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Cottage Life

Mark Schatzker confesses his cottage sins: Gluttony

Pride, wrath, envy, sloth, lust, greed, gluttony—the cottage can bring out the best and the worst in us. We asked seven of Canada’s top writers to come clean about their cottage sins.

I Have a Confession to Make…

Is there a more embarrassing, vulgar, judgment-inducing piece of kitchen equipment than a deep fryer? Compared to boiling, grilling, steaming or braising, deep frying is the racist uncle of food preparation.

Is it ever okay to own a deep fryer? The answer is yes—at a cottage.

Having a deep fryer in the city is tacky and also medically inadvisable, not to mention culinarily lazy. Coating your food in a high-calorie armour of carbs and fat is about as impressive as fishing with dynamite or lighting a campfire with napalm.

Yet for reasons that elude me, the rules of socially acceptable kitchen equipment change when that kitchen is perched on the edge of a deep blue lake. Our cottage cooking arsenal also includes an electric Teflon griddle, a smoker, an ice cream maker, an electric rotisserie barbecue attachment, and a sandwich press.

It didn’t start out this way. For the first decade or two, the point of owning a cottage seemed to be just keeping the thing standing—staining the pump house, clearing the eaves, chopping wood, and digging-out the grey water pit—all punctuated by the seasonal ritual of replacing the foot valve. We ate, of course. But we didn’t, you know, eat.

That began to change in the early ’90s when my father, acting on some new and fabulous impulse—did he see the late night infomercial for Ron Popeil’s 5-in-1 turkey fryer?—purchased the first deep fryer. Between lakeside chores, we found the time to peel, cut, and fry our own french fries. It took around two decades, but eventually the whole point of the cottage changed.

It hit me while I was sharing some cottage pics with a friend from California. “It’s beautiful,” he said. “What do you do there?”

I didn’t know what to say. We do all sorts of things—kayak, windsurf, swim, hike, fish. But are any of those things the point of a cottage? You could go to the cottage and do none of those things and it would still qualify as a trip to the cottage. If a ski chalet is for skiing, what is a cottage for?

“We eat,” I told him.

We eat things that one might well eat in the city. But the cottage features a day-to-day density of indulgence that would just be, well, wrong in an urban context. Around the middle of this past July, for example, we found ourselves in the midst of a typical run of culinary greatest hits. One night we had spareribs with Caesar salad and, what else, french fries. The day prior, we had grilled octopus with romano beans braised in olive oil, sage, and garlic. Two days prior, I spent ten hours smoking a beef brisket. But that night, it was spareribs. I pulled a chunk of meat off the bone, chewed and swallowed and then looked at my wife and said, “So tomorrow night. I was thinking we could do fresh tagliatelle with prosciutto, cream, and peas. And then we can do the chicken pot pie on Thursday, and my brother can bring up fresh sea bream Friday.”

There we were, halfway through one dinner and already we were talking about the next, and the next after that, and the next after that.

There is a word for this, one that’s even worse than “deep fryer.” That word is gluttony. The dictionary defines it as, “habitual excess in eating.” Excess of any sort is bad. Habitual badness is worse. And the habitual and excessive eating of delicious food is, well, do we really need to dwell on this?

Am I a glutton? The answer, I’m afraid, is yes. Guiltily and unreservedly. But only at the cottage.

Award-winning food and travel writer Mark Schatzker’s newest book, The End of Craving: Recovering the Lost Wisdom of Eating Well comes out in November.

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Cottage Life

Cottage real estate region: Thousand Islands and St. Lawrence River

Ontario’s portion of the mighty St. Lawrence River has two vastly different stretches. East of Brockville, the river flows wide and almost island-free. From Brockville west to Kingston and Lake Ontario, it flows even wider around a bewildering maze of islands. The Thousand Islands archipelago is the eroded remnant of billion-year-old mountain peaks, where the Canadian Shield lifts its ancient backbone through the rolling plains of Southern Ontario.

There have been cottages on the Thousand Islands for more than 100 years, and many are under fifth- and sixth-generation ownership. Communities date from Loyalist and American Civil War days, with strong ties across the border. Summer people today, just as in decades past, cottage on both mainland and island shores. They’re drawn to the granite landscape, the rich forests, and the myriad channels, large and small.

This area has perhaps Canada’s richest ecology: five of the continent’s forest regions converge here. The islands, more than 20 of which are in the Thousand Islands Nat­ional Park, attract visitors from around the world and boaters from all over Lake Ont­ario, who camp on them or drop anchor in their sheltered bays, making the area boisterous on summer days. A downside for cottagers is that security along the Canada-U.S. border means mandatory government check-in on both shores, no matter how short the visit. Regardless of this inconvenience, a large number of Canadian waterfront cottages are sold to Americans. Many properties, particularly on the mainland, are year-round homes.

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Cottage Life

Elladj Baldé brings the joy of skating to underserved communities

Professional skater and social media sensation Elladj Baldé is marking the one-year anniversary of his first viral wild ice skating video with a performance at an outdoor rink in northeast Calgary. On December 17, the former Team Canada figure skater (who shared his passion for outdoor ice in Cottage Life magazine’s Winter 2021 cover story) will inaugurate a renovated facility in Calgary’s Temple community. It’s the first neighbourhood rink developed by Baldé’s Skate Global Foundation, a nonprofit seeking to foster equality, diversity, and inclusion in skating.

“Skating helped me find myself as a human being, a performer, and an artist,” says Baldé. “I want to use it to address systemic racism and discrimination in society. I want to go directly to the source of the issue.”

Baldé hopes to tackle three interconnected challenges: First, people living in underserved urban areas across Canada often don’t have access to skating rinks; second, people of colour have few role models because of a lack of diversity in skating; and third, the sport can be prohibitively expensive. Growing up in Montreal, Baldé credits his parents’ sacrifice for his breakthroughs in the sport. “My mom took the bus at 5 AM to take me skating in another community,” he says. Better access to rinks will “eliminate barriers,” Baldé adds. “Kids will have the chance to try something new and to fall in love with skating—whether it’s as a career or just for fun.” 

Q&A: What weather conditions generate the best natural ice for skating?

Having recently moved to the city, Baldé says Calgary was a natural location for Skate Global’s first outdoor rink. The foundation’s partner, EllisDon, has been working with local schools on other renewal projects. Baldé says the company brings vast experience in building recreational facilities. More importantly, he says the company has “exemplary practices to fight racism and make opportunities more equitable for marginal groups.”

The Temple outdoor rink is only a start. Baldé envisions new skating facilities—and free pairs of loaner skates for people to use—in communities across Canada and, eventually, internationally. He says outdoor rinks help achieve Skate Global’s goals of equality, diversity, and inclusion. Future projects will address the foundation’s other core values of mental health and climate change. The kickoff event in Calgary next Friday night (Dec. 17th), which will include a community skate with Baldé and other pro skaters, is only the beginning of a movement he hopes will become just as popular as his TikTok videos. “Skating has brought me so much good,” he says. “I want to spread that joy.”

Ice skating trails to lace up and try this winter

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Cottage Life

Tax sales: a high-risk, high-reward way to buy property

At first glance, the cottage on a quiet bend of Lake Simcoe seems idyllic; a piece of paradise in one of Ontario’s most sought-after cottage regions. This November, it came up for sale. The price? A meager $72,000, in an area where cottages regularly go for seven figures.

In Canada’s ballooning housing market, waterfront property at this price seems impossible. But the Lake Simcoe cottage wasn’t at the whims of the private market. It was put up for sale by the local township—not as a high-flung private listing, but as a tax sale.

What is a tax sale?

We’re used to hearing about the high-stress world of real estate, with bidding wars and price spikes that have only been exacerbated by the pandemic. That conversation has mostly been about the private market, where individual sellers usually work with an agent and advertise on popular real estate platforms. On the opposite side are tax sales, a complex process bound by Ontario’s Municipal Act, and managed by municipalities.

If a home or landowner has not paid their property tax for a period of about two years (it can vary by municipality), it can become eligible for a tax sale. At that point, the municipality has the right to step in and list the property for the amount of taxes owed (in the above case, it was $72,000). Put simply: if an owner falls behind on their property taxes, municipalities can intervene and sell the property to recoup the owed amount.

“I’ve seen some good deals go through, and I’ve seen some really bad deals go through,” said Scott McEachran, a lawyer in Bracebridge, Muskoka. Years ago, McEachran regularly handled tax sales as a clerk for a township in Southern Ontario.

A tax sale can be a lengthy process. When the property becomes eligible, the municipality will notify the owner, giving them some time to resolve the issue, McEachran says. If the taxes remain unpaid, it is then listed on the municipality’s website and in The Ontario Gazette, the province’s official publication for things like legislation decisions or tax sales. The municipality then accepts bids, and whoever wins becomes the new owner. 

As McEachran says, tax sales can be “like winning the lottery”; you can get a great property for far less than its market value, and come out ahead. However, like the lottery, it depends on a number of uncontrollable factors and can be incredibly high risk. Sometimes a tax sale can leave you, quite literally, with far more than you bargained for.

Hot tips for getting a bargain on a cottage

What’s at stake for buyers

One of the crucial things to understand when considering a tax sale are liens. This is a technical term for a type of debt linked to assets, like a house or car. A mortgage, for example, is a lien: an agreement between a homeowner and a lender structured around a piece of property. 

Scott McEachran explains that in a tax sale, some liens are erased, and some remain; a mortgage would usually disappear, but anything that’s of “Crown interest” sticks, like an outstanding provincial or federal tax. This is something prospective buyers need to be aware of, but lien information isn’t always available in the listing.

This is why McEachran says it’s important to perform something known as a title search (or sub-search), which will turn up any registered liens on a property. You can contact the local municipality to do so, and it usually comes with an administration cost of about $100. For the Lake Simcoe cottage, a title search revealed an eye-popping lien of two million dollars, registered with the Attorney General of Canada. As per tax sale regulations, the new owner would be the one responsible for it.

While that case is on the more extreme side, it tells an essential cautionary tale about tax sales: find out about the liens, and decide for yourself if it’s worth pursuing. McEachran points out that in some situations, the taxes owing plus the liens might still equal less than the overall value of the property. For example, if the tax sale is listed at $50,000 and the property has a $25,000 lien, but its assessed value is $300,000, you’d still get the property for a steal; having to pay just $75,000.

It may seem puzzling that by buying someone else’s property, you’re suddenly responsible for their debt, but McEachran says that’s the whole point of registering liens in the first place. “It’s to let the whole world know, this property is tied up in that debt, so the purpose is to not have somebody go and sell it without getting that debt paid off.”

Brownfields, bidding and neighbours

Aside from liens, another risk with tax sales is that in most cases, you have to buy the property sight unseen, or at least without the kinds of conditions common in the private market. Tax sale listings typically include no pictures of the property, so your only option is to drive by. It’s important to note you are not legally allowed to set foot on the property and you could be charged with trespassing. McEachran has handled cases where a tax sale went through, and the buyer went to the property to find water in the basement; when they wanted to back out, it was too late. The legislation, McEachran says, is very strict, and once the deal goes through, municipalities can’t usually make exceptions. 

What’s more, being unable to see it beforehand could leave you dealing with a “brownfield” property, where the house is in extreme disrepair, or the land has environmental issues. McEachran says there’s a risk you could end up being ordered to clean up pollution, for example, if you buy on or near an old gas station.

Another consideration is that former claims by neighbours can carry over to new ownership. Like some liens, a claim such as the property’s fence line may remain and can be difficult to change. This is called an “adverse possession claim”, and while it’s uncommon, McEachran says it’s still something to watch out for. Furthermore, some tax sale properties still have people living in them, so the first thing a buyer could have to deal with is imposing an eviction notice, or potentially wading into messy legal problems. 

The bidding process is also quite different from the private market. “When you submit your bid, you put up a 20 per cent deposit, and when it comes time to open all the bids, they’re going to declare [the highest bid] the winner,” McEachran says.

Once the bidding closes, the winner will have 14 days to pay the remaining balance in cash. During this time, the owner could pay off the taxes and nullify the bid. While it’s always a good idea to have financing in order, no matter what kind of property you’re buying, with tax sales the timeline tends to be a little more rushed, so McEachran says it’s important to have it sorted out before you even put in your bid. 

Winning the lottery

With these myriad risks in mind, it’s understandable why prospective buyers would give up on a tax sale property. But as McEachran says, some stories aren’t as complex; sometimes an owner is growing older and doesn’t have support to manage their affairs, and while taxes get behind, the property is still decently maintained and worth pursuing. 

Still, he says in his experience, it’s usually the more rundown properties that come up. “If people are having trouble paying their taxes, they’re usually having trouble maintaining the property.”

From the outside, the Lake Simcoe cottage certainly looks like it could have been a lottery win, a slice of paradise for just $72,000. But with such a high lien attached, most buyers would probably steer clear; as of right now, the sale is listed as “cancelled”, which means the outstanding taxes were paid (the municipality responsible was unable to comment further, as those details are private).

If a property were to receive no bids, McEachran says that sometimes municipalities will try to work with the parties attached to the lien to help move the process along. “Property that sits there and does nothing is not good for society, and we all want the land to be productive,” he says. 

With more and more Canadians priced out of the private market, tax sales may be worth considering for some buyers. If you do decide to go this route, McEachran says, it’s crucial to consult a lawyer, know the legislation, and understand the risks. Most municipalities have information available on their website and have employees that specifically handle tax sale inquiries. “You need some money and you need some patience,” McEachran says. “But the potential for high rewards are there.”

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Cottage Life

Gifts we dream about for the cottage

Our editorial team independently selects these products. If you choose to buy any, we may earn a commission that helps fund our content. Learn more.

There’s always a dream gift on your wishlist. At the cottage, it could be something practical that you need to decorate your space, or maybe a fun toy that is a novelty. Take a look at the list we’ve made for some gift inspiration. It’s not too late to get your gifts before Christmas.

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Cottage Life

Eva Holland confesses her cottage sins: Greed

Pride, wrath, envy, sloth, lust, greed, gluttony—the cottage can bring out the best and the worst in us. We asked seven of Canada’s top writers to come clean about their cottage sins.

I Have a Confession to Make…

The parcel of land was posted for sale on a small B.C. town’s Kijiji page. A friend sent it to me, and I opened the email while I was riding a ferry on my way home to Whitehorse from a sea kayaking trip. I was filled, as I always am after days spent in the wilderness, with a renewed determination to build my life around the things that I love most: hiking, paddling, and being outdoors. I wanted less screen time and more starlight, less pavement and more peace.

It was a little postage-stamp lot, cleared and ready to build on, with a truly magnificent lake-and-mountains view from its front corner if you stood almost along the road, or from the back corner if you built something with a second storey. If I gutted my meager RRSPs, emptied my savings, and put the last few thousand on my line of credit, just until the next pay cheques rolled in, I could—barely—afford it.

Reader, I bought the land.

I spent the fall and winter of late 2019 and early 2020 daydreaming about the possibilities: all the things I would do when my little parcel had thawed out. I knew I couldn’t afford to build yet, but maybe I could start with an outhouse, to make camping more comfortable? Should I buy an old travel trailer and park it? Throw up a glorified shed, a rough bunkhouse, to start? Maybe I should plant raspberry bushes, so they’d be fruiting by the time I had a dwelling put up. Or maybe all I needed was to rig up a hammock?

I imagined a life spent shuttling between a cozy condo in the city and a cabin on my land. I pictured myself becoming a person who gardens, grows vegetables, tending to raised beds in the long days of sub-Arctic summer sun. Or the kind of woman who rises with the dawn and takes a cold-water swim to start her day, instead of groggily rolling over to grab her phone and scroll through Twitter; the kind who paddles an SUP through the quiet at dusk, instead of Netflixing Captain America: The Winter Soldier for the eleventh time.

I wanted to do everything with that land. I wanted it to be everything.

But in March, the pandemic hit long before the frost released its hold. And then, with the pandemic, came the news stories about cottagers fleeing the cities for their rural second homes. I couldn’t entirely blame them for seeking space, but suddenly my dream-future felt uncomfortable. COVID-19 had thrown so many of our societal inequities into sharper-than-ever relief. Access to land, to outdoor space, had never seemed more essential—or more out of reach for too many.

Was it greedy of me to want it all? The urban life when I chose it—with take-out dinners and fancy donuts and an ever-present selection of craft beers—and the rural life when I found time to get away? I was hardly picturing building a mansion—a one-room dry cabin with a little sleeping loft, to capture that view, was more like it. But suddenly it felt extravagant, maybe even ugly. I wrestled with my own thoughts: didn’t I want the land, after all, to build a healthier, quieter, saner life? Was buying the land to change my life any different than believing a new pair of boots would solve my problems?

I don’t have an answer yet—or an outhouse. I decided to wait out the pandemic before doing anything. But I’ve since learned that Christian teachings pair a key virtue with each of the deadly sins. Greed’s is charity, or generosity. Maybe there’s the seed of an answer there, about working to improve those inequities in wilderness access: that whatever I build in the end, I find a way to share.

Eva Holland is a correspondent for Outside magazine, and the author of Nerve: A Personal Journey Through the Science of Fear.

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Cottage Life

Is the wolf the most Canadian animal?

This essay about the wolf was originally published as part of “The Great Canadian Creature Feature” appeared in the June/July 2021 issue of Cottage Life.

Growing up as a ‘90s kid in the United Arab Emirates, I was often glued to the television screen in my living room. Along with subtitled reruns of Full House and ER, a smattering of Canadian shows had somehow made it all the way to the Middle East. I didn’t know much about Canada, a country nearly 11,000 kilometres away. But television taught me a lot about it, both fact and fiction.

My favourite shows were North of 60, a CBC drama about a First Nations town in the Northwest Territories, and Due South, a quirky police procedural about an impossibly polite Canadian Mountie, played by Paul Gross. The Mountie’s constant companion was Diefenbaker, a majestic, white part-wolf that also happened to read lips—in several languages. 

Living as I did in a country where 40-degree summers and sand storms are the norm, Canada’s cold winters, endless snow, and wide expanses of forest became the stuff of fantasy. For me, nothing evoked “Canada” more than an imperious wolf calling to its pack with a piercing howl that resonated across the snowy pines of the wilderness. Ever since those formative years, the wolf has been prominent in my conception of Canada—even after fantasies became different realities when I immigrated to Toronto in 2006. 

I arrived in Canada as a shy, inexperienced 17-year-old university student, separated from my family for the first time. Those early days were exciting, but also terrifying—I was in a strange city in an inconceivably large country where no one really knew or cared about me. And I can definitively say that my first-hand experiences of Canada’s frigid winter temperatures and deluges of snow were the furthest thing from my romanticized fantasies. Those first few years in Canada were tough. In many ways, I identified with the lone wolf, continents and oceans away from my pack. I had to learn to rely on myself to forge a life and career here. I became stronger and more resilient.

Those traits are what I admire the most about wolves—about all of Canada’s wolf species. They’re survivors. Wolves lead harsh lives. While some can live up to 13 years in the wild, most die far earlier through disease, starvation, or from human hunting rifles. They’re shy like I once was, but behind their skittish elusiveness is a dogged desire to live. This desire is what makes them so terrifying to their prey, but it’s also why they’re revered by many First Nations as fearless and patient hunters. While I flew on a plane to leave my family behind, wolves that depart from their pack are known to take solo treks for hundreds of kilometres in search of food and a new home. And in an incredible testament to their endurance and resolve, they can go a week or longer without eating.

Tiny wolf pups practice howling together

But as much as I developed my independence in Canada, I learned that being alone is a limiting way to live. Similarly, while wolves can fend for themselves if they have to, they’re also social animals that will work together. The entire pack assumes responsibility for each pup, and a female wolf will adopt the pups of another mother who starves or fails to return from a hunt. I respect how wolves take this balanced approach to life—depending on the situation, they rely on themselves or the collective.

After my initial isolation in Canada, I made university friendships that have grown into lifelong bonds. Those friends are my brothers today. My new pack. They were the ones who introduced me to a version of Canada that I’d only experienced on television.

Wolves were once vilified by European settlers and hunted to extinction in certain regions of our country. But the Canadian perception has transformed in the last half-century. The 1963 book Never Cry Wolf, author Farley Mowat’s intimate first-hand account of his observations of wolves in the Canadian arctic, is considered a landmark work in shifting public opinion. We now understand that all the wolves that live within our borders are an incredibly integral part of the ecosystem. 

This inclusive shift in our country’s attitude towards all its wildlife is also echoed by the experiences of many Canadian newcomers. The fact that I was welcomed in by people from a vastly different background and the fact that we are building new roots together is because of this inclusive spirit.

Facts and figures

They like to move it, move it:  Wolf packs can really crank up the speed, sprinting as swiftly as 70 km/hr to take down big prey.

Cold, uh, comfort? In winter, wolves will eat the frozen carcasses of moose or deer that have died from hypothermia. 

Scent and sensibility: Like dogs, wolves have a sophisticated sense of smell. They can track scents from two kilometres away.

Read more about the grey wolf

Read more essays from “The Great Canadian Creature Feature” to read more of our favourite writers making the case for their pick for the most Canadian animal in the June/July 2021 issue of Cottage Life.

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Cottage Life

Ontario’s best poutine, according to our readers

No one’s entirely sure of poutine’s exact origins, but it’s generally accepted that the messy, gooey combo of fries, cheese curds, and gravy was born in a Quebec restaurant sometime in the 1950s. Was it Le Lutin Qui Rit in Warwick? Or Le Roy Jucep in Drummondville? Regardless of who came up with it first, savvy poutine fans know that it really should be pronounced pou-tsin or pou-tin, not pou-TEEN—at least if you’re ordering anywhere where they speak French.

Here are some of our readers’ favourite places to get the best poutine. FYI, some of these places are only open seasonally, so double-check before heading out any time between Thanksgiving and the May long weekend.

Country Bob’s in Buckhorn

Crispy fries and big portions of cheese curds set Country Bob’s poutine apart, as do the reasonable prices ($10 for a family-sized serving). If the poutine isn’t enough (and seriously, it should be), their banquet burgers and onion rings also get the thumbs-up from satisfied reviewers.

Neski’s Lunch Box in Rosedale

Beware: when The Lunch Box says their poutine is large, they mean large. This newcomer to the Esso Station in Rosedale layers their cheese and gravy, rather than simply topping the fries, which makes for an ooey, gooey delicious mess of melty goodness. If you feel like being a little untraditional, get your poutine with sweet potato fries rather than regular ones.

Fromagerie St-Albert in St. Albert

You can’t get much fresher than the squeaky cheese curds that Fromagerie St-Albert makes on-site. Combine those wonderful curds with gravy and fries, and you’ve got a masterpiece of poutine. One of the oldest co-ops in Canada, Fromagerie St-Albert also boasts a museum, group tours, and, not surprisingly, a cheese shop. 

Lucky’s Home Style Restaurant in Walford

An off-shoot of Lucky’s Snack Bar in Spanish, Ont., Lucky’s Home Style Restaurant boasts the same popular burgers and poutine, along with lots of other delicious options—think chicken parm, liver and onions, and other comfort food faves. Thirsty? Try a float made with grape Crush and vanilla ice cream.

Cheesy Monkii in Kincardine

So Cheesy Monkii has some of the best poutine, but you can also get those lovely cheese curds panko-crusted and deep-fried, either in a taco or on their own. Check out their burgers too— they’re seasoned with salt, maple peppercorn spice, and a garlic, onion, and parsley puree that send them many steps above your usual take-out burger.  

Shelby’s Chipwagon in Gravenhurst

Shelby’s is the place to go if you want poutine with a twist. Oh, sure, they sell the traditional stuff. But if you’re feeling adventurous, try their Pickle Lovers offering: kiddy-sized poutine covered in dill pickle chips, drizzled in ranch dressing, and sprinkled with fresh pickles. Not a pickle fan? Shelby’s Loaded Poutine is what you’d expect if poutine and nachos got together and had a baby: the best of both worlds.

Bob’s Lake Burger Bus in Porcupine

Great fries, great burgers, and great poutine—Bob’s Lake Burger Bus has it all. Large portions and super-friendly service round out the experience, which is one not to miss if you’re heading up towards Timmins.

The Fry Guy in Anten Mills 

Celebrating its 25th anniversary this year, The Fry Guy, located just outside of Barrie, has been serving up burgers, fries and, yes, poutine for a quarter-century. Their fryer is reserved for fries only, which means folks who are celiac can get an order of fries and not worry about gluten contamination from other items containing gluten, like their chicken fingers.

Smokin’ Hot BBQ in Huntsville

Smokin’ Hot started out as a fry truck in Huntsville, Ont., and has since evolved into a full-on seasonal barbecue spot serving up smoky brisket, ribs, pulled pork, and other barbecue favourites. Poutine, though, has been with them from the beginning, smothered in homemade brown gravy. For the winter barbecue lovers, they’re offering vacuum-packed mains.  

On the Locks in Fenelon Falls

There’s a whole pile of poutines available at On the Locks, starting with the classic gravy-and-cheese-curds and ending with a poutine that combines the traditional ingredients with steak, blue cheese, and green onions, plus a ton of options in between. And just so everyone can join in the fun, there are gluten-free and vegan options available.

Charlie D’s in Barry’s Bay

Maybe the largest poutine menu on this list belongs to Charlie D’s, with an impressive line-up of 16 dishes that include the Valley Hunter (topped with elk), the Polska (fried onions, bacon, and perogies) and the Algonquin (black beans, kidney beans, and corn).

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Cottage Life

9 inexpensive dupes for your favourite brands (like Le Creuset, Blundstone, and Yeti)

Our editorial team independently selects these products. If you choose to buy any, we may earn a commission that helps fund our content. Learn more.

Some of these iconic products may be on your wishlist, but that doesn’t mean you have to break the bank. We’ve rounded up doppelgangers of your favourite items that clock in at a fraction of the price.

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Cottage Life

9 inexpensive dupes for your favourite brands (like Le Creuset, Blundstone, and Yeti)

Our editorial team independently selects these products. If you choose to buy any, we may earn a commission that helps fund our content. Learn more.

Some of these iconic products may be on your wishlist, but that doesn’t mean you have to break the bank. We’ve rounded up doppelgangers of your favourite items that clock in at a fraction of the price.