The one time I came here I left with a bad taste in my mouth, and it wasn’t even from the food. I’ve never gone back since and probably never will. Not because the place was bad, but because it’s located in Westchester. Why the fuck would I ever go to Westchester unless I was in dire need of low-grade angeldust?
It was a few months ago. I was casually seeing a girl and was having a fun time with her. She had the right amount of goofiness comparable to mine, she was pretty, and she didn’t give a shit about politics which meant that during any debates among friends if she ever chimed in I could say condescending things like, “sweety, leave this to the big boys and go make us some ice cream topped with gummy bears. No, you misunderstood, I didn’t say ‘get’ us some ice cream, I said ‘make’ us some ice cream. What? You want to see other people? Fine, I’ve been fucking your sister. Oh wait, that’s right, your sister is dead. Oh God. I’m sorry. No, don’t go, let’s talk about this.” Or other things.
Why the fuck would I ever go to Westchester unless I was in dire need of low-grade angeldust?
Anyway, one time after a wine and cheese party she spent the night in my place. Next morning I drive her home and we decide to get breakfast. Everything is great at this point. She tells me there’s a place near her house we should go to, and that place is Delicias de España. On our way there, we stop at a red light and a homeless guy was panhandling for change. Then she yelled at him. Yelled at him to get a job. Through my closed window in the car. Then mumbled a few lines about how she hates that. That’s where it all came crashing down for me. My heart boner faded like it just somethingsomethingmetaphor.
Look, I know it’s slightly inconveniencing to have a guy with nothing in his life give you sad eyes as you sit in an expensive machine that will move you quickly around geography just by putting a liquid in it, but goddamn, chill. You don’t know the dude’s situation. He may have been laid off and lacked a support system of family to help him get back on his feet. He may be a war veteran with severe PTSD. His wife may have gotten cancer, died, and the crippling debt from medical bills due to America’s shitty healthcare safety net put him on the street. When you become homeless, it’s tough as shit to find yourself a job when an application form asks for your address and you’ve gotta write “um, yeah, about that…” All those scenarios are more probable than a guy who actively prefers sleeping on a sidewalk and eating from the trash to working eight hours per day flipping burgers.
(Cancer * Malaria)^Holocaust
So yeah. She’s otherwise a great girl, and I even tried getting past that, but eventually found I couldn’t. That along with treating waiters like shit are deal breakers for me. My dislike of those sorts of things can be expressed mathematically as (Cancer * Malaria)^Holocaust.
What the fuck was I reviewing again? Delicias de España? Fuck, I don’t remember shit about that place. I think I had some croquetas, maybe some eggs with ham. It was breakfast, so think about breakfast foods they eat in Spain. Churros, for example, are a breakfast food, but they’ve been bastardized into shit you’ll eat at the mall or at the skating rink. But no, I’m fairly certain I had eggs with ham and potatoes.
This was the worst review ever.
People who would enjoy it
People who would not enjoy it
- 4016 SW 57th Ave
- Miami, FL 33155
- (305) 669-4485