Tonight I promised myself I would slide down to the local Mexican joint and “Wolf Down” some serious Tacos. I love Mexican food. My Grandmother lived in San Antonio all of her life. She lived in harmony and respect with her Mexican neighbors, and learned to cook their cuisine. She would fix these huge Mexican dinners every Friday night, and I was her “Number One Grandson,” so I got DeLuxe Chow-Down. But now that she is no longer with us, I am resigned to finding a commercial establishment to satisfy my cravings.
The story begins in the usual Chef RA fashion. A bag of Mexican-Grown Michoacan was burning a hole in my pocket. Her hair was Black as the December night and she had brown eyes that pierced your soul like the sharp stars in the frozen firmament. Little did I know that my life would hang in the balance on that cold December night long ago on which I learned the power of LATIN LOVE in this season of “Fleece Nevada.” I owe her a great debt for saving my life on that fateful night….
The Munchies started to swell up from within me as I finished off a huge spliff of that Michoacan. I wanted to sprinkle some garlic, Cilantro, CHILI, Salsa, onion and a few MAGIC MUSHROOMS on top of Christmas Eve dinner. You know what I mean? A little of the Chef RA culinary treatment on that plate of Rice and Beans! Forget the Raspberry vinaigrette on salad greens! It’s time to go South Of The Border without ever leaving the dinner table. But tonight if I was going to eat some good Mexican food. I’d have to dine out at the local joint.
Tacos, Tacos, you need Tacos!” the Little Devil On My …
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Author: High Times / High Times
