Reviewing Miami and then some. Gratuitous vulgarity included.

La Lupita: Real Mexican Tacos

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I often forget to buy groceries so I end up improvising on what to make for dinner. I remember this one time I made macaroni and cheese, except the only thing close to macaroni I had was angel hair pasta. And the only cheese in my fridge was an $8 chunk of münster.

It may have been that the cheese had been sitting in there since Prince released Purple Rain…

I could’ve taken the two-block walk to my nearest Publix and eaten like a king, but I decided “fuck that, I’ve got this episode of Remington Steele queued up and there’s NO WAY I’m missing out on Pierce Brosnan slicking it up.” So I’m making this ghetto macaroni, thinking it’s going to be this awesome discovery that’ll get me my own show on the Food Network next to that hot chubby piece of ass that is Rachel Ray.

Unfortunately, it was the worst thing ever created. I mean it. The way I measure it is I take the previously worst known thing and use it along with a scaled multiplier. For example, my münster hairaroni was 4 Holocausts (or 9.3 Fox-sponsored Teabagger Rallies if converted to metric.) It may have been that the cheese had been sitting in there since Prince released Purple Rain, or that melted münster doesn’t mix well with pasta. Plus I had to add milk so it wouldn’t be so gooey. I’m pretty sure that milk was expired too, because the expiration date was written in Roman numerals.

Wait, you used expired milk?

Yeah, and the milk came from a she-wolf.

I don’t remember why I even stopped at this place. I’m not a big Mexican eater. Maybe I felt pressed on time and wanted to get back to my Remington Steele marathon. Maybe I was hypnotized by a thirtysomething’s ass trying viciously to pop out of those sweat pants she was wearing. We’ll never know.

I ordered a taco, because I was under the assumption that when you order a “taco” it would be like Lime that they give you a number of tacos and some tortilla chips. This wasn’t the case. Saying “un taco” gave me a look from the diminutive Mexican that could only be described as, “that’s it?” It’s the complete opposite of the reaction I get from women when I disrobe right before we start performing the Devil’s Symphony. Not because I’m huge, but because I only date nearsighted girls and sleep with them in complete darkness.

So yeah, I ended up leaving with 6 tacos and a fruit punch Jarrito. Remington Steele agreed with my choice.

So where the hell is it?
  • 1057 SE 1st Ave
  • Miami, FL 33131
  • (305) 373-5406
  • La Lupita on Urbanspoon
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