"Send me a postcard."

"Tell me a story."

Things PF and I saw today, while wandering the streets of Montreal:

The Brazen woman herself, Rachel Rachna Dhawan, along with her lovely beau, Aaron, at the wonderful café Figaro. We eat deliciously buttery croissants topped with ham, gruyère, tomato and spinach, and drink fresh orange juice and espresso. It's amazing.

As we finish up, we notice Rufus Wainwright and Jimmy Fallon arriving on the patio at the same time. Whether they are arriving together, we cannot say. Rufus played in town the night before, and according to Rachel and Aaron (who were actually at the show), he is set to attend his sister's wedding this weekend. Perhaps Jimmy is in Montreal to film something? Rufus is surrounded by impeccably dressed gay hipsters; Jimmy is accompanied by a male friend. Rufus' table is right next to the sidewalk -- all the better to be seen in Outremont, we are told -- and Jimmy is seated at the table next to it. As we leave the restaurant, we see that Jimmy and his friend have their backs against the exterior wall as if they're joining the conversation at Rufus' table, even though their mouths are closed and they're staring straight ahead. Hmm.

***

Rachel has brought us to Cocoa Locale so we can finally meet Reema (see third photo above and video below). I am in awe of her brilliant skills, as evidenced by the bakery's perfect decor and, of course, its wonderful desserts. We pick up two of each available cupcake -- chocolate chai, coconut with pink frosting, and lemon -- then catch a cab to meet up with another gang as more of Reema's regulars stop by for their favourites.

***

With Liette and Nick acting as guides, CC, AGF and the most charming ADF join us as fellow tourists. We stroll around the city, stopping for hearty empanadas at La Chilenita before heading down to the Old Port. We spot the still-stunning Habitat 67 across the water and are happy that we ended up at such an obvious destination.

[AGF has some great photos from that outing here!]

***

While walking along St-Laurent, we are passed by a man in a hurry. Wearing billowy linen pants and a flowing white shirt, he screams into the BlackBerry pressed to his ear.

"Who the FUCK do you think you're talking to?" He shakes his head and barrels past the pedestrians in front of us.

"Who the FUCK do you think you're talking to?" As he storms into the distance, he raises his voice.

"No. NO! FUCK. YOU!"

***

After a brief rest at Liette and Nick's condo right across from Parc Jarry, we find ourselves feasting at Rugantino: warm bread dipped in fine olive oil; chick pea fries and breaded green olives; shrimps sautéed with lemon and garlic; bresaola with pecorino and truffled arugula; risotto with shrimp and taleggio; veal medallions; a bottle of Sangiovese; tiramisu; sponge cake iced with ricotta and chocolate; pistachio ice cream and field berry sorbet; cups of coffee and espresso; and a bowl of blueberry crème brulée. It is heaven. Pleasantly stuffed and marvelling at our luck, we head back to the hotel, ready to call it a night after an entirely satisfying day.

TRACK LISTING: Pony Up!, "The Truth About Cats and Dogs (Is That They Die)"

[NOTE: And where are Pony Up from? Montreal, of course! Note also that the lion's head door knocker in the second photo above is the same door knocker that I snapped thirteen years ago.]