Niger Reef Tea House: A Royal Success

Sunday July 3, 2011
St. Andrews-by-the-Sea, New Brunswick

As the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge conclude Day Four of their nine-day Canadian tour (so far a smashing success) and, back in England the Wimbledon crowds disperse (Djokovik defeated Nadal this morning), my queen and I are treated as VIPs at the Niger Reef Tea House.

Then again, all the guests at the understated edifice off Water Street are treated as friends, if not royalty.

Seated at the same picnic-style bench that we sat at this afternoon for lunch (I recommend the potato tart), our tennis shoes touch the slatted-wood deck. We are among half a dozen or so patrons dining on the patio of what is becoming famous for this sea-side town’s frugal-yet-fine dining experience.

As my tea steeps in a regal black teapot, I look over my right shoulder. Low tide on the Bay of Fundy reveals the reef, off Joes Point Road, into which the British warship HMS Niger collided (closer to high tide) in 1866. Above us, a man-made canopy flaunts a Canadian beer, and above that an umbrella of maple leaves affords us ample shade.

Proprietor Dave Peterson, a Canadian Red Seal chef, and his pal Josh, who says he’s “just the cook,” are the two mainstays of the enterprise that launched in 2010. The two native New Brunswickians, who worked together at two other local establishments, are taking orders and preparing the Sunday Night Special: prime rib.

The guests inside the log-cabin-like structure lob sports trivia questions at each other as Dave and Josh attend to business.

A few minutes later, after a superb mini Caesar salad, her majesty and I adore the presentation of the main course: The beef is just juicy enough to soften the homemade mashed potatoes (peeled this afternoon). The sautéed pea pods and carrot sticks complement the main attraction, and the ensemble of red, white, green and orange are in perfect proportion.

The prime rib’s subtle, sublime seasoning and tender splendor, the chunky potatoes, the sturdy vegetables: They render me satisfied but not stuffed.

Dessert, dear tennis and royalty fans, is a modest portion of strawberries and cream to rival a royal breakfast at Wimbledon, and more tea, of course.

Canadian Spy: The Next Step

I’m taking this espionage thing to the next level, by learning French. Below is an excerpt of my first assignment en la cours de français, my first foray into introducing myself to francophones.

A Propos de Moi

Salut, mes amis. Je m’appelle Jim, mais ma famille et mes amis de hockey m’appellent Jimmy. Tout le monde pense que je suis Canadien. Je viens de Colorado—ou trois de mes quatre frères et mon papa habitent—mais je habite avec ma femme à Maynard. Je étudie le français parce que deux de mes amis de hockey parlent français, j’aime bien la musique de Céline Dion, y parce que ma femme et moi voyageons souvent a Canada. Nous adorons la Ville de Québec. Nous ne somme pas fans de l’équipe de hockey de Montréal, mais j’aime bien Patrice Bergeron, qui vient de Québec et qui joue pour les Bruins de Boston. Nous aimons les Bruins et le entraîneur, Claude Julien.

J’adore aussi lire les livres de Jacques Falla, Frank Delaney et George Plimpton; écouter et chanter la musique de les artistes canadiens comment Great Big Sea, Bryan Adams, y Les Ténors Canadiens; manger les beignes les démanche; et écrire de tout ces expériences.

Un de ces jours j’aimerais publier mon mémoire, Gloire AMHL: Une passion pour le hockey du matin (et beignes); écrire autres livres, et voyager à Nouveau Zélande—bien que ils ne pas parlent français allé.

CanadAmerica and Beyond: Amiable Exchanges, Part II

Continued from Part I
(image courtesy of Gooslane Editions and BTC Audio Books)
Sunday, May 30
US/New Brunswick Border

An hour after crossing the border (and then the road leading to St. Andrew and the safe house by the sea), my wife/driver nudges me awake. “We’re in St. John,” she says.

“We won’t be arrested this time,” she says as we approach the toll booths before the bridge. (She exaggerates as she recalls an incident at the same bridge: A few years ago, we deposited the proper coinage, but the payment didn’t register. We kept driving, thus triggering sirens to alert provincial officials that track us to this day.

After a nice meal at East Side Mario’s (I recommend the Tuscan Chicken Salad) and a friendly conversation with our waitress (whose favourite donut at Timmy’s is the Boston Cream), Indigo Books and Music beseeches us to indulge our benevolent curiosity in all things Canadian. So we drive up Westmoreland Road, and then enter the bookstore atop the hill.

An author sits at a table near the front of the bookstore. She’s ready to engage in discussion about or sign a copy of the book she has written: Don Messer: The Man Behind the Music.

“Who’s Don Messer?” I ask her and then wince with regret as I anticipate the response. I should know this.

Johanna Bertin is surprised that someone, who sounds as Canadian as I do, does not recognize the name of such an endearing iconoclast. Yet, in True North fashion, she is happy to forgive my faux pas and engages in a friendly dialogue about the subject of her book.

“He was more popular than Hockey Night in Canada,” Bertin explains.

What prompted her to write the book?

Bertin paraphrases what she has written in the acknowledgements I will later read, “Thirty years ago, when I first moved to Harvey Station, New Brunswick, I considered writing a biography of Don Messer. A friend of mine lived in his boyhood home in Tweedside, just a few kilometers from my home, and as we spoke of Don’s accomplishments, it seemed to me they warranted recognition and celebration…”

I say I’m going to return the book I had selected off the shelf for Ms. Bertin’s book, and she becomes gleeful.

Always happy, she says, to learn what another writer thinks.

Back at the stateside safe house: From what I’ve read so far, I’m glad I swapped books. Ms. Bertin has written a superb story about a man whose legacy will hopefully become more recognized and celebrated south of the 49th parallel.