I know it’s been a while since I’ve written a restaurant review. It had become tiresome to dote over my new favorite restaurant* and how I had just had the most amazing sploogetastic meal in the history of taste buds. And mediocre restaurants just aren’t that fun to write about. So it’s really only enjoyable now to write restaurant reviews where I get to vent some serious spleen.
So guess where this is going.
I had not been to a Mi Cocina since early in my return to the Dallas area, some 70 years ago. I was not impress and did not return. The food was meh and their “award winning” margaritas tasted of Sweet Tarts. But they recently remodeled the space that Matt’s used to be and are now a fixture of my beloved Lakewood. So let’s give them a try, I thought.
The evening started off well. I ordered my now usual Mexican meal of “paleo fajitas” – no rice, beans, tortillas but lots of guac and my dinner companion, who in order to maintain her anonymity will be referred from here on as “Mayor LaCheese”, ordered the shrimp tacos.
So far so good. Everything was fine; nothing spectacular. And then Mayor LaCheese looked into her third and final taco.
“What the fuck is this!!!”, she yelled.**
So I examined her taco*** and replied that I thought they had sent her a brisket taco with a couple of shrimps.
We called over the waiter and he was most apologetic and would have that taco replaced immediately.
OK. I know you’re wondering. This really isn’t much of a story so far. It’s just cheap excuse to make an even cheaper vagina***** joke. But we are getting to the punch line of this story. I really wish you would be more patient and wait until the end to gripe about my presentation.
The manager came over and asked, “Was there a problem with your meal?”
After the Mayor retold the tale of the taco, the manager replied,”Well the chef assured me that that was a shrimp taco.”
Oh, well that settles it then. The chef assured you. Well I guess we’re making this up. You’ve figured us out. We are an international gang of shrimp taco grifters. We go into unsuspecting Mexican restaurants across the country, order shrimp tacos, pour slow roasted brisket on the third taco, ask for a replacement taco, sit back and watch the millions of dollars roll into our Swiss bank accounts.
We’re lucky he didn’t call Interpol on us.
She did get her replacement taco (CHA-CHING!!!!) but there’s no telling how much loogie and semen was vigorously placed in said taco******.
Well that would have been the end of this story except when we got the bill and saw this line item.
Sng Taco $3.25
“ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME!!! Do you know who the fuck I am?? I’m fucking King Wally, noted food blogger of The Summer of Steve. Please don’t worry so much about that confusing name situation. But I am a noted food blogger and all I have to do is say the word and virtually no one from Dusseldorf will ever eat here!!”, would have been fun to yell in the restaurant. But we just called the waiter over and had him take the charge off.
He told us that, inexplicably*******, the manager added the charge Man, the manager really was on to us. I guess we’ll have to take our shrimp taco long con out of Lakewood now.
* That reminds me. I need to get the reviews of Chicken Scratch and Acme F&B out soon.
** Mayor LaCheese doesn’t really have that much of a potty-mouth, but it’s a better story this way.
*** I did not write this story to use that line****
**** As far as you know.
***** Editors Note: There’s no such thing as cheap vagina.
****** A joke I so wanted to make at the dinner table, but, hey, I’m a gentleman.
******* Of course he didn't really say "inexplicably" since he's a waiter in a Mexican restaurant. And that's not racist since the waiter was a white kid.