What's your favorite restaurant? When someone says, "Where do you want to eat?" what's the first thing that pops into your head? Where do you like to go on your birthday? Would you be devastated if this restaurant closed or burned down? Would you cry and rend your garments?
Finding that special place is a collegiate rite of passage, I think. However, I am happy to announce that I've discovered the answer to all my dietary questions: Ghetto Mexican.
Ghetto Mexican is a small, independent restaurant located next to the bowling alley here in University Town. They specialize in (uh-duh) Mexican cuisine: tacos, enchiladas, fajitas...the usual suspects. Tacky 'authentic' decorations adorn the walls above generic orange booths. Festively awful tapestries adorn the windows, which advertise the nightly drink specials to passing motorists. Tinny Latin music, mostly dance, sets the mood. Even the dusty television sets are part of the theme, carrying the SAP broadcast of SportsCenter (okay, maybe not, but how cool would that be?). Ghetto Mexican is just like every other trashy mom-and-pop Mexican restaurant you�ve ever been to, but it has found itself a special place in my heart and in my checkbook.
It's not the cheap d�cor, certainly, that keeps me coming back. It's not the staff, some of whom have a better command of the English language than others. It's not the nightly drink specials (because, hello, not 21, and sloppy seconds on margaritas is just not the way to go). And shockingly enough, it's not the constant sports coverage boomed in on the TVs that has earned my undying loyalty.
Ghetto Mexican, despite being a perfectly terrible restaurant, boasts quite possibly the best Mexican cuisine to which I have ever treated my stomach. From the second they set a basket of tortilla chips in front of me, there is something wonderful and delicious to eat. No one rushes me at Ghetto Mexican. They have all night and they�re just hanging around to keep me in iced tea and salsa. The entrees, regardless of price, are gigantic. I actually panicked the other night when Protein Bran and I received our double order of fajitas. No lie, they set an entire cooked cow down in front of us, complete with trimmings. After confirming with the waitress that I'd be able to cover my meal without having to pick up dish duty in the kitchen, I began the laborious but rewarding process of cramming half a bovine into four perfect tortillas.
Ghetto Mexican knows exactly how much I can eat in a sitting and they bring me just a tiny bit more than that. Thus, by the time I have finished my meal, I'm too full to move. They keep bringing me refills until I feel comfortable enough to dragass to the counter and settle the bill. I got the Pat equivalent of three whole meals tonight for the low, low price of $8.75 (including the tip!). You can�t beat prices like that, especially considering the portions. It's a great deal no matter how hungry I am; thus, I have made it a personal goal to eat my way through the entire menu before I graduate.
The thing is, there never seem to be many other customers at Ghetto Mexican. It's a decent-sized restaurant, but I've never seen it more than half full. I'm sure cleanup is a breeze if you only have to worry about half the store, but I'd bet that Ghetto Mexican would rather have the cold, hard cash of another few meals each night. Thus, I have also made it my personal goal to promote the hell out of Ghetto Mexican, but not to dirty, loud, obnoxious, crazy, or rude people, because we want Ghetto Mexican to stay as classy and tolerable as it is right now.
Meanwhile, I'll continue to patronize (the other night we bet an order of yummy cheese dip on the meaning of 'patronize' in a consumer-oriented context and I won, because I am a grammar geek and because 'patron' is not a verb under any circumstance.) the establishment on a regular basis, even though some of the waiters don�t know the difference between iced tea and water and even though I have to deal with the occasional too-loud boring-ass conversation about, you know, whatever it is gossipy ladies talk about when they go to Mexican restaurants.
And maybe if we bring in enough business, Ghetto Mexican will follow through on our suggestion that they construct an indoor playplace to compete with the McDonald's across the street. I can't think of anything I'd rather do after a filling Mexican meal than collapse into the ball pit and relax.
Someone got here by searching for: courtshows And: Bill Gates middle name Reading: The op/ed section of the local paper. Jesus wept. Listening to: Rufus Wainwright. I'm going to get the new CD, I swear. Watching: The season premiere of SVU is ready and waiting in the VCR. Eating: See above. Drinking: Basically, a 50/50 mix of water and iced tea. It's the thought that counts, though.
