Chorizo
I like most of the restaurants in the neighborhood. They are all pretty good--and cheap.
There’s one across the street. Nicaraguan and Salvadoran food. It’s always busy.
The food is displayed under glass on a long counter. You can eat there or take it to go.
I always get it go so I can go home and watch football.
I’ve gotten pretty good at ordering in Spanish. The hard part is knowing what the food is. There are no signs in English.
Sometimes I remember the name of something and go back and check it out on the Internet.
One thing I looked up turned out to be pork intestines. Glad I checked.
There are 5 or 6 ladies behind the counter running like crazy to keep up with the people.
You have to be careful. Once I looked down at my phone, looked up, and they had skipped right past me.
Some people told me they take care of regulars first no matter where they are in line. Gotta stay on your toes.
Today I ordered chorizo and rice and beans.
As she is getting the box for the rice, I noticed another lady accidentally dropped a large metal spatula from the grill to the floor. It clanged and bounced.
Another lady scooped it up, and put it right back on the grill.
“Oy! At least rinse it off!” I thought. Wish I hadn’t seen that.
I look back to see how my order is coming. The lady had packed the boxes with the rice and now she is talking to someone several yards away. Come on, señora, don't leave me hanging mid-order.
Pointing to the boxes, I say to another lady, “Es para mi!”
She smiles and points to the grill. The first lady had thrown the chorizo links on the grill to heat them up.
Before I could open my mouth again in any language, the second lady stepped back, grabbed the metal spatula, then flipped and rolled my chorizo links over.
Holy chorizo, that’s the spatula that was on the floor.
Out loud, I said, “Hey don’t use…that…one,” my words trailing off as I realized it was too late. I was drowned out by the loud din of the place anyway.
At home I rinsed those chorizo links for 30 minutes.
They’re that good.
There’s one across the street. Nicaraguan and Salvadoran food. It’s always busy.
The food is displayed under glass on a long counter. You can eat there or take it to go.
I always get it go so I can go home and watch football.
I’ve gotten pretty good at ordering in Spanish. The hard part is knowing what the food is. There are no signs in English.
Sometimes I remember the name of something and go back and check it out on the Internet.
One thing I looked up turned out to be pork intestines. Glad I checked.
There are 5 or 6 ladies behind the counter running like crazy to keep up with the people.
You have to be careful. Once I looked down at my phone, looked up, and they had skipped right past me.
Some people told me they take care of regulars first no matter where they are in line. Gotta stay on your toes.
Today I ordered chorizo and rice and beans.
As she is getting the box for the rice, I noticed another lady accidentally dropped a large metal spatula from the grill to the floor. It clanged and bounced.
Another lady scooped it up, and put it right back on the grill.
“Oy! At least rinse it off!” I thought. Wish I hadn’t seen that.
I look back to see how my order is coming. The lady had packed the boxes with the rice and now she is talking to someone several yards away. Come on, señora, don't leave me hanging mid-order.
Pointing to the boxes, I say to another lady, “Es para mi!”
She smiles and points to the grill. The first lady had thrown the chorizo links on the grill to heat them up.
Before I could open my mouth again in any language, the second lady stepped back, grabbed the metal spatula, then flipped and rolled my chorizo links over.
Holy chorizo, that’s the spatula that was on the floor.
Out loud, I said, “Hey don’t use…that…one,” my words trailing off as I realized it was too late. I was drowned out by the loud din of the place anyway.
At home I rinsed those chorizo links for 30 minutes.
They’re that good.