It is a bright, hot, humid summer afternoon in Montreal, Quebec. The taste of mint from a happy hour mojito (there was a two for one deal!) lingers in my mouth. Saint-Laurent Boulevard stretches out in front of me and mingled scents from multiple restaurants waft into my nostrils all at once. Something calls my name, although I can’t quite place it.
This situation is common; It is no stranger to me. Restaurants are abundant on Saint-Laurent; here, an individual such as you or me is faced with the magnitude of what freedom of choice entails. The modern restaurant experience is plagued by horrible conflicts: Where to go? What to eat? At this point, the number of questions you are asking yourself about your next meal is growing at an exponential rate. Believe me, I have been there. Here is what I did the last time I found myself in this irksome conundrum.
I went to the nearest available restaurant, which happened to be Coco Rico, an establishment specializing in Portuguese chicken. I knew nothing about this place, but something about it drew me in. Maybe it was the restaurant’s aroma of unique spices that stood out from the rest. Perhaps it was the no-tricks-at play, quaint nature of the restaurant’s exterior. Perhaps it was really just my closest option. I’m not sure what incited my entry, but either way, it lost importance as soon as I crossed Coco Rico’s threshold.
With food, there are many things that are impossible to explain. You don’t have time to figure it out. You just want to eat something. The menu, with its relatively small number of choices, pats you on the back and lets you know everything is going to be okay. In a world of abundant choice, it is comforting to the soul to have that number reduced to a mere few. A weight was taken off my shoulders as I purchased the chicken sandwich, one of the cheaper options on the menu, for a price of ten dollars. I sat on one of the seats arranged around the indoor perimeter and waited impatiently for my order number to be called.
Upon receiving my sandwich, I was greeted with a simple yet classic archetype of meat-and-bread combination. Roasted chicken breast on a toasted bun, with some type of sauce. Wasting no time, I took my first bite: my horizons were immediately shifted, flipped upside down, and left in utter disarray. How could a sandwich, whose ingredients consisted solely of chicken, bread, and house mayonnaise bring such euphoria? What spells were cast? What is behind the smoke and mirrors? What is hiding underneath the surface of the great pond that is this sandwich? A simple sandwich that reminds one of the beauties that lie within the simplicity of life. Sandwiches of such a category are few and far between. We are left to turn to the classics, such as PB&J, BLT, or grilled cheese. The classics are exactly that: classics. They are echoes of our pasts. Today, too many sandwiches try too hard to be something great, while simultaneously being too expensive.
Think about the number of times you have spent an exorbitant amount of money on a mediocre sandwich crafted with ‘artisanal’ ingredients. The Coco Rico chicken sandwich reminds one of a simpler time when sandwiches were created to feed people, not to show off. What I have found in my twenty years of food-eating experience is that the sandwiches that don’t try to send a message are the ones that speak volumes.
The Coco Rico chicken sandwich is a bright and shining light, tearing through the bleak vision of the future created by the overpriced, mediocre sandwich. A sandwich that reminds us, as mere humans, that all of God’s gifts are already given to us and we need not overcomplicate them, is truly one for the ages.
I do not claim to know any deep truths about the nature of our universe, but I speculate that something heavenly, something not of this world had an integral part in the creation of that very sandwich; or perhaps Coco Rico is hiding the greatest sandwich artist of our time. These are things that we may never find the answer to, and we as a species must be content with that. But after finishing that sandwich and walking outside, the grass was a little greener, the birds chirped a little louder, and I certainly was not the same person I was when I walked into Coco Rico.
