I’ll be honest with you; this spot I’m going to talk about has been one of my favourite places. I must admit, I’ve been greedy and selfish to hold back on this one, but I’ve finally come to a decision that it is my duty to share it with you… St. Hubert. Yes, the homegrown rotisserie with bottomless bowls of coleslaw, that features a self-serve gravy pump and who’s “unpretentiousness” makes the grocery store reject poultry palatable. Euh… No, not really. What kind of bush-league blogger would I be to go on and write about frozen fries and mutated chickens that can’t make the commercial market, no matter how crispy the skin is?
If there’s one thing I love most in the world is the sweet sweet sense of comradery when fellow Montreal motorists band together, hold the line and not let that one jerk cut in line in front of queuing cars at a highway exit. Ok, if there’s another thing I love most in the world is an awesome sandwich.
You’d think that after my big quest to find Montreal’s best Pho, I’d be sick of noodles by now; no, my insatiable thirst for noodles has no bounds. Like girls have a secret stomach for popcorn, chocolate and gossip, I have a secondary backup stomach for noodles, pizza, sushi and fried stuff with cheese. So on a cold winter night (yes, we’re still in November, but the shit is cold enough at night that I’m calling it winter, deal with it), a bunch of friends and I hit up Nudo noodle house, a spot in Chinatown who’s pulling noodles and slinging grub.