If there’s a fast food joint which serves your specialty, your choice of dishes will never be considered high class. Tell me, doubter, have you ever seen a Burger King selling caviar? A Checkers advertising a porterhouse? A Sonic’s claiming to have edible food? Of course you haven’t, because they only sell common garbage.
El Vato, for the most part, takes the Burger & Beer Joint approach where they mix pedestrian fare with alcohol, pump some music through their sound system, jack up the prices, and call it an experience. B&B does it right though, because I happen to love hamburgers, and I’m the ultimate judge of what’s right and what’s wrong. For instance, feathers in your hair are wrong and it makes you look like an 8-year-old girl with hippie parents who let you name yourself Snow White Gonzalez.
I can tolerate Mexican food in small doses. I like Lime, and every once in a while I grab a quesadilla. Their quesadillas have a distinctly small amount of quesa and a larger amount of dilla which I’m cool with. As a kid I told myself one of the first things I would do when I became an adult was to always keep my kitchen stocked with Gushers fruit snacks (check), be a Power Ranger (I was, like, 13 when I made this wish. Such a loser), and eat piles upon piles of ground beef. I love ground beef. I eat that shit by the spoonful like I’m eating cereal. My stomach loves me for it, and my heart does too. I know my heart loves me because it murmurs and pinches me a little. That’s just its way of saying “hey, champ, thanks for the good work.”
I know my heart loves me because it murmurs and pinches me a little.
The menu is typical of a taco place. Flautas, taquitos, quesadillas, tacos; all the stuff made from the exact same ingredients you find in every other Mexican dish. My friends and I saw something called a chicharron de queso. We were like “whaaaaat?” and wanted to find out more. We asked the dude who brought us the complementary nachos about what that was. My buddy said, verbatim, “what is it, exactly, is it good or is it just like a fried heart attack?” The dude looked at him blankly like he didn’t know a fucking word of English and said, “I get your waiter for your.” Never did I want a sentence to be completed as badly as I wanted it just then. When our waiter came out, he spoke in heavily-accented English, so we started speaking Spanish, but the man flat-out REFUSED to speak in Spanish. So we were puzzled as to why he kept going “em, eh, is like uh, em, is a cheese with the, em, fried like dark from the edge of a quesadilla, you know?”
We went with it anyway. What I gather the gentleman was trying to say is that it’s just flattened, pan fried cheese similar to the crispy cheese you’ll find on the edge of a quesadilla as it melted out of the flour and was grilled on the pan. It was a whole thing of that. There’s no way that was healthy. Across from us was a lady with an ass so ridiculous if it could talk I wouldn’t believe anything it said. It would be like, “hey, Orlando, last week I went base jumping with an albino midget” and I’d be like, “shut up, ass, you’re ridiculous.”
How about an example?
We each had quesadillas. One dude had chicken, one dude had steak, I had carnitas. They were tiny plates with 4 slices each. They were OK. I’m going to try them again soon so I can properly judge. I was too busy having an internal debate with that chick’s ass over the Lucas critique of Keynesian economics. I noticed they had a lot of tequilas, which I suppose is to be expected. The waiter seemed to know dick-all about tequilas. That’s fine, because tequila tastes like the cocaine drip of a Mexican cartel kingpin. What a terrible drink that is.
Personally, I still prefer Lime if you’re cool with traveling the whopping 6 or 7 blocks over. But I’m willing to give this place another shot, maybe during lunch or something when I have no asstractions.
People who would enjoy it
People who would not enjoy it
- 1010 S Miami Ave
- Miami, FL 33130
- (305) 523-2393