An Introduction . . .

Wilkomen and bienvenue. Welcome. This is the place you thought you’d heard about. It came to you in a dream. It couldn’t possibly be real. It is. Your friends are waiting.

The food is prepared with love. The menu is exotic with dishes ranging in origin from the foothills of the Andes to the shores of the Red Sea. The chow is fresh and the portions are exactly what you'd expect.

The decor is elegant, yet far from ostentatious. The mood is one part laid back, two parts perky. The vibe soaks your day in gravy, and spirits soar here - snow, sleet or sunshine.

And praise the Gods of barley and hops, ‘cause the beer flows and flows well. Choose from bottles of German ale or Kenyan lager. Wanna pass on the suds? No problem. You say you're a Martini man? Cool. Vodka or gin? One olive or two? And you look like a Margarita mamma. Cuervo Gold or Sauza Silver? Strawberry, peach or lime?

Let’s not forget the tuneage. The music is a sweet and sometimes raucous blend of rock, roll, soul and blues. There’s a drop of Madonna and Duran Duran, but don’t fret, it’ll all make sense in the end. Timing and taste are essential here, so whatever your mood, the music will fit.

So where is this place?

Well, it's just down the street, around the corner. It's our place. A slippery saloon, a low-lit lounge. Maybe it's the tavern of poets, pool sharks, pot smokers and palookas. It's a ballroom bursting with devils, high-rollers and maybe the girl next door. It's the love shack. The oasis. Whatever you want it to be. It's our watering hole. Care to take a dip?

It’s called Hungry Like the Yeti. Yeah, I know. What kind of a stupid name is that, anyway? Hold tight. Let me explain.

Long ago, before your parents’ parents were born, there lived a gaggle of Yetis who roamed the Earth. They pretty much stuck to themselves, Yetis being solitary, pensive creatures and all, but every once in a while, they’d gather in the one secret spot and throw the biggest, baddest bash this side of the solar system. Few survived. And then, there were three. Behold! The Yeti Trihedron.

Today this trio of monolithic savages forage and mingle among you, right here in the big city. Keep your eyes and nostrils open, and chances are, you’ll spot one.
Let’s see. . . there's Yeti Yeti, who's just your basic, run-of-the-mill Yeti; although, he does possess one special talent. He can devour a wild boar, bones and all, faster than you can say pass the mop and bucket.

Then there's All-Terrain Yeti, ATY for short, whom you might have heard of. He navigates sand, savannah, stone and tundra faster and with more dexterity than any jack rabbit. ATY’s also a master of that human invention you call the bicycle. . . tricycle, too, if truth be known. Oddly enough, he's the only Yeti to have learned how to ride. You could say evolution was not lost on this particular specimen.

And last but not least, there's Gay Yeti. And when I say gay, I don't mean in an ‘Ain't life grand’ sorta way. Nope. Still, Gay Yeti, or Queen of the Yetis as some of us like to refer to him, is a master of every martial art and not to be fucked with. He's a dancer, too, and without breaking a sweat, he can make you weep with his sotto voce. Some Yetis have all the luck.

All three Yetis, despite their background, chromosome count or sexual orientation, worked their magic in order to build Hungry Like the Yeti. With their individual strengths and attributes (shaken and stirred), they gave rise to the best little hangout in Montreal.

Come on in.

Your friends are waiting.

TO BE CONTINUED. . . .