sweet mother that’s hot!
June 14, 2008
But this week I managed to combine my pussiness with my proclivity for crying.
A while back, my friend, Tyler, showed me a great Mexican restaurant, El Pais Grill, out in West Valley. It is awesome. I’ve only had one thing there, and I never plan to get anything else—the Molcajete. Essentially, it’s fajitas, but fajitas like actual, real life Mexicans might eat them. Not with the chicken and steak and onions and peppers and such all neatly chopped in strips, but everything dumped in the, er, Molcajete, with a sauce that’s just to die for, and placed on your table with some corn tortillas, beans, and rice.
Seriously, I don’t want real Mexican food if this isn’t real Mexican food. It is YUM.
Anyway, this week, my brother calls, he’s free for lunch, so I have him meet me at the El Pais Grill for some Molcajete. We’re just sitting, chatting, and stuffing our corn tortillas with whatever is in the big stone pot. I casually take out a big onion and slice it in strips, casually take out some cactus, and placedthem on my tortilla. I take out a big green pepper, and cut it up, and put a few small pieces in my little tortilla full of heaven along with some shrimp.
And take a big ole bite.
And start to cry. I mean CRY.
Dave is sitting across from me talking about whatever, and suddenly he says “Are you okay? You look like you might be dying.”
And flames are coming out of my ears, and my eyes are pouring water. I somehow choke out an answer: “You don’t mind if I cry for a minute, do you?”
He just starts laughing. My coke is gone, but I have ice, and I put an ice pack on my tongue. The burning gets worse. I grab a tortilla thinking starch might help, and put a big mouthful in. It feels like I have just put my tongue on a hot stove and left it there for an hour, and then tried to eat some hot sawdust.
I run for the bathroom to douse my suddenly sweat soaked head. My eyes are puffy and swollen and totally bloodshot.
I guess I’ve never sampled the dreaded habanera before. Sweet mother of Zeus.
When I get back to the table, Dave says “All better now?”
“Yeah, that was just a really emotional story you were telling about how your garbage collector dropped the container and spilled trash all over your yard—and OH MY HELL is my mouth STILL on fire? I’ll be right back.”