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Viva Gordito’s

Last night Marta, Laurel, and I drove to Greenwood to eat at Gordito’s, the Mexican place that serves burritos bigger than your head. The line trailed out the door and halfway around the block – such is Seattle’s appetite for quality Mexican fair at affordable prices. I ordered a burrito grande, which is Spanish for “death by beans.” When the waitress delivered it to our outdoor table, possibly the least sturdy plastic edifice ever erected, I said “holy Jesus God,” and meant it. The waitress just smiled tiredly – I’m sure I wasn’t the first gringo to take the Lord’s name in vain twice when confronted with a burrito of such magnitude. I cannot overstate this dish’s grandeur: women faint dead away at its presentation; truck drivers gaze upon it and tremble; demigods and lesser djinns sneer in scorn but find themselves less than a match for the two flour tortillas, fresh guacamole and sour cream, heaping piles of rice and beans, and pounds of steak strips which comprise it. If that weren’t enough, the whole thing comes drenched in melted cheese and salsa, a glutton’s most fervent dream and a nervous bowel’s worst nightmare. I ate less than half of it last night and failed to finish it off at lunch today. I’ll probably find it next week in the back corner of the fridge at work, furry with malevolent growth but irresistible nonetheless.

We also split a pitcher of Mack and Jack’s African Amber, which is pretty tasty. Marta and Laurel are veterans of the brand, but I’d never had it before, since it’s only served in bars. Ordering drinks in restaurants is, to me, still new enough as an experience that I giggle like a school girl every time I do it.

As if to pay back for burrito-nirvana, today went much more poorly than last night. I was supposed to turn in an article to my editor today at noon, but my muse deserted me. I wrote her an email saying as much and she was exceedingly gracious about it, but I still hate missing a deadline. I’m writing about indie – a topic about which I should have a lot to say, no doubt, but it just wasn’t coming together in my head. Writer’s block is a horrible, crippling ailment; hopefully it will lift in time for me to get the article in for next Monday. Also, I’m on probation at work. Bjorn has historically tolerated my idiosyncrasies to a large extent, but my constant tardiness in the morning lately has touched a nerve with him. I walked in this morning at 8:57 by my watch, smiling smugly, but to my abject horror the morning meeting was already underway. Bjorn’s clock is synched with the atomic one in Boulder, so there wasn’t much point in arguing the matter. So now, for the next two weeks, I have to be in the office by 8:45, no exceptions. I think it might kill me.

Speaking of indie (kind of), I want every one of these shirts. No more digging through bins at Goodwill, looking for the good stuff. It does irk me a bit that they’re selling 99-cent shirts for $11.99, but that’s the price you pay for convenience. Don’t all of you rush out and buy them though – think how much less cool we’d all feel if we all wore them.

Posted in Musings.


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