Nickels

Okay, folks, I'm supposed to be a "food reviewer." Hey, I gave that up a long time ago, since 100 million clones replaced me.

I'm not a food snob. Foie gras does not interest me, nor does jambe de grenouilles grillée au four.

Nope. Jest likin' mah foods.

So it does not embarrass me in the least to talk about Nickels. Nickels is a chain restaurant, I think only in Quebec, but it has a "diner"-style presentation. You know, the requisite hamburgers, pizza, club sandwiches -- frankly, everything under the sun.

And I'm not going to say this is amazing food. Nope.

But the Nickels near me, here on Côte-des-Neiges road, IS amazing. Not for the food, but for the people who work there.

When I was going through my divorce in 2004 and had my then-three-year-old son, I found myself not wanting to cook anything. So it was Nickels. He could have chicken fingers and I could have my Jimmy Dean burger, which I was never able to finish.

We became semi-regulars. But what was amazing was not the food -- it was the people working there. This guy named George owns the place.

I think he may be Greek. But he's tireless. I just in my entire lifetime can't imagine working as much as he works. I'd go nuts, insane, in very short order. He's always on the job, always paying attention to details, but never too busy to take a moment out to seat me personally.

And the crew -- what can I say? In my blackest moments those years ago they came through, entertaining my tiny son and taking care of me, always with an amazing smile.

I got to know most of them, although only George by name, but it's really reassuring to know that if you go somewhere, there will be familiar faces and they will remember you.

And that crew is the nicest I have ever met, and I've met a few in my lifetime. I swear to god, they work so, so hard, but always with time out to say hi, always with smiles and laughter.

The food they make is not sophisticated. But I know that they make it with love and frankly, sometimes it's what you need for a break from the kitchen. It sure as hell is a step above McDonald's.

But what I remember from those bleak days is not the food but the sweet treatment I always got from George and his crew. Every one of them a saint.

Go see George. Tell him I sent you.