I’m back AND bilingual, baby

I was going to write about a somewhat sad experience I had at Burger King, but then I saw the Incredibles 2 and felt so optimistic and joyful that I couldn’t just go home and eat my usual beans, rice, and frozen vegetables combo. Instead I went to a Mexican restaurant called Los Magueyes.

This is what a magueye is, in case that is important to you.

There are a few giveaways when you’re trying to find a good restaurant. If you’re at a Chinese restaurant, for example, and there’s a big Chinese contingent, it’s probably good. This rule is broadly applicable. I could tell Los Magueyes was legit because the waiter continued speaking to me in Spanish even after she saw me express mild surprise when she first started talking. Usually when someone sees that I am white, they talk to me in English, or hear me speak and then decide the interaction would be easier if they switched to English. But enough with the formalities—I SPENT A MONTH IN PERÚ. I TOOK A PROFILE PICTURE WITH AN ALPACA. I SPENT A WHOLE UNIT IN 7^TH GRADE PRACTICING RESTAURANT SPANISH.

Another way you can tell a restaurant is good is if it is next to a daycare center with a sidewalk playground, it is directly situated under a horror-movie-like number of birds flying in possibly Satanic patterns, it is flanked by a Mexican club softly thumping music on a Sunday night, and it is still open.

By the time I sat down, there was already a bowl of chips and not one, but two salsas in front of me. I swear, this was not there when I walked to the table, but when I sat down, it was. I would’ve expressed my shock in Spanish to the waiter, but I didn’t quite have the capabilities. And these were good salsas. If Chipotle had the green one, it would make it into my sacred burrito order. One was hot enough to make me sweat. Actually, that was because I chose to eat outside alone in Florida’s humid subtropical climate.

This picture of birds swarming does not do the situation justice. There were hundreds of them, and it was scary.

The food was great. I got the Enchiladas Pobalanas. I remember in high school being freaked out that there was a sauce with chocolate in it, but after eating it several times, I can confirm that molé is good. The enchiladas were served with refried beans and rice. I like even the blandest of refried beans mixed with other stuff, but these beans were good by themselves. So was the rice, if you were wondering. I am never sure what you are wondering. But if you told me, I could help you out, and this would be better for both of us. I just feel like you don’t tell me anything anymore. Please, don’t raise your voice; we’re in public. We just need to communicate better in the future, okay?

The biggest conflict of the meal occurred when I realized I didn’t know the proper way to ask the waiter to wrap up my unfinished food. I didn’t want to use the term “doggy bag” because I doubt that it translates to Spanish, and it’s already an awful English expression. I also read during my Google search that some restaurants politely decline to wrap food. Not wanting to take this very slim chance, I decided to take my body to its limit and show my haters what I am made of. Maybe I will gain five pounds again this summer.