Like most people who visit Las Vegas I found myself high on meth and standing outside a cockfight. I lost virtually all my money on a brown speckled bastard who had less fight in him than an Amish minister on Quaaludes. As I am watching my soon to be stew meat friend get his eyes plucked out by a bird that looked strangely like Mathew Modine I couldn’t fight the sensation that chewing on my bottom lip wasn’t going to fill me up. When I was a kid, six or seven, one good hard pull of meth and I wouldn’t eat for two days. Nowadays no one has any pride. No one stands behind a product. I walked down the street cursing the world and wondering what they were teaching kids in schools these days. I remember like it was yesterday my 4th grade teacher Mr. Huddsfupple telling me, “Rex, never step too hard on your product, it’s bad for business.” Two weeks later the FBI arrested him in the parking lot and I was forced to watch sob like a little girl who lost her doll. Sadly, that pathetic display made me forget his words of wisdom.
With my head pounding, my cash low and my stomach growling I was having a hard time embracing the horror. Flash bang images of dead birds and greedy bastards smiling as they took my money said something in Flemish I didn’t understand I made myself a vow…never…ever…go to a Nordic Cockfight again. God damn you Flemish bastards! God damn you to hell, I screamed out loud without realizing it. I heard someone yell to keep it down. I clinched my fist and looked up to see the person who was about to get a good old thrashing like we did when I was a kid in Nepal. Those Buddhists really had a tenancy to ask for it. Prepared to kick some ass I noticed that no one was standing near me…then it hit me…I was the one who yelled to keep it down. All I could see was some couple crossing the street against traffic their mouths agape. Fucking tourists. This is Vegas I screamed and for good measure, I laughed maniacally. They looked scared. Their lesson learned; never leave the Strip if you aren’t prepared for what Las Vegas really is all about.
Suddenly the smell hit me. It wasn’t all that beef stew looking shit those Flemish fucks were jamming down their pasty white gullets…no…this was real food…street food…and most importantly cheap food. I dug through my pocket and found two small bags (don’t ask), some cock feathers and a recipe for Springerle, and I can’t stand anise. Finally, under my lucky yoyo and a small picture of Eudora Welty I found a ten dollar bills. Those Flemish pricks didn’t get all my money. I looked towards the smell and saw the sign that changed my life…Aye Jose’s Tacos. I wandered inside to this small nondescript square white building and shakily approached the counter. The man behind the counter looked strangely like a mix between Enrico Fermi and a dude that once sold me the best bag of weed ever. He asked me how I was doing. Twenty four minutes later he asked what I wanted to order. I told him I needed two carnitas taco and a lamb chimicanga. Do you want anything to drink he asked? I laughed. Do I look like I need more to drink? No, he responded. No you don’t. He was right.
I sat down at a booth in the small and simply decorated but clean dining area. About 5 minutes later my food was ready. I sauntered up to the counter, trust me it was a saunter, and looked down at my plate. It was a thing of beauty. Something that stops the heat, freezes the mind and causes uncontrollable drooling. The chimichanga was a beautiful golden brown with a representation of the colors of Mexico with sour cream, Salsa Verde and red sauce on top. Not too much, just enough to please the eye and add taste. He asked if I wanted red or green sauce. I told him I want the red, because all of us who have spent time in the great southwest (4 years in an undisclosed New Mexico state facility) know is the mark of a true Mexican restaurant. The tacos used thin corn tortillas and had the delicious fried pork with diced onions and Salsa Verde. I walked back to the booth and sat down. It took me 8 amazing bites of my food to realize that I had inadvertently sat down at a table with 2 Mexican Mafia members and a hooker with a severe cough. I stared at them blankly and got up. They were confused. I sat back down at my table and continued my meal.
The chimichanga was cooked perfectly and filled with tender meat in a thin red spicy sauce. The outside was crispy and the tortillas were light and airy. The oil had only made the tortilla lighter and more delicate. It wasn’t heavy and greasy like anything you find at some chain restaurant in a shopping center. This was the way it was supposed to be. This was the chimichanga Holy Grail. I only say that because for about 5 minutes I saw the Virgin Mary. Nice chick. The delicate crispy outside was filled with tender lamb and the sauce was deep and flavorful. The Mexican flag of flavor on top added the moistness and coolness needed in each bite. Two thirds of the way through I finally got to the red sauce and I have made an important decision about my future. Much like the pharaohs of Egypt were buried with their prized possessions in case they can used them in the afterworld, I want to have my coffin filled to the brim with this red sauce. Mom and Dad, I know you disowned me after that incident we dare not speak of…by the way…it was a nice donkey and I loved her you close minded bastards…if you ever loved me don’t interfere with this wish. This red sauce had a richness and depth of flavor that you will never find in the supermarket. The hallmarks of tradition, long slow cooking, and years and years of perfecting this recipe is found in every single molecule.
I finished every bite, drank the sauce like water and liked the plate until holed formed in the paper. I cursed those Flemish fucks for taking my money because if not for them I would have bought 13 more and satin an alley eating until my stomach exploded. My anguish was momentarily subsided when I looked down and saw those two beautiful carnitas tacos. When I picked up the first one I could feel the authentic homemade corn tortilla in my hand. It was perfect. It was light but dense, and the tortilla held together well. I bit into it and I immediately passed out. I came through a few minutes later and my picture of Eudora was gone but the tacos remained. I wiped the tears from my eyes and ate both tacos in under 30 seconds. The strong but delicate corn taste worked perfectly with the perfectly cooked carnitas. The pork was rich, juicy and incredibly tender. Not once did the meat have a hint of toughness and I easily bit through it despite having my two front teeth knocked out in a chain fight with two Mormon kids. The onions were soft and the salsa added was subtle and added a cilantro flavor that complimented the meat. The overwhelming taste dropped me to my knees and I sobbed uncontrollably. I was asked to leave. Fine I said, I have two horse tranquilizers in my car and a fist full of change…I’ll be back I warned.
Over the next few days of my southwest court mandated restoration tour I ate there five more times. I had four more chimichangas (flat steak, chicken, carnitas and beef) and all of them were amazing. The tortas and the bread is great, but the fillings need to be more generous. I had the rice and beans twice and the first time was great, the second time the beans had no flavor at all. I tried the tacos two more times and the flat steak was good, but the chicken needed more seasoning.
All and all for a meal under ten bucks you can get a burrito/chimichanga with rice, beans, and two tacos. A gargantuan meal for the price. The quality is terrific. The people are wonderful. The desire to have you as a repeat customer is evident…just as long as you don’t have a knife fight over a game of dice in the alleyway. They are very touchy about that.
