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| - Oh Romados. I miss you so.
I remember that first time when I had walked through your doors and headed straight to that line formed outside the food-serving window. I had just gotten the last chicken of the day, and the guy behind me had turned away all upset. I don't blame him. I would be mighty upset too if I had missed out on the heavenly chicken that you cook. I remember, that greasy-and-delicious-barbeque-chicken smell coming out of that window was INTENSE. It was a hurried experience. The sweet young lady standing on the other side of the counter shouted "PIQUANTE?" when I ordered the chicken and I wasnt sure what was happening, but 'piquante' is always a safe bet for me so I said "YES" and bam! She had the chicken legs in a little container, grabbed her brush and basted that piece of chicken with this greasy delicious-looking sauce before handing me the container and shouting "NO MORE CHICKEN SORRY!"
I felt like a little kid who had just gotten the last ice-cream from the ice-cream man. I hurried off home clutching the precious container in my hand. As soon as I got home, I opened the container, took in the aroma wafting from the chicken, and dug in. I took the first bite, then the second, then the third... and I knew.
You were irreplaceable. I would search far and wide, but nothing would ever compare. Its true, Romados. I might have to come back to Montreal for you.
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