My mother and her sister loved going to the beach as a family, and sometimes my uncles would come along too. We would all go to Oka Beach, which in those days was a big family outing for us. When I think of Oka, I remember the beach, the crowds and that little orange Oka cheese the monks were famous for making. Oka was about 45 minutes northwest of Montreal, along the Lake of Two Mountains, and back then, especially in July and August, it was super busy, with long, snaking lines of cars waiting to get through the entrance.
My parents had the same ritual every time. They would bring their folding lawn chairs, settle in and start talking about the old country while my uncles found something to tease my dad about. Usually, it was his size. My uncles weren’t that much taller, but that never seemed to stop them. This time, though, they had something new because my dad had bought a second-hand yellow Honda. They were into muscle cars, so there they were with their big cars and my dad with his tiny yellow Honda. My mother didn’t like them teasing my dad, but my uncles were having fun with it.
I usually brought a few books with me to the beach, although I would get bored pretty quickly. This time I decided to bring a dictionary. My cousin Susan laughed when she saw it and asked, “Who reads a dictionary?” I actually had a reason for bringing it. I thought reading it would increase my vocabulary. Looking back, it was a pretty silly way to spend a summer day at the beach, but at the time I thought I had a good idea.
I didn’t really want to sit around with the adults, so I went wandering along the beach. I would come back when they started the barbecue because I knew there would be food. There was one thing my family didn’t warn me about, though. A small section of the beach was separated by a rope and designated for nudists. You could walk in without much warning, and apparently they didn’t mind people wandering into their area. After a while, though, I got bored and started looking for something else to do.
This was also around the time I discovered the Montreal Expos and baseball. I loved pretending I was a pitcher and throwing rocks into the water. If you walked barefoot at Oka, you also learned pretty quickly that stepping on a clam was not a pleasant experience. Those shells could really cut your feet, so I’m not sure why I thought they would make good baseballs, but kids don’t always make the best decisions.
My favorite player was Steve Rogers. No, he wasn’t related to Captain America, although that would have been pretty cool. I was imagining myself as Steve Rogers, throwing pitches into the water while hundreds of people were swimming nearby. Eventually, I ran out of rocks. That should have been the end of it, but instead I found a clam.
I picked it up and threw it with all my might. I was probably imagining I had just thrown another great pitch, but instead of going where I wanted it to go, the clam became a nasty curveball and went straight into the crowd.
I ran back to the campsite where my parents were grilling the food, sank into my chair and picked up my dictionary. I started reading as if nothing had happened. A few moments later, my cousin Susan came over with her father, crying and saying that somebody had hit her in the back with a rock or something.
I knew exactly what had happened. Out of all the people in the water and all the places that clam could have landed, it had somehow found my cousin. I finally admitted what I had done. My mother was not happy with me, and she certainly wasn’t happy that Susan had been hit. I don’t remember everything she said, but I knew I had made a pretty stupid decision.
Looking back, the whole thing still makes me laugh. I can picture my dad sitting beside his tiny yellow Honda while my uncles teased him, my cousin laughing at me for bringing a dictionary to the beach, and me later sitting in my chair trying to look innocent while Susan was complaining about getting hit. There were so many people in that water, and somehow that clam found my cousin’s backside.
Maybe I should have stayed with the dictionary. I was trying to increase my vocabulary, after all. I probably should have looked up probability, because out of all those people in the water, what were the chances that the clam I threw would actually hit my cousin? Somehow, against all the odds, I managed to find her. Maybe I wasn’t very good at pitching, but I was pretty good at finding my target.
Here’s a little bonus story from Oka. There is an old tale about the Order of Cistercians of the Strict Observance, better known as the Trappists. One day, the monks were expecting their Abbot, the highest spiritual leader of the monastery, so naturally they wanted to make sure he was treated to a proper meal. Brother Étienne was carrying a tray of hot French fries while Brother François was approaching from the other direction with a large bowl of cheese curds and sauce. You can probably see where this is headed.
The two monks collided, and just as the fries went flying, the Abbot happened to walk in at exactly the right moment. He caught the bowl as the fries landed perfectly on top of the curds and sauce. Rather than waste what had just happened, he decided to give this strange new combination a try. One bite later, he declared it heavenly. And according to the story, that was the moment poutine was born. Is it actually how poutine was invented? Probably not. But when you’re telling a good Oka story, sometimes the legend is almost as delicious as the food.
Tony Medeiros is a Montreal-based writer, publisher, and creator with more than two decades of experience telling stories about food, restaurants, pop culture, entertainment, books, comics, music, history, and the things that make life interesting. He is the creator and publisher of Sandbox World, MTL Resto Rap, and Grubbits. Through his writing and publishing, Tony continues to explore new ideas, share stories, and connect readers with the subjects he finds fascinating.