I don’t really care much for Mexican food unless it comes in a taco shell with extra sour cream. Just never have cared for it. Wifey, on the other hand, is adventurous when it comes to international cuisine, plus she had a coupon for one free entree at Miguel’s Hacienda Cafe. So, she made me change my shirt and dragged me out last night to the place and told me to enjoy myself or else. When we got to the joint, I noticed the walls of the small restaurant were decorated with hanging sombreros, dusty ponchos and there was a huge bull head nailed on the wall behind the cashier….really?
On our table was a small plastic cactus in a plastic pot and several bottles of polluted sauces surrounded the cactus. I took a look at all the Hispanic help scurrying around like they were anticipating a raid at any moment. A waiter came up to our table and handed us two menus fresh out of the copy machine in the kitchen. I ordered a two dollar beer and Wifey got herself a seven dollar margarita……with salt. We studied the various offerings and both came to the conclusion that we had never heard of any of it! No tacos here. The waiter, in Spanglish, recommended something with beef, or maybe it was burro, mixed with a spicy vegetable sauce. Then he waited for me to say, “Sure, excellent choice,” but I confused him when I asked for the Blue Plate Special. He stared at me like I was the memory of some fart he had the day before and then said all the plates were the same color and that they had no specials. I continued to scan the menu looking for familiar words until finally I pointed at something called Pollo Roulade. Seems it was a chunk of chicken breast pounded flat as a pancake, then over seasoned, stuffed with a mixture of cheeses, spinach and a load of Habanero peppers, and finally wrapped up in bacon and cooked in a skillet by some woman named Rosita. Then, when it was done enough to kill the bacteria, a generous amount of Habanero sauce with lemon was poured over the whole thing. On the Scoville scale, which measures the intensity of pepper damage, this meal rated somewhere between five million units and oblivion.
Twenty minutes after we ordered, our waiter fandangoed back to our table with our meal. It’s difficult to describe the appearance, other than to say it was mostly ladled on. I bibbed up and took my first bite. If…..I had been sitting bare-ass on the pavement outside, and had taken my first bite of this Pollo Roulade…..I could have drag raced on my hiney-cheeks from zero to wet your paints in four seconds flat!! I thought I had consumed molten lava!! Anyway, about five minutes into the meal, my lips felt like goat fur on fire and I was having trouble remembering my name! Ten minutes into the meal, I couldn’t remember how to call 911. Half the meal and four beers were all I could handle. On the way home, I could hear sounds emanating from my stomach that sounded a lot like a very large hose sucking sludge from a septic tank. After we got home, it hit me. It felt like something angry was trying to claw it’s way through my guts and out my butt! My innards were in a turmoil for the rest of the night. Wifey was fine and kept a spray can of orchid scented Febreze next to her during my ordeal. Considering what I went through….it’s no mystery why the Mexicans are pole-vaulting the fence in an attempt to escape their national cuisine. I just can’t believe what we’re willing to subject our intestinal tract to. When I was in the military and served in Asia, I thought I had tasted and ingested just about every multi-celled organism known to be consumed by humans and Great White sharks. Now, even the mention of Taco Bell can send me scurrying to the el bano!