by Jeff Allen
At Pollo Tropical (not part of the chain with the same name), the English is spotty, live salsa disco revs up at 10 p.m. on weekends, and the spicy tropical chicken will have you simultaneously praising both Jesus and the cook manning the fiery-hot charcoal grill. Of course, the entire menu sports some pretty tasty stuff, from fried plantains as big as saucer plates to yummy beef flanken ribs that beg to be sucked from the bones, but the huge plates of charred chicken, straight from the charcoal firepit, steal the show. Try the mango sauce if you dare, it will make you sweat if the music doesn’t get you first.
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