Yeah yeah yeah, we'll get to that slimy guy in a minute.
Kath has this art festival coming up and she has to print a bunch of tags for her works, meaning that we find ourselves in Maple Grove so she can do some printing. Now the original plan is to go to Biaggi's, a chain pasta joint that she likes because it's fancier than Arby's and I found mostly inoffensive the one time I had it. HOWever, Biaggi's was... booked (?) solid last night. (It's Bruschetta Fest or something.) So we start looking around and I find a Brazilian joint which, in Maple Grove, means they put pineapple on steaks, two things I like but Kath isn't feeling.
Then she finds a place called Riviera Maya and I say OK and I go to the website and I open the menu and of course it is in dreaded .PDF format and it's ten? twelve? fourteen? fucking pages, which is always a very good sign that they do all of these things very well. When you see a menu with a page count in the double digits, rest assured that they do everything on that menu exceptionally.
I hate that I have to point this out but that whole last bit was sarcasm.
So I'm looking through the menu and I'm not inspired by anything but then I see this BBW...
Are you ready?
Are you?
Buckle up and fix a cocktail, meine kleine Tyrannjugend, it's...
Where have you been all my life you. sexy. bitch?
There's just no question, I need to have this (extremely authentic Mexican dish*) in my life.
So into the car we go and we have to do a few errands and then we get to Riviera Maya and we're seated and we're given chips and salsa and then a guy comes and takes our order and he asks what I'd like to drink and I say, "Grapefruit Jarritos."
He says, "Yes?" and looks at me as though I need to continue.
"Yeah, just a grapefruit Jarritos."
He says, "Yeah, what kind?"
"Grapefruit."
"Uh-huh, yes."
"Toronja?"
"Ah, yes, very good."
Kath tells me that grapefruit, phonetically, must mean something different in Spanish because this happens at every Mexican restaurant we go to.
ANYway, eventually our food comes out and, well, you saw the pic up top but how interesting is a burrito to look at? It isn't, it just isn't.
So I got you a cross section:
Oddly just as uninteresting.
OK, nobody's impressed by that.
So how did it taste?
Well?
Like a cheesesteak.
I'm sorry, I know I put a bit of build up in this but it really just tasted like a cheesesteak. It tasted like a good cheesesteak, I'll tell you that much. It wasn't like some bullshit cheesesteak. It really just tasted like a cheesesteak. I swooned, sure, I can be a man about it and open myself emotionally but it was just... a cheesesteak. Steak. Onions. Peppers. Cheese.** I don't know what I was expecting.
Also, you saw the price tag and you saw the plate. That was a fourteen dollar burrito. It came with no sides.
So this place was OK but I couldn't get excited for them. I guess that's, uh, it.
Although I did score this little gem for five fifty at the MP Down In The Valley afterward.
The actual gem from last night.
* Actually, is there anything to say they don't make Philly cheesesteak burritos in Mexico? I mean look at the ingredient list. That wouldn't be outside of the realm of possibility.
** Enough cheese that my lactose intolerant ass had to get a box for half of it because it had me feeling grody before the waiter came over to ask if I needed a second Toronja Jarritos.
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