Before then, we would be served a Bacchanalian feast, family-style. It proved much better than my previous Canadian meals of poutine and Labatt Blues. Canapés of saucissons and chicken liver mousse-smeared rye bread. Appetizers like trouts meuniere, herring with potatoes, and, my favorite, Coquilles St. Hugue, crab bordered by pastry and pureed potato and smothered in cheese. Later courses included a deliciously dressing-drenched chef’s salad (“I am the chef. I made a salad. Chef’s salad!” smirked Hugue), duck and foie gras served inside a roasted pumpkin, a pork tagine made with massive hunks of blood sausage and cotechino, and a truly spectacular pâté chinois.