I’ve always thought of Canada as a calmer, cooler version of the United States. (Except during COVID, when Canada went from “quirky upstairs neighbor” to “that guy you’re pretty sure is making meth.”) It started when I was a teenager and discovered getting booze in Canada was just as easy as it was in Mexico, with fewer bribes. My first across-the-border liquor store encounter went something like this:
Canadian Liquor store guy: You boys 19? You have ID?
Me: No, I forgot it.
Canadian liquor store guy: Oh, sorry ’bout that. Here’s a Molson.
Why Love Canada?
It was love at first illegal beer purchase, and over the years I’ve grown an even greater affinity for Canada. And not just because they’ve been nice enough to keep Drake. No, there are a lot of reasons to love Canada, starting with the names of their cities.
America has pretty lame city names, in the grand scheme of city names. Do you know how many cities are named Jacksonville? So many that Jaguars games are usually half empty because their fans went to the wrong one.
Canada, on the other hand, has city names like Moose Jaw, Medicine Hat and Salmon Arm, which sound less like city names, and more like things you see when you do peyote. The country’s newest territory is called “Nunavut,” which got its name when a reporter asked the Minister of Frozen Tundra how much of the year it got sunshine.
Eh, What Did You Say, Eh?
Canada also has two official languages. The first is a dialect of French called Quebecois, which I’ve been told makes the movie Slapshot somehow more vulgar. The second is a version of English that puts a “u” in places it don’t belong, and ends every sentence with “eh.”
“Eh” isn’t a question so much as a way of pronouncing a period. It can follow something simple, like, “Nice toque, eh.” Or something a little more urgent like, “I just got trampled by a moose. Call the medics, eh.”
Apologies All Around — In Every Canadian Province
Ending sentences like suggestions is a shining example of how Canadians are extremely polite. How polite are they? They’ll apologize for things that aren’t remotely their fault. Say you moved to Toronto from a tiny island nation that was wiped out by a typhoon. Your interview at immigration would go like this:
You: My old home is now a pile of sticks floating in the Pacific Ocean.
Canadian border agent: Oh, sorry ’bout that. Can I getchya some Tim Horton’s?
Which brings me to Tim Horton’s, the Canadian coffee chain that’s a lot like Dunkin' Donuts, except it sounds much better with “eh” at the end. Other than that, the only noticeable difference is that they call their donut holes “Tim Bits,” which narrowly beat out “Horton Nards” in a naming contest held among sixth graders.
Want a Stanley Cup With a Side of Fries With Gravy and Cheese Curds?
I also have a soft spot for Canada because they haven’t won the Stanley Cup in a long time. How long? The last time it won, the country was attached to Portugal by a land bridge. This wouldn’t be so big a deal if Canadians weren’t as obsessed with ice hockey as Americans are with Chick-fil-A.
What’s worse, Canada’s seen every Stanley Cup this decade go to Florida and Las Vegas, places where most residents think ice is something you smoke. This would be like going decades without steak, then being forced to watch someone eat a porterhouse with ketchup.
Speaking of food, Canada’s unofficial national dish is poutine, a delicacy of French fries covered in gravy and cheese curds. Canadians will eat poutine three meals a day and again at 2 a.m., mostly because they know they have free health care.
So, let’s stop for a moment during these cold winter months and appreciate Canada, our friendly, snow-covered neighbors to the north. What they lack in pro hockey they more than make up for in politeness. Or, at least, they pretend to.
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