde fight club was devouring a grand slam to cure his hangover.
I opted to take what he was having.
A hipster couple (complete with Mohawk hairdos, trust funds and septum piercings) ordered a bunch of random cobbled-together menu items to show that they knew the scenes, and took photos on their Iphones to cement the evidence.
Two older blue collar gentleman shared coffees and PG13 stories in the corner.
A Donald Sutherland-ish man read a bad book with an order of pancakes and overcooked bacon.
 |
| Bill Binns @bdgbill |
They silently sipped their coffees and hot chocolates until the sheepish kinda cute waitress asked how they felt about knowing that this would be both their first and last meal at Moe's, the son answered with the single predictable lame word "sad" as he picked at the undercooked home fries.
I quickly wolfed down my meal and jacked a teaspoon for the memories, glancing over at Eddy, thick skinned, resplendent in a well worn baseball cap and some grease stained jeans, and for one brief moment I understood him completely: the muscle cars, the vintage decor, the ghosts of the Forum hard boiled in their glory.
All had eaten here, the pimps, the gang leaders, the rich, the homeless, the drunks, the prostitutes, the well-to-dos and the do-to-wells, the capitalist brothers who sell computers over the phone, the Socratic anarchist cousins, the American tourists who feared for their safety wandering that last stretch of downtown near the forum ready to run at the drop of a pin, the grid-less, the grinders, the strappers, the coked-out hustlers, the boys, the West-enders filing in for their daily steamies...
This would be my last time at Moe's and I knew it...
-