Repeat after me: Poo-teen. Pooteen. Properly spelled P-O-U-T-I-N-E and, surprisingly, legal in this country.

They don't let raw milk or cheese in, and "spice" is about to go the way of weed, but this outrageously decadent Canadian import is oozing under the radar and on to American menus.

So much so, that when I heard the wind howl this morning, I thought to myself, "Sounds like poutine weather."

I'm not actually going to indulge since I think poutine is a slippery slopeceat it more than once a week and you're probably headed for a lifetime in elastic waist pants, and I had my poutine portion for the week. (I have a date with a duck, anyway. Chef Nathan Powers at Bambara is going to show us how a duck in his cooking class today.)

The rest of you: I recommend a movie followed by poutine at Copper Onion (if Chef Ryan made it today). Be careful not to eat the poutine before the movie, or you'll be dozing off and on and not be able to follow the complicated, possibly subtitled plot of whatever highbrow movie (really, I should say "film") is showing next door to Copper Onion at the Broadway Cinema.

What is poutine? In its lowest incarnation it's a Canadian lumberjack-sized mound of french fries, topped with beef gravy and cheese curds. Really. Chef Lowder makes his version with hand-cut steak fries topped with oxtail stew and cheese. Better.

Bet you can't finish just one...