This one hurts. Chenoy’s in DDO is gone.

For a lot of people on the West Island, Chenoy’s was a restaurant. For me, it was part of my life for a very long time.

In fact, Chenoy’s was the first place I ever worked. I was still in high school, and it was shortly after my father passed away. I was working 12-hour overnight shifts, 7 at night until 7 in the morning, then sneaking into school afterward to take a shower before going to class.

It was a pretty rough period in my life, and strangely enough, one of the people tied to that chapter is also tied to one of my favourite Chenoy’s memories. Mike Charles. God love him. God rest his soul. I miss that guy.

Mike’s family saw what I was going through back then and basically told me to come stay with them for a while.

Years later, Chenoy’s became our regular landing spot again.

When Animal House was playing downtown, and later at Bourbon Street West, we’d inevitably roll into Chenoy’s at about 3 in the morning with our entourage and devour smoked meat pizzas, smoked meat sandwiches and whatever else seemed like a good idea at that hour.

And 3 a.m. at Chenoy’s was a scene all its own.

Looking back now, it almost feels like something out of an 80s teen movie. It was probably the closest thing we had to Arnold’s on *Happy Days*, or that restaurant scene in *Grease*. The booths were full, everyone seemed to know someone, people were coming in from bars and gigs and God knows where else, and nobody seemed particularly interested in going home.

It was just where you ended up.

Maybe every generation has its own version of that. I hope they do. But I don’t know that those places and those moments ever really recreate themselves. They belong to a particular time, with particular people, when none of you have any idea that one day you’re going to look back and realize just how special and fleeting it all was.

And then there was *that* night.

We’d been partying a little too hard, and I was definitely feeling the effects. I ordered my traditional smoked meat pizza, but apparently my stomach wasn’t interested in waiting for it. I headed for the facilities and proceeded to become very closely acquainted with the floor and the toilet.

I’m lying there, sick as a dog, when the door opens.

It’s Mike.

And he’s carrying my smoked meat pizza.

“Chris, your pizza’s ready.”

And with that, he shoved the pizza right under my nose.

That was it.

I lost it all over again.

Suffice it to say, I never finished the pizza that night.

I can still see Michael standing there with that damned pizza. Of all the things we did together and all the years that have passed, that’s one of those ridiculous little memories that never leaves you.

And maybe that’s why hearing about Chenoy’s closing hits harder than it probably should.

Places like that become markers in your life without you realizing it. I worked there when I was a kid trying to figure out how to keep going after losing my father. Years later, I walked through those same doors at 3 a.m. after gigs, surrounded by friends, laughing, eating and living a completely different chapter of my life.

Now my dad is gone. Michael is gone. Animal House is a lifetime ago.

And now Chenoy’s is gone too.

But Jesus, we had some good times there.

Times lost, maybe. But never forgotten.

Thanks for the memories, Chenoy’s.

And Mike, wherever you are, I can still smell that fucking pizza.

Chenoy’s in DDO is gone.

For a lot of people on the West Island, Chenoy’s was a restaurant. For me, it was part of my life for a very long time.

In fact, Chenoy’s was the first place I ever worked. I was still in high school, and it was shortly after my father passed away. I was working 12-hour overnight shifts, 7 at night until 7 in the morning, then sneaking into school afterward to take a shower before going to class.

It was a pretty rough period in my life, and strangely enough, one of the people tied to that chapter is also tied to one of my favourite Chenoy’s memories. Mike Charles. God love him. God rest his soul. I miss that guy.

Mike’s family saw what I was going through back then and basically told me to come stay with them for a while.

Years later, Chenoy’s became our regular landing spot again.

When Animal House was playing downtown, and later at Bourbon Street West, we’d inevitably roll into Chenoy’s at about 3 in the morning with our entourage and devour smoked meat pizzas, smoked meat sandwiches and whatever else seemed like a good idea at that hour.

And 3 a.m. at Chenoy’s was a scene all its own.

Looking back now, it almost feels like something out of an 80s teen movie. It was probably the closest thing we had to Arnold’s on *Happy Days*, or that restaurant scene in *Grease*. The booths were full, everyone seemed to know someone, people were coming in from bars and gigs and God knows where else, and nobody seemed particularly interested in going home.

It was just where you ended up.

Maybe every generation has its own version of that. I hope they do. But I don’t know that those places and those moments ever really recreate themselves. They belong to a particular time, with particular people, when none of you have any idea that one day you’re going to look back and realize just how special and fleeting it all was.

And then there was *that* night.

We’d been partying a little too hard, and I was definitely feeling the effects. I ordered my traditional smoked meat pizza, but apparently my stomach wasn’t interested in waiting for it. I headed for the facilities and proceeded to become very closely acquainted with the floor and the toilet.

I’m lying there, sick as a dog, when the door opens.

It’s Mike.

And he’s carrying my smoked meat pizza.

“Chris, your pizza’s ready.”

And with that, he shoved the pizza right under my nose.

That was it.

I lost it all over again.

Suffice it to say, I never finished the pizza that night.

I can still see Michael standing there with that damned pizza. Of all the things we did together and all the years that have passed, that’s one of those ridiculous little memories that never leaves you.

And maybe that’s why hearing about Chenoy’s closing hits harder than it probably should.

Places like that become markers in your life without you realizing it. I worked there when I was a kid trying to figure out how to keep going after losing my father. Years later, I walked through those same doors at 3 a.m. after gigs, surrounded by friends, laughing, eating and living a completely different chapter of my life.

Now my dad is gone. Michael is gone. Animal House is a lifetime ago.

And now Chenoy’s is gone too.

But Jesus, we had some good times there.

Times lost, maybe. But never forgotten.

Thanks for the memories, Chenoy’s.

And Mike, wherever you are, I can still smell that fucking pizza.