A few years ago, I made a pilgrimage with my roommate to her place of birth. We strolled past magnificent buildings and quaint, picturesque houses. We chatted with the locals in their native tongue. We took part in an annual local custom, and I came to know a new side of this great country.

We’d traveled to Ottawa to skate on the canal.

As soon as we got off the train, we walked over to the mouth of the canal and put our skates on. It about 10pm, and I could only make out a few black dots gliding off in the distance. It was cold, and I was getting hungry.

“How long will this take?” I asked, trying to sound peppy.

“Not long,” said my roomie, “and at the end there are beavertails!”

I had heard of these odd sounding treats many times, but I’d never seen or tasted one in Quebec. From what I’d heard, a beavertail in Ottawaspeak refers to a large disk of fried dough with various toppings. With that image in mind, I laced up my skates and confidently set out onto the glistening ice.

BAM! Apparently, canal-ice is not quite so smooth as ice-rink-ice. There were several more instances of BAM before we finally reached the end of the canal. Thankfully, I survived and managed not to bite my tongue off during any of my violent falls.

Sensing that I was a little grouchy, my roomie ordered me a Killaloe Sunrise beavertail, which had melted butter, sugar, cinnamon, and lemon juice atop a gloriously warm, soft slab of fried dough. And friends, I kid you not, every crash against the ice was worth it.

Ever since then, I assumed that this local delicacy was exclusive to Ottawa. Oh how blind I’ve been. I’ve recently discovered that there are several establishments that sell beavertails or something comparable right here in Montreal.

A couple weeks ago, I had my first Montreal beavertail (which was called a “queue de castor”) at a little stand called La Crémerie in Complex Desjarins. Of course, I ordered a Killaloe Sunrise and of course, it was scrumptious.

Obviously, the mall lacks the canal’s wholesomeness, and eating a beavertail was a very different experience without the sense of accomplishment and soreness that I felt after having skated for an hour. But on its own, my queue de castor was just as good as the Ottawa version.

La Crémerie
Main atrium, Complex Desjardins, in front of the entrance to Place des Arts.