If someone had asked me “hey, Orlando, wanna know what’s a really good place to eat in Midtown? Lime Fresh Mexican Grill!” I would’ve said, “hey, person in this hypothetical scenario, wanna know what I’d rather be than to eat Mexican food? A slave!” Then we would exchange awkward looks for a solid thirty seconds.
I’ve never been a big Mexican food eater. It’s not to say I dislike Mexican food, that’s not it in the slightest, I just don’t eat it all that often. You see, I like my digestive system and respect it a little more than Pancho Villa or whoever the hell invented this colon-blasting paradigm that is the Mexican food genre. I firmly believe Taco Bell, Chipotle, and Qdoba account for at least 39.62% of methane emissions contributing to global warming. You can put that in your physical science books.
I don’t understand who in their right mind finds refried beans appetizing.
At the behest of my sister I tried this place. First thing’s first, they did not carry Guinness. This is a huge setback and I nearly slit my wrists but remembered how awesome my life is and that I have Guinness at home. There are also copious amounts of pornography and video clips of kittens doing silly things with mirrors on the internet. How could anyone even consider suicide when those things exist? Instead of a Guinness I opted to assimilate with the Mexican ambiance by having a Corona. Drinking a Corona is comparable to drinking a newborn child’s chilled urine while listening to Aaron Carter’s Greatest Hits album. No matter how hard you try to make it work, what you’re doing is shameful, pathetic, and should be punished by having a couple of belligerent Irishmen take you out back and work you over with a lead pipe.
I had the classic quesadilla and was blown away by how little it disrupted my gastric activity. It also tasted great without necessitating an exorbitant amount of guacamole and/or hot sauce to masquerade the taste of miserable failure that is the refried bean. I don’t understand who in their right mind finds refried beans appetizing. How can you look at that patch of sticky vomit and think “mmm, I’d like to put that in my face.” I’ve never seen a miscarriage before, but I’m guessing it can’t look too different from that abomination Mexicans decided to dishonorably bring into the mix.
They offer a variety of condiments for you to splash onto whatever Mexican sphincter-obliterator you decide to gorge on. To be honest, I don’t use any of them with the exception of the standard salsa or a small amount of guacamole, nevertheless I believe there is enough variety for even the most discerning taco tycoon.
It’s a very laid back atmosphere which I always find comical from corporate chains serving fast casual food. They like putting out this “come right in guys, have a seat” attitude you would expect from your friend Juanito’s mom, but the backbone of it all is a heartless capitalistic company that only wants your banknotes with dead white slaveowners on them.
I do enjoy the food there, I’ve gotta admit that. If they would only rename refried beans on their menu to their actual name, “Lucifer’s phlegm.”
People who would enjoy it
People who would not enjoy it
- 3201 N Miami Avenue, #100
- Miami, FL 33137
- (305) 576-5463