In Fayetteville, there’s a mexican restaurant (that my mother used to drag me to all the time) called Jose’s. It’s a staple of Fayetteville and especially of Dickson Street. Over the years, Joe, the owner, would be the voice talent for their radio spots... why not. He coined the phrase, “Ole for Jose’s,” which, I think, still lives at the very end of every radio spot you hear for them. A few years ago, after I had moved to Kansas City, I heard about his latest radio spot about chimichangas. Yes, good ol’ Joe had created another catch phrase, “chimichanga, chimichanga, chimichanga.”
Enough about Jose’s, but speaking of chimichanga...
A group of co-workers and I went down to Taqueria Mexico today for lunch. I love this place (see, I told you I do), their food is so damn good. After today, I’m not so sure how much love for them will last.
Halfway through a meal of beef chimichanga, a co-worker discovered something odd in the tortilla. When she asked several of us what it was, we all replied that it was just a part of the tortilla that didn’t get deep fried. She wasn’t satisfied with that answer, and neither were we when the poked at it with her fork and it sprung back and forth like those door stopper things that make the cool boing noise when you flick them.
None of us knew what it was and she stopped eating. After making several jokes about what it could be and then singing the pre-chorus to Weezer’s “Holiday,” I decided to go ask the wait staff what it was.
You couldn’t really say that her heart was in the right place. Nor did she get heart burn. The meal wasn’t too hearty, but, it WAS a heart-felt situation. Someone already asked if she ate her heart out... no, she didn’t. Okay, stop.