Chez Victor

Chez Victor

I was about ten years old when Chez Victor opened

A fine French chef in a greasy spoon on Davie Street

My dad took Thursday afternoons off

Every now and then I’d go along

When school got out

On his trip to the University record library

Where he’d select the next few albums to serenade Sunday

We’d glide into downtown in ragtop cool

MGBing overbridge into urban madness

Inside this grimed café a door opened into Paris

They would flower into Brel and Becaud

Sliding into a fraternity of francophone

We would feast on boeuf bourguignon

Drink Mouton Cadet

Of which I’d sip


But with the borrowed insouciance

Of the 14th arrondisement

Whose child I wasn’t

But might have been

Traveling across possibilities into fractured reality

Quietly soaking up Gallic truth

Like the French bread in the broth

At the bottom of the bowl

David Trudel  ©  2013


Filed under Poetry, Uncategorized

2 responses to “Chez Victor

  1. kevindalemckeown

    David … What a lovely ode to a special time and place. I “worked” at Chez Victor off and on through the early 70s, so may have served you your boeuf bourguignon. You might enjoy my piece in Xtra a couple of years back:

    Let me know if you have any other Chez Victor memories to add to this. And may I reproduce your poem (with full credit of course) in a subsequent iteration of this piece?

    Kevin Dale McKeown

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