live like a local: Khyber Pass

Many, many months ago we went out to dinner with friends. It was one of those evenings where we met at a popular metro stop and wandered around till we found something good. Although we eventually ended up at Spaggios, a great little Italian restaurant, the first place we wanted to go was Khyber Pass, an Afghan restaurant. This past weekend we decided sampling Afghan cuisine would be a great end to the week, and so we made reservations for Friday night.

The outside of the restaurant. It has a rustic feel from the outside, and a cozy feel on the inside.

Traditional dress and textiles are hung from the brick walls on the inside, and the kitchen is located under a cabana-like tin roof to the left. 

Rugs hung on the walls.

Food critic #1.

And #2.

The restaurant was one of the many bring-your-own-wine places in Montreal. Such a practical idea and a win-win situation for all. Restaurants don't have to pay the exorbitant liquor licensing fees, and guests can choose their own wine (or beer! limit 2 per person) and pay $8-15 per bottle instead of per glass.

We chose a mild chianti which went excellently with the spices and flavors of our dinner, without overpowering them.

Appetizers came soon after we were seated. Something akin to mini flatbreads with three dipping sauces to choose from. The green sauce had garlic and coriander tones, the red was spicy and delicious, and the yogurt sauce was minty with a hint of dill.

I hesitated between lamb and the veggie platter, but since Mr. S. chose lamb, I went with my second choice. I was very hesitant to share it though, it was delicious! The salad on the left is cucumber, onion, tomato and LOTS of cilantro. Then is curried/tomato cauliflower and tomato stewed okra, steamed/marinated eggplant with the most delicious creme fraiche sauce, and steamed spinach.

Each plate is served with three types of rice: cumin (red), cilantro (green) and plain. The cumin rice was amazing, I have to figure out how to recreate it. The menu also featured various chicken and beef dishes, either in stew or skewer/kebab form.

That eggplant didn't last very long!

Mr. S.'s lamb is a bit harder to see, but it was a pretty big piece of meat, slow cooked in a red sort of ragu sauce, served on the bone and topped with spinach. Trio of rice and cold salad pictured on the left. 

Although I didn't really think I could stuff anything else in, we decided to share the only dessert on the menu that night: rose flavored rice pudding sprinkled with pistachios. Such unique and not necessarily intuitive flavors, combined into the same dish.

The restaurant was not too expensive- about 16-19 dollars per plate- and it is most definitely one where I would go again. There are so many interesting cuisines to try here in Montreal, you really can find a bit of everything. I had no idea what to expect from Afghan cuisine going in, and I was certainly impressed. Can't wait to go back again, but I think I would have trouble ordering something else, for how delicious my dish was!

xo

alli

muscle memory.

West Desert Airpark, June 2010.

I'm a pilot.  I don't talk about it too often, even though It's something I'm very passionate about.  Are you ever hesitant to talk about the things you're proud of?  I've been around aviation all my life.  My dad is a pilot.  Oshkosh is the aviation Mecca that is (almost) always at the end of my summers.  In our family we tell stories about my sister and I walking around in the cabin in a Cessna 170, flying above Indiana when we were hardly old enough to remember.  I recall flying in the backseat on the way to Chardon, Ohio, mesmerized (and a bit skeptical) that I could talk with my mom and dad from the backseat without everyone on the radio and in the control towers hearing me.  

The first time I ever went to France was in June/July 2003.  After a late afternoon drive by an airstrip surrounded by tall grass and radiant sunflowers that only seem to exist in Southern France, I came home and told my dad I wanted to take flying lessons.  September through May I drove up to Heber on weekend mornings, frost lining trees along I-40, snow blowing slowly across the road on windier mornings.  Come Spring, I would anxiously anticipate the first view of Heber Valley to see if it was socked in with fog on the early mornings.  The last months before my checkride I convinced my school advisor and my theatre teacher to let me leave early on Monday afternoons.  Playing hooky to go fly up in the sky a while.  

Five days after my 18th birthday I earned my private pilot's license.  A Sunday morning if I remember correctly, after waiting hours for the checkride instructor to show up.  Show up he did, and we went over every possible question for the oral part of my exam.  And then we flew, going over every ground reference maneuver, stall, emergency procedure, and landing situation.  Only going back to practice my right side steep turns until I perfected them without losing 100 feet of altitude.  

Since then I've flown in two other countries.  I earned my tailwheel endorsement in a little Jodel outside of Paris, France, accompanied by Claude the retired French Air Force pilot and a little British terrier named Yessie.  Well, Yessie followed me on the ground.  Airport dog but scared to death of the planes, go figure.  And then a new friend let me fly in the left seat of the Piper Arrow as he accompanied us back to Sens and we hitched a ride back into la centre ville.  My friend and I were talking about that amazing afternoon for awhile.

And just two weeks ago, I piloted a plane for the first time in over a year at an airport outside of Montreal.  A Diamond Katana, the plane I trained in.  After the flight as I flipped through my logbook, I saw that the last time I flew a Katana was in July 2006.  Five and a half years ago.  So much was different back then.  So much is different now.  Yet as I walked around the plane on the chilly Sunday morning, I was struck by how similar the whole thing was.  Two words popped into my head. 

Muscle memory.  

My fingers traced the smooth tapering surface of the wing.  Eight years later (wiser?) on another continent, but for a moment I believed myself 17 once again, addicted to the first feelings of flight in the left seat.


Right tire.  Pressure. Strut. Right wing. Pitot tube. Position light. Strobes.

17 and smiling since the moment my hands directed us into the sky.  45 knots and a gentle pitch up, excited to see what the sky was hiding beyond the mountains.

Fuselage.  Fuel drains.  Vertical stabilizer.  Horizontal stabilizer.  Cables.  Left tire.  Left aileron.  Aileron cable.  A click to the left and the right.  


Though I carried a list with me, my hands took over and my brain was quiet.  Remembering the moves to a choreographed dance.  It made me smile in a way I hadn't for awhile.  Preflight finished my quebecois copilot and I closed the canopy and taxied to the runway.  Before long we were soaring above St Hubert airport, and we would land at Saint Matthieu de Beloeil and Saint Hyacinthe before the morning was over.

Any out of practice pilot gets anxious on their first landing back from a break.  I always adjust myself in my seat, pull my seatbelt tight, and fidget my feet on the pedals.  Landing is the most complicated part of flight, but also in a way the most rewarding.  An eloquent dance between friends.  A chain of intuitive maneuvers.  Yet a challenge.

Eyes on the center line.  Hand on the throttle.  Pressure on the stick.  Throttle in.  Speed check.  Nose down.  Throttle out.  Last set of flaps.


A gentle ebb and flow.  Front step, back step, creeping slowly to the ground.  I knew it had been years since I had been in that plane, but I couldn't believe how normal it felt.  How instinctive it was.

Nose up trim.  Flare.  The persistent stall warning horn.  Hold it a bit farther.  The screech of the tires.  Back pressure to keep the nose up.  Flaps up.  Steering us to the taxiway at the end of the runway.  


I looked at my flight instructor with a smile on my face.  Not too bad for the first time in a year!  It was excellent, he said.  I believe that was the perfect way to describe it.

xo.

top score.

coucou!

i've been thinking about little stories to tell you for a couple days now.  i figure a rainy tuesday --which was filled with too much disappointing apartment searching, WAY too much rain, and hardly enough coffee-- would be the perfect to time to dwell on other, positive things :)

saturday afternoon a friend invited us to a fundraiser for a group of her students, held at a bowling alley.  i walked in the door expecting to see a bowling alley similar to any other i've seen in my life, but les québecois don't do bowling like the rest of the world apparently.  

loving the yellow bowling shoes, yes? here i am winding up for my next strike, even though what i really wanted to show you were les quilles, the bowling pins that i knocked over with....

the tiniest bowling balls i've ever seen in my life!  they don't even have any holes in them, and they're MUCH lighter than regular bowling balls.  which would explain my record score of 194...

it was so hilarious.  i would say it took some getting used to, but my first FOUR turns, i bowled strikes.  this was right after apologizing to everyone on my team that my bowling skills were extremely lacking.  false modesty?

after unlimited bowling for 3 hours, we headed to what i would call the quebec version of olive garden, with the added perk of a bread bar.  at said bread bar, you have the choice of lovely wheat, white, raisin (raisin?) or rye bread, as well as regular, garlic, tomato, or pesto butter.  you spread as much or as little as you want, grab a bar of tongs, and grill your bread to personal perfection before heading back to your table.  yom.

sunday was my favorite day of 2011 so far. 

I GOT A SUNBURN!!

a quick side note. this is not me celebrating the fact of an increased risk of skin cancer, but rather rejoicing in the fact, that

IT WAS A SUNNY 70 DEGREES!  

we took absolute advantage of the surprising, glorious weather, and went for a hike at Mont Saint Hilaire, a small town 35 minutes outside of the city.  we went on a short but intense hike (~1 mile, 1,200 ft altitude gain) up to the top where we could see a view of montreal in the distance and the st. richelieu river cutting through towns in between.  long trains crept along tracks next to the river, hugging the shoreline..

psst you can see these pictures and others, and entertain yourself with the general musings of a handsome frenchman, at provincecanadienne.blogspot.com.

i'd also like to take this last bit of the rainy day to say,

i love the classic simplicity of these camping mugs. 

although i don't think much could wean me from my moleskin ways,

these leather travel notebooks would probably be the next closest candidates.

and, you must click through to this blog.

a girl's photo diary adventures on the paris metro.

every few days she interviews a random person (or chien) on the paris metro, and takes their picture.

what an intriguing project. 

hope the sun is shining where you are!

xo

alli  

tgif.

quatro.

sweater: urban outfitters

dress: dillards

tights: sears

leg warmers: madre-made (they're green)

boots: dsw

ok

NO MORE MORNING PICTURES.

i'm slowly getting used to putting up daily pictures of myself, 

but not from 7:45 in the a.m.

also, i will get some shots with my whole body in them, including boots.

someday.

i had on a belt,

but then i took it off because i looked too dressy

for just work and the pool

(i went swimming!)

i spent the day calling a list of 100 or so 

quebecois and american publishing houses,

asking for contact info for book stock return requests.

it's officially easier to copy down email addresses in english than in quebecois.

but you already knew that, i'm guessing.

i got really got at saying,

euh, vous pouvez répéter, s'il vous plait?

also, the people in british columbia were extremely nice.

mental note to travel there some day.

then i came home,

watched the new episode of grey's anatomy,

cooked pizza,

opened a bottle of wine,

and watched 

the world is not enough.

when's the last time you saw that movie?!

we have had a couple of absolutely gorgeous, sunny (read: freezing)

days this week. 

tomorrow it's supposed to snow-

we're going to go on an adventure somewhere outside of montreal.

st hyacinthe?

st bruno?

some other saint-named city?

what's in store for your weekend?

someone want to knit me a fantabulous cowl 

like this one?

kthanks

xo

alli