Genetic Makeup of the Perfect Italian Take-Out Place

1. One Grandpa, approx. 109 years old.

Stands behind counter, does not seem to do much but talk. Is a living recipe guide, with a woodon spoon attached for "instruction" purposes.








2. One Working-Class Guido, approx. 35 years.

 Takes orders at the counter, shouts orders, seems to have the financial stake in the business, so is more invested than the rest.

15 will get you 20.

3. One Jailbait, approx. 15 years old.

Answers phones, takes orders. Is perpetually in training, as this is a rotating position quickly vacated when Grandpa becomes overtly "handsy" after one too many long and leering ogling sessions.

Basically, yes, be Jesse Eisenberg.

4. One Pizza-Faced Delivery Boy, skinny, pale, approx 17.

Used for home orders, yelling at, and also leering at the Jailbait in a pathetic, white-knightly sort of way. Worth throwing to the wolves if shit goes down.

A complete dramatization. In the kitchen, they will be skinny,
though just as courteous.

5. Four to six Mexicans in the kitchen.

Depending on your location, substitute Ecuadorians, El Salvadorians, Cubans, or even Puerto Ricans, though the general rule will be to hold to Mexico, Central and South America, and Hispañola and the other Latin Islands. Beware of Brazilian knock-offs.

Selena Gomez: Some Kind of Mexican?

Anyone else noticing Selena Gomez is looking
more and more like Jenni "J-Woww" Farley?
Who's looking forward to the fake boobs?

Apparently local primary schools are requiring students to report on biographies, men for the boys and women for the girls. I was informed today that this particular school district also comprises a significant Mexican/Latino population.

It seems this cultural leaning has resulted in Selena Gomez being a popular choice among the girls, "because Selena's half Mexican or something."

"No she's not," I responded.

"Well, her dad was. Is? She's Mexican."

"No. She's rich."

"Ha. No, but really–"

"Nope. Rich. Whatever she was, she's white now."

And I felt I was pushing my luck with that comment, despite the chuckle it elicited, but unless she and Justin Bieber are part of the Jonas Brothers' abstinence cadre, she's also technically a statutory rapist in the state of California.

Then again, if I was 18, dating a 17 year old, and we collectively had about a billion dollars, I'd just fly us to a state more amiable to teen-on-teen dry humping.

Psych 101: Outgroup Homogeneity Bias

There are two things I remember from taking Psychology 101 in college. I forget what the first thing is, but the second one is "outgroup homogeneity bias."

In simplest, non-P.C. terms, "outgroup homogeneity bias" is the scientific term for when dudes of a culture different from yours all tend to look kind of similar to you.

I'm not saying it's true.

I am not Tim Meadows.

I'm not saying all Mexicans wear sombreros.

I'm not even saying all Chinese guys are pretty, slender, effeminate creatures.

All I'm saying is sometimes I can't tell the difference between a spade and a club.

Of Zagat's Domain

Live mariachi band every Friday night!


There's a little Tex-Mex place around the corner from my apartment. Years ago it was called something else, then I think "Tres Amigos" for many years. More recently it came under the moniker "Hacienda Sauza." Clearly, somebody–likely named Sauza–bought and refurbished the place, adding a bit more class and a heavier emphasis on the "Mex" side of the cooking. Despite living within walking distance of this restaurant for more than a decade, I had never eaten there before today.

I was always a finicky eater until a few years ago, and even now I have my trepidations and a few absolute moratoriums: no seafood, no mushrooms, no peppers, no onions, nothing that looks like it did when it was still alive. Barring the first and last, those rules typically do a pretty decent job of keeping me away from Tex-Mex. I don't even remotely like hot/spicy dishes, but I'm improving, giving old foes a chance. After all, the taste buds I have now are completely different fleshy bits than the ones I had as a kid. Tastes really do change.

So I gave them a shot. I had a friend up from Long Island and we went out to this place and it was a quiet, wonderful meal of good, authentic food served by good, authentic Mexicans. (Not the "MexiCans" who run every fast food place around here, mind you; they're mostly Ecuadorian. No, these guys were Mexican. At least the owner Mr. Sauza was.) My friend got roast pork tamales and I had a trio of cheese, beef and spiced chicken enchiladas with rice and smothered in mole sauce which, for the uninitiated, is spicy chocolate sauce. We split a strawberry margarita and some flan for dessert, and I can honestly say I have never had better flan. Honestly, aside from a lousy turn exiting the place, it was the best restaurant I've been to in a while. Why the hell was I ever so averse to going there?

Oh, right, the huge bill. Jesu, that place is expensive. Holy hell, man. I'm broke. I can't be affording that crap on a regular basis. From now on this place is strictly a First Date establishment only.

On the upside, it's been twenty minutes and a whole teeth brushing, and my mouth still burns pleasantly from delicious leftover enchilada. Well played, Mexican food. You are as delicious as agave nectar and as crafty as tequila, the way it sneaks back up on you after you thought you'd done the right thing and said you'd had enough.

This is a different "El Mariachi." He does not make a live appearance every Friday Night.