THE YULETIDE TASTE OF THE SUMMERS OF YORE Nestled somewhere not-so-deep in the mythic Laurentian mountains just north of Montreal was a roadside fry shack I knew long ago. A short drive from the family cottage when I was a kid, it was a place of sweet summer magic. The kind where you happily eat at sun-scorched, slightly sticky picnic tables, where the burger buns are oven-baked country clouds, and where every small, hot paper bag glistens with grease as an unspoken, yet golden rule. This was where the weekend really began, where we’d stretch out those road legs with
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