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Casa Quebecua

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 I had heard that there was a restaurant in the popular tourist district of Quito, La Mariscal, which sold “poutine”. And, having lived in the Capital, Ottawa, and the great city of Montreal, Quebec, where this food originated, I had developed a love for this deliciously unhealthy food. The place - Casa Quebecua.

 Imagine being outside on a very cold winter day, let’s say at minus 20 C or less temperature, feeling hungry and needing to be warmed.  Poutine, hot French fries, covered with melted cheese curds and smothered with beef gravy would fill the spot.  In these circumstances, people in and around the Province of Quebec flock to restaurants and food trucks parked along roads selling poutine. The food trucks are my favorite. You cannot miss seeing them. Steam rising along the side the city street on a very cold winter day, the smell of cooking fresh French fries and a line-up of freezing, smiling, patrons anxious to dig into a hot meal, signal the locations.

Putine is not an everyday food.  It is all carbohydrate and, as is slides down your throat to the awaiting hungry stomach, you can almost hear the cholesterol exploding with excitement through your veins.  But, on those freezing cold days, there is nothing better.

Be careful to pronounce the poutine as if “ poo teen” with stress on the “teen”.  The first time that I went to one of the Ottawa food trucks, I wasn’t clear in that French word's emphasis and learned that I had just ordered a prostitute. Let me say that there was a lot of giggling from those around me.

The Casa Quebecua is located one block over, on Calama street, from the Plaza Foche in downtown Quito, Ecuador. It has a rough wood façade of logs that is stereotypical, but not really characteristic, of Quebec. 

The place is small and narrow, with a frying operation just inside the door to the right. The air is saturated with the vapor of frying oil. It floods your nose and settles into your clothes. The air extraction system above the fryers was either inadequate or not turned on.

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I introduced myself to one of the staff, a young, smiling, enthusiastic young woman named li, pronounced Lee, as someone enthusiastically hungry for great classic poutine and settled to wait for my order. 

A hamburger that looked far better than anything one would get at one of the major fast food chains was placed in front of a man at a nearby table. Perhaps I should have ordered that, I thought.  But, my attraction was short lived. He picked up a knife and fork to eat with a certain deliquetess; I thought.  Was I deluded!  Eating tools well in hand, he proceeded to cut off one-third of the burger and tried to stuff the entire thing in his mouth at once. – It was not a pretty sight!  One should not watch others eat!

After a short wait, that seemed too long,  Li placed the offering if front of me. What a disappointment! What sacrilege!  I should have seen freshly cut, plump French fries, slightly crisp on the outside; nicely cooked inside.  Instead, there were thin, dark, deeply soaked in oil, fries. There were cheese curds or something like them and gravy. If one had to say something nice, I would say the gravy was OK.  This was a stomach acid producing concoction if I ever saw one.

Disillusioned, I sampled out of politeness and left.  Having a Canadian poutine themed restaurant where the Casa Quebecua is located is a great idea. However, proper ventilation and less oil saturation on fatter, fresh cut potato fries is needed to be true to the experience.

 I will not to return soon.

( In French the term would be Quebecois as opposed to Quebecua used in Spanish here in Ecuador)