I'm very particular about restaurants. I don't like chain restaurants like Fridays or Applebees or Olive Garden. At the same time, I don't like places whose menu relies on pictures of the food on a laminated menu in lieu of descriptions. Seriously, if you cant make it sound good, then it probably isn't. I also don't like the big fancy restaurants that require a dress code and taking out a line of credit to order two entrees.
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| vegasmagazine.com |
You might think I am overly particular and difficult to please, however, the restaurants I choose follow basic principles that I believe should be paramount to the success of any restaurant. Make good food and give me good service at a reasonable cost. The women I date may agree; however, I have found that depending on your sex, those basic principals are open to interpretation.
Sorry vegans, but I require that a restaurant be focused on meat. Beef, bison, pork, chicken..hell, fish is kind of on the fence but a thick slab of salmon or swordfish can be a meal in itself. Next to that will be a pile of starchy carbs, i.e. potatoes, preferably baked, and next to that a vegetable (only if it rhymes with porn). As well, there better be some bread in the form of a roll or a couple slices of white bread. I want the option to go to the emergency room in full cardiac arrest or to my bedroom for what will ultimately lead to the greatest coma'ish sleep ever.
We clear on this? Good. Now then...
She raved about this amazing restaurant located in Manitou Springs called Tapateria. Okay, based on the name I surmise this is a Mexican joint, whereby I can order a California burrito (carne asada, potatoes, some vegetables, and other shit). Upon our entrance I realize this is not the case as I notice a sign that says "100% Gluten Free Beers."
We take a seat on the patio with flowers and vines everywhere overlooking the brick façade of the antique buildings around us. Soft jazz is playing overhead and the place is clearly operated by a myriad of hipsters. We are presented a menu. A laminated menu. A laminated menu with pictures of the food.
Since she loved the place so dearly, and the fact that I don't recognize dick on the menu, I defer to her for ordering, trusting that she knows what I like, and despite what she tells you, she knows exactly what I like, which, in turn, makes me even more pissed when we are finally brought our "food."
Plate 1: Padron Peppers: basically five 3" peppers slathered in olive oil along with a salad dressing. Oh! I forgot to mention! The plate is for the whole table, which meant I was treated to three peppers the size of a damned green bean.
Plate 2: Chorizo and Figs: basically, we got a bowl of five Vienna sausages and a shit ton of figs smothered in barbeque sauce. And what the hell is a fig anyway? Tastes like crap so I give them to her and she gives me the wieners.
Plate 3: Tacos Adobada: Okay, now we're getting somewhere. Three small corn tortillas with some meat and a fancy sauce on it. Finished one within two bites. One and a half tacos downed. Five bites.
Plate 4: Patatas Bravas: Home fries with a spicy rub and Aioli. You know what Aioli is? Its fucking mayonnaise, but I guess hipsters' arrogance makes them believe theyre eating something special if they give it a different fucking name. Fuck you, hipsters! Its mayonnaise.
The server then came and asked, "Will that be all for you today?" I responded, with naivety, "That's it? Seriously? I thought that was the appetizer!" The server was taken aback and my date was laughing so I let it go.
So, for a grand total of $40, I was treated to 3 peppers, five beanie weinies, 1.5 street tacos, and some home fries with mayonnaise. Oh! lets not forget the damn figs that I couldn't give two shits about.
Needless to say, a Double Quarter Pounder with Cheese on the way home closed the gap.
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