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My TV Dinner

Every Friday The Social's digital correspondent, Jessica Allen, answers two questions we face every day. What should I eat? And what should I watch? The answer for one is frequently found in the other.

A big poutine and the Sex and the City Movie: An indulgence with limits

Jessica Allen relishes her decadent meal, but even she knows a Sex and the City marathon has its late night limits


It’s not often that I get home at 2:45 a.m., remove my bra, settle into the couch with an order of poutine — traditional, obviously — and tune up the first Sex and the City movie. But I did last Saturday.

I was at a bachelorette party for a dear friend earlier on. It was good, clean fun — as in a cheese platter and prosecco, rather than strippers — because a couple of weeks before her party the bride-to-be found out that she was pregnant with her second child.

That’s why, just before midnight, when one of the six women in our group suggested we go dancing, I was fairly certain our guest of honour would tenderly touch the miracle of life inside of her and laugh off the suggestion.

But she was game. Before I knew it, we were descending the stairs into El Convento Rico, a club on College Street known for drag queens and Latin music. I was wide-eyed as I watched men grind up behind women. Every time I detected a waft of heavy cologne or saw a silk shirt unbuttoned to the navel revealing thick, gold chains, I tried to get my friends’ attention as if to say: Look! This stuff actually exists! It was like being in a waking fairy tale, but hotter, and with a techno-dance version of Justin Bieber’s Sorry as our soundtrack.

We stumbled out after last call, and before jumping in a cab, I made a pit stop at Smoke’s Poutinerie.

That brings us back to the couch, where I was approaching ecstasy: There were no questions, no one to judge me shovelling gravy-soaked fries into my mouth. It was alone time, emphasis on alone.

Then I heard the pitter-patter of little feet down the stairs. “You’re home!” Simon said, wearing nothing but his underwear and a night guard.

“What are you doing up?” I asked nervously, shielding my poutine like a tigress protecting her cub. “You should go back to bed.”

“Sex and the City! Move over, girl!” Simon said.

“But this is my special time!” I pleaded.

“You know, I always felt that they should’ve played the music from Platoon when Big doesn’t show up to his wedding,” he said.

“You can stay if you promise to be quiet.”

“Did you notice that Carrie is constantly reading a New Yorker?” he said. “You can stop hiding your poutine. I ate an entire bag of Chicago mix popcorn tonight.”

I continued eating, with trepidation.

“Jennifer Hudson has an ideal body in this movie, if you ask me.”

“I didn’t.”

“That she lost weight after this movie is an American tragedy. Smith Jared’s body truly is remarkable, don’t you think? Do you think he’s related to Jon Bon Jovi? Steve is probably the best character on the show,” he paused.

“Have you Googled where that Mexican resort is yet? We should stay there,” he continued, using my phone for research.

When the movie ended, I brushed my teeth. When I returned to the scene of the couch, Simon had started the second SATC movie. I grabbed the remote and turned it off.

Someone had to show a little restraint.

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