Anyone who says they don’t like Mexican is, in my opinion, worthless. It’s like saying I don’t like sandwiches or I don’t like dinner. “I don’t like thai food,” is, while equally worthless, a more understandable concept. The standard fare includes ingredients that are incredibly identifiable and, to be honest, the pungent aroma of fish sauce is probably enough to turn some people off for good.
Like I said, albeit moronic, I can conceive the motive behind your decision.
But throw the pud thai on floor and replace it with cheese and tortillas – if you’re complaining, we should probably stop talking and you should probably stop reading.
Tortilla. Cheese.* Beans.
Simple enough. Simply delicious.
But still simple.
And as often as I have craved a plate of tacos**, ‘culinary excellence’ is not usually my first thought as I negotiate my first bite. If you eat Mexican food, ever, you know the dingy place on the corner playing Selena is going to be your best bet. Cheap Mexican food will satisfy your cravings with pinpoint accuracy and, on the rare occasion it doesn’t, you can’t complain when $5 afforded you a burrito the size of your head. You also can’t complain when your posh ‘mexican fusion’ restaurant charged you $14 for the same crappy burrito served on a rectangular plate. It is what it is – unexciting but consistent with a solid base of standards.
Or so I thought.
Until I was introduced to Café Corazon in Riverwest, on a corner that I can’t ever find and in space that affords no grand arm gestures. If ever you decided to strut in with any authority, you’d immediately stumble over a chair or awkwardly tumble into the group of people waiting for a table before you.
No. You’re best off opening the door slowly and, like the freezer in which you hastily threw the package of chicken hours before, hold your hands up, lean back just slightly, and brace yourself at the chance that something might fall on you. However, even for the girl terrified of most physical contact, the space is cozy and inviting – chat with your bartender or the guy sitting at the table next to you – you’ll have to use the same volume and experience equally entertaining engagements. And one needs this healthy propensity to conversate, as you’ll be standing shoulder to shoulder with strangers if you arrive during a peak dinner time and expect a table for your group.
Fortunately for me, I’ve got about two and a half friends and propensity for eating at the bar. The bartenders are excellent, chatty and willing to throw back the shit that I toss out - winning immediate points. Always friendly, always open to engage and usually attentive. (There’s one bartender who, while remarkably even keeled in the face of chaos, also seems to refuse to move with any ounce of urgency. She’s cute and friendly, though, so I’ll nurse my margarita and wait patiently.)
Grab a margarita and start munching on a bowl of chips and salsa. You WILL have to pay, but stop being a jerk and order up. Throw in a few more bucks and splurge on the guacamole. You won’t be disappointed.
And corn tortilla-phobes. I was once like you. Authenticity be damned, I’ve always, I mean ALWAYS opted for a flour tortilla over corn. If I mistakenly forgot to voice my preference, I’d shovel my order into my mouth, disappointed and not at all satisfied with my order. But one bite of a taco from Corazon and I began thinking that maybe my tastes had matured and I’d now be able to enjoy Mexican food the way I am supposed to.
Wrong. I still hate corn tortillas.
Unless they’re serving them at café Corazon.
And bean choice? Forget about it. If you don’t go for the black beans, you’ll be sorely disappointed when someone else at your table is making inappropriate noises while consuming theirs. The refried beans are good, but the black beans, I hazard to guess, are laced with cinnamon and crack cocaine.
Long story short – I’ve never seen anything leave the kitchen that I didn’t want a waitress to throw down in front of me and everyone we’ve ever talked to has had the same experience.
. . . of course one must throw in a plethora of excellent cocktails to round out the trio of requirements. Color me happy . . . and still full of mockery and disappointment around anyone who refuses to partake.
*my sister used to say she didn’t like cheese. But she also used to say her hair hurt and claimed that snow banks had a gravitational pull on her car.
**only slightly less often than I do donuts
No comments:
Post a Comment