Canada. Our oft-ridiculed neighbor to the north endures a lot of jabs from its superior neighbor below, but it has several things going for it that just might make it the second greatest country on earth.
Many of these attributes are common knowledge. For instance, like the United States, Canada has strong ties to the United Kingdom. However, whereas the United States fought a revolutionary war to gain its independence, Canada begged to remain part of Britain, until they were actually kicked out of the family and told to not call anymore. A pathetic heartbroken Canada called everyday, leaving messages about how much it still loved Britain and was sorry about Quebec. Finally, in 1825, Britain changed to an unlisted phone number and Canada was on its own. Canada made up Boxing Day in an attempt to convince Britain it was over them but then blew the charade by putting the queen on all the money.
In addition to this shared English ancestry, another quality that makes Canada second greatest is the super nice people.
Take this prime example. In 1978, Canada invented one of the greatest sports on ice: hockey. Besides the classic sentence ending eh
it was basically all the country had. But Canadians are so nice, they immediately allowed the United States to dominate the NHL and 1980 Olympics, stripping them of all dignity, out of the kindness of their warm hearts. That's nice folks.
But niceness and shared British history are not the real reasons for Canada's greatness. No, the rise of America Jr. is based solely on a gastronomic masterpiece sold only in the world's finest (and fast food chain) restaurants, Canada's national dish: poutine.
I first partook of this taste bud delighter after a night of gambling in Windsor, Ontario. Tradition among my friends held that before crossing the border back to sweet home Detroit we would dispose of our worthless Canadian money with a late night McDonald's stop, as we figured even Canadian McDonald's couldn't screw up a Big Mac. However on this fateful night, we pulled into Burger King - an event that would change my life.
When we pulled up to the order box, we were met with the usual, Welcome to Canadian Burger King eh? Can I take your order - ya hoser?
My eyes scanned the giant menu. Generally this growing boy orders a Whopper Jr. and small fries, but on that night fate intervened, and my eyes came to rest on a strange item under the heading of Side Items.
The first impulse was of course to begin firing off inappropriate jokes - the stuff is called poutine, for crying out loud. But my curiosity got the best of me, and that curiosity along with a triple-dog-dare from the back seat sealed the deal. I ordered a large. When I removed the poutine from the Burger King bag, the vehicle's passengers gasped in unison. Our eyes were met with a creation formed by the mind of a chef of unfathomable genius.
I'll describe this wonder as best as a little known lounge singer from Pontiac can. The generously sized Styrofoam cup was filled three-quarters to the top with luscious fluffy artificial cheese-curd. Into this cloud of processed goodness a lumberjack- sized serving of French fries is pressed, and the fries stand straight and proud, as soldiers saluting a general, or a really straight stick or something. As if they hadn't gone far enough, the creators of this inventive cuisine then drench the stuff with a liter of gravy so thick and rich someone in a blind taste test would probably guess it came from a different restaurant. It's that good.
So know, American comrades, it is not hockey, friendly people, or the neurotic yet lovable Québécois that make Canada first loser in international competition. No, it is only the marriage of fried potatoes and cheese curds smothered in gravy that lifts Canada to almost greatness. Plus it borders the United States, so that can't hurt. 17
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Josh Sterns
