(由 Google 翻译)去听演唱会,我以为墨西哥菜是演出前的稳妥之选:便宜、快捷、美味。剧透:这些条件一个都没满足。
首先要警惕的是——这里没有真正的招牌。门上只有一张看起来像是八年级学生涂鸦的小贴纸。店里昏暗空旷,服务员示意我们随便坐。薯片和莎莎酱很快就送来了,但莎莎酱辣得像火山喷发出来的一样。
菜单?直到我们问了才知道。菜单还没出来,饮料就被端上来了。等我们终于拿到菜单时,发现它们和我见过的任何墨西哥餐厅的菜单都不一样——只是一份普通的、拼凑起来的清单。背面写着一个关于“过去辛勤工作的墨西哥人”的故事,这很感人,但这并没有让菜单显得更古怪。
我们点了鳄梨酱薯条和沙拉作为开胃菜,主菜是墨西哥卷饼/墨西哥卷饼/烤玉米饼套餐。开胃菜30分钟后就上来了。主菜呢?我们坐下后,悠闲地等了1小时15分钟。厨房里也没怎么忙——我们走进去的时候,还有另一张桌子……也在等食物。
鳄梨酱尤其糟糕。想象一下,有人舀了一勺鳄梨,把它扔到切碎的生菜(或者卷心菜?)上,然后管它叫“鳄梨酱”。没有盐,没有酸橙,也没有调味料。只是鳄梨的装扮。
在漫长的等待中,我注意到了一些事情:被水浸湿的天花板瓷砖,像被浣熊袭击过一样散开的椅子,以及微波炉里持续不断的叮咚声。音乐?不是墨西哥流浪乐队,也不是萨尔萨舞,而是披头士乐队。另一个危险信号:没有一家餐厅看起来像西班牙裔。到了现在,我确信这些食物根本不是墨西哥人做的——更像是一群迷茫的中西部老爸,他们曾经看过塔可钟的广告。
晚上7点左右,在我们之前的那一桌终于收到了他们的食物。说实话,那时我们只是好奇我们的食物会不会来,或者这只是一个精心设计的社会实验。服务员可能感觉到了我们的绝望,趁机送来了一些神秘的“店内特供”菜。我只能说,我不会把它喂给我的狗,主要是出于对狗的尊重。
终于,主菜在7点15分左右上桌了。我的墨西哥卷饼看起来像一个被marinara酱汁淹没的颓废的Hot Pocket,鸡肉的味道和Costco烤肉店的剩菜一模一样。塔可卷是湿透的神秘牛肉,而托斯塔达则是贝壳上的悲伤。烹饪剧场的巅峰之作。
压轴戏:只收现金。两杯玛格丽特和一杯啤酒,账单是71美元。这笔钱,我本来可以买三只真正的好市多炸鸡,在停车场吃掉。说实话,我现在真想嗑点迷幻药,带上一群朋友来这里,看着他们费尽心思消化这家“餐厅”。
这家餐厅的评分怎么只有4.2分?除非这家餐厅在过去一年里遭受了灾难性的末日灾难,否则那些五星好评要么是机器人发的,要么是家人因为愧疚而发的,要么就是来自和这家餐厅似乎存在于同一个奇异维度的人。
(原文)
Going to a concert, I figured Mexican food was a safe pre-show bet: cheap, fast, tasty. Spoiler: none of those boxes got checked.
First red flag — there’s no real sign. Just a tiny sticker on the door that looks like an 8th grader doodled it. Inside it was dark and empty, and the waiter waved us to sit anywhere. Chips and salsa came quick, but the salsa was so spicy it felt like it was forged in a volcano.
Menus? Not until we asked. Drinks were taken before menus even appeared. When we finally got them, they didn’t look like any Mexican restaurant menus I’ve ever seen — just a generic, thrown-together list. On the back was a story about “hardworking Mexicans back in the day,” which was touching, but didn’t make the menus any less odd.
We ordered guac & chips and a salad as appetizers, and the taco/burrito/tostada combo as our entrée. The appetizers showed up 30 minutes later. The entrée? A casual 1 hour and 15 minutes after we sat down. And it’s not like the kitchen was slammed — when we walked in, there was one other table… also staring into the void waiting for food.
The guac was particularly tragic. Imagine someone scooped a single spoonful of avocado, plopped it onto shredded lettuce (or maybe cabbage?), and called it “guacamole.” No salt, no lime, no seasoning. Just avocado cosplay.
During the long wait, I had time to notice things: water-damaged ceiling tiles, chairs unraveling like they’d been attacked by raccoons, and the constant ding of a microwave. The music? Not mariachi, not salsa, but The Beatles. Another red flag: not a single diner looked remotely Hispanic. At this point, I’m convinced the food wasn’t made by Mexicans at all — more like a committee of confused Midwestern dads who once saw a Taco Bell commercial.
Around 7pm, the one table that had been there before us finally received their food. At that point, we were honestly just curious if ours would ever arrive or if this was some elaborate social experiment. The waiter, perhaps sensing our despair, brought over some mystery “on the house” dish in the meantime. Let’s just say I wouldn’t feed it to my dog, mostly out of respect for the dog.
Finally, the entrée arrived around 7:15. My burrito looked like a depressed Hot Pocket drowned in marinara sauce, with chicken that tasted exactly like Costco rotisserie leftovers. The taco was soggy mystery beef, the tostada was sadness on a shell. Culinary theater at its finest.
And for the finale: cash only. With two margaritas and a beer, the bill was $71. For that, I could have bought three actual Costco chickens and eaten them in the parking lot. Honestly, I now want to drop acid, bring a group of friends here, and just watch their minds unravel trying to process this “restaurant.”
Somehow this place has a 4.2 rating. Unless in the past year the restaurant suffered catastrophic apocalyptic damage, the five-star reviews are either bots, family members guilt-tripped into posting, or people from the same bizarre dimension this restaurant seems to exist in.