Crappy Mexican

The great iceberg lettuce glut of 2014 will not be without its beneficiaries. The Grasshopper, for example, will be out there bidding pennies for boxes of these things. Huzzah! the owners will cry, chomping on their cigars, our profit margin just tripled!

Friends tell me that El Chapulin caught a ride down I-75 from Adrian, Michigan before creating his Sarasotan home. Call me green with six legs, but since when was anywhere north of the Mason-Dixon line any kind of wellspring of “Tex-Mex”?

The key here is the number of MI plates on the roads around these parts. It seems the plague of Michiganders that descends upon us each winter will eat anything that reminds them of home, all the while shouting “Go Blue” or other chants rather rude about something called “Ohio.” I presume that cacophony is the equivalent of rubbing wings.

There is a word for being more than underwhelmed, but I don’t know what it is. Actually, thinking about my meal, there are several descriptive phrases that spring to mind. One is their use of tasteless shredded cheese instead of Walmart’s Fiesta blend. Another is the surfeit of peppers and onions; el cheapo ingredients Senor Hopper. Yet another might be the bulking out of dishes with those bargain lettuce heads.

Yep. It’s Fiesta Time. Somewhere.

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