My family sits alongside our Shabbat guests, squished at our dining room table and illuminated by the two Shabbat candles in the window. Shabbat was when my family would have guests join us at the Shabbat table for candle lighting, Shalom Alechem, Kiddush, and the Challah. Voices overlapped, bickering about anything from the newest TV show to political issues. I always stayed at the table when the kids went to play, eager to hear what the adults had to say. From baking when I arrived home from school to saying goodbye late into the night, Shabbat dinners are an important tradition and part of my Jewish identity.
This Friday, my Shabbat looked different than usual. Next to me was my sister, and across from me were my aunt, uncle, and cousin from Boston. Behind us was a long counter of smoked meat and mustard yellow signs listing the different sandwich offerings. The glass display held an abundance of take out containers filled with pickles, cream cheese, and, obviously, smoked meat. Though the restaurant was not packed, an array of diverse families sat together, noshing on kosher-style Deli. Thus began my Shabbat dinner at Lester’s, the kosher-style deli in Outrement.
Looking out the window, I saw Haredim walking to and from Synagogue and their Shabbos dinners. Walking alongside them, French Canadians explored the restaurants in the neighbourhood that did not close for Shabbat. I explained to my cousins that the area has a uniquely mixed population that has lived together for over a century. My cousins admired the mix of Quebecois cafes, banks, and pharmacies next to strictly kosher and kosher style institutions.
Despite no challah at this Shabbat table, or should I say booth, Jewish food was abundant. Our table was covered in the Montreal classic: a thick smoked meat sandwich. Now a Montreal staple, smoked meat was first popularized in the late nineteenth century by Eastern European Jewish immigrants. Smoked meat was a convenient and affordable lunch for the many immigrants working in Montreal’s factories. In fact, my great grandparents, also Jewish immigrants to Montreal, worked at a butcher store.
Over a century later, smoked meat remains a Jewish favourite, and certainly my family’s preferred meal when they come to the Island. My uncle, who prides himself on his home-cooked smoked meat, was impressed with the volume of smoked meat in Lester’s super deluxe sandwich (pro tip: ask for extra bread). After inquiring, he learned that he had correctly guessed the process: Lester’s first boils the meat before smoking it. Different from Schwartz’s, apparently! The coleslaw impressed the crowd, and the fries were sweet, soft, and delicious. The two full sour pickles we ordered disappeared fast.
Like any other Shabbat dinner, my choice to be pescetarian prevented me from indulging in the main highlight. Thankfully, though, Lester’s had a smoked salmon bagel (on a perfectly toasted St. Viateur bagel), to save my night.
We talked about my cousin’s upcoming Bar Mitzvah, excited to gather at Shabbat celebrating the last Bar Mitzvah of our family. For my family, the conversation soon led to our favourite place: Camp Kadimah. Camp was where I had last celebrated Shabbat with my cousins, sitting together during services and sending each other Shabbatagrams (nice Shabbat notes).
I will not adopt Shabbat at a Kosher style deli as my own tradition, but this Shabbat with my visiting family will be remembered fondly alongside my Shabbats at McGill spent with friends. A picture of this Shabbat dinner was sent to our family group chat. My grandparents loved the image, happy to see their grandchildren celebrating Shabbat together, laughing too hard to smile properly for a picture.
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