Had lunch with a friend a few days ago at a Mexican place neither of us had been to before. The service? Lousy. We were pretty sure our waiter was so stoned he got lost on the way to our table and took a nap halfway through serving us. The food? Fantastic. The food descriptions on the menu? Amusing. My favorite kind of food is hilarious, and with a few Coronas and my immaturity level, I really enjoyed the following items.
The Fro Burrito. Does it come with a pick? In my burrito fantasies it does. Is it weird to have burrito fantasies? If loving burritos is wrong, I don’t want to be right.
I really tried to find out what “Pastor” could mean in Spanish that it doesn’t mean in English and I am coming up blank. And frankly, I don’t want to know, it’s too much fun this way. “Here, try the Pastor’s taco.” ……. ” WHAT KIND OF CHURCH IS THIS???”
Why haven’t I seen this before? There are so many foods that would benefit from melted Chihuahua.
(yes, I know it is referring to the cheese, and I do not care.)
Maybe they do put chocolate sauce on chicken, I really don’t know, I just know all I hear when I read this is Chef from South Park singing about it in my head.
Oh how I wish this also offered the Pastor as an option, but I guess spitting my Corona across the table WOULD have gotten us kicked out and fate was kind enough to spare me that temptation.
Whiskey and Indifference 