Ensenada TaCoMa, Part 1

Because I have been known to get too wordy (yes, it's true), I have decided to try to pare down my posts to the very best information split them into multiple posts, so I don't overwhelm your brains.  You're welcome.

Now that I have been blogging for almost a full year, Sky King is pretty much used to his antics being fodder for me and my adoring fans.  Each time something remarkable, embarrassing or funny happens, he says, "You're totally blogging this, huh?".  To which I go, "No!  I mean, yes."  I used to have to repeat his stories over and over (which is actually not bad, because they keep getting better), but now all I need to do is type them up for all the world to enjoy.  You're welcome, world.

Today, I get to tell you about part 1 of the Great Taco Adventure of 2012.  Which turned into the Great TaCoMa of 2012.

A bit of background:
Sky King loves Mexican food.  As in, "leave-me-for-a-70-year-old-lady-that-speaks-no-English" LOVES. Every time I see a squat little abeula with orthopedic shoes, I swear Sky King begins to drool.  Which makes me want to kick those bitches' asses.  But I digress.

So, we just got back from a mid-week cruise to Ensenada.  Which to Sky King meant, "Let's find the best Mexican food in Mexico".  After I shopped for crap I didn't need and picked up souvenirs for the kids (another weird story), it was time for the Taco Test.

We had eaten lunch at Papas and Beer, an Ensenada staple.  Which sucks at lunchtime (Apparently this is not unusual--the heyday for this place has long since expired).  Unless you like drinks that are watered down.  Then, Papas and Beer is the shit-you can rehydrate with their margaritas.  So the only option is beer, or shots. And since my days of dancing on tables is over, Papas and Beer was a bit of a bust.

It was okay, as far as food goes.  But Sky King wanted Mexican.  Mexican. I mean, the nachos were made by Mexicans, but that was about it.  It was the equivalent of Mexicans making your sushi--that inauthentic. Sky King sat in the corner, muttering things like, "this is total bullshit" and, "I bet those guys aren't even Mexican", and "they call those nachos?!?!?". It was sad. I was thirsty and needed uncontaminated water to take my pills, so I chugged a few margaritas while Sky King threw back some shitty Coronas.  "They don't even have Negro Modelo, this place sucks" I think is what he carved into the bathroom stall wall.

This entire culinary catastrophe left Sky King sad--as in, sit-with-arms-folded,-pouting-because-he-looked-forward-to-the-tacos-for-months sad.  He did not get his taco fix.

We wandered down the street, looking for redemption.  We haggled for a shark jaw for Princess (what she asked for, I swear) and searched in vain for some strange gum for Monkey Boy (NOT chiclets, which we could have gotten for $1 per pound).  This was NOT shaping up to be a good day for Sky King.

Then, we spied a bunch of people having fun at an outside cantina.  There was a girl doing a beer bong on the patio, with the pourer working from the second floor.  This place might be okay.

We succumbed to some better margaritas and some excellent made-on-the-spot guacamole, but Sky King's taco cravings were achieving def-con 37.  After enduring his emphatic anti-tourist-y hellhole overly-dramatic sighs, I sent him down the road with a $5 bill to a street taco stand. (Yes, a street vendor, in Mexico.  No, he didn't die-this man has a stomach made of kryptonite.) He came back with three dollar tacos and a big grin. :::cue snarf, gobble, shovel:::

After this, we were all too full and too drunk to comprehend more food.  We schlepped down the street, with Sky King leading the way, still grumbing things like, "this is NOT over, stupid Ensenada" and "I didn't come all this way for tourist shit".  I did not realize how very serious he was, until we got back to the ship.

We flagged down a cab to take us back to our home, as my Dad had had an unfortunate incident with an overly tall step. And some tequila.  And a couple errant chairs.  And a poor unsuspecting family that felt bad for the older gentleman that couldn't seem to navigate walking well.  Little did they know, we had gotten my dad trashed. It didn't help that pretty much every store had a "buy-a-cheap-piece-of-shit-and-get-a-shot-of-tequila-complete-with-a-community-glass, and my dad was more than willing to take my shots for me.  And my Mom's.

This led to a trip to the ship medic.  Bernie Kopell patched him up with a large bandage (okay, 3) and a healthy dose of antibiotic ointment.  Then it was Nap City for the parents.  Getting shitty with the kids takes a lot out of you, ya know?

We went back to the ship to chill for a bit.  Then, Sky King's taco level got dangerously low.  He proposed a Taco Adventure.  I agreed, as I knew it would give him immeasurable joy, and I'm all about being super awesome like that.

We got onto the shuttle that takes Gringos to SuckerTown. But instead of falling for that trap, we said, "take us to where the people that live here eat".  He looked at us like, "great---a couple stupid tourists that think they know Mexican food. My job keeps getting better." But then, something in Sky King's eyes told this guy he meant business.  Mexican food is serious business to Sky King. So he chose to relent, and he drove far far away from the safety of tourists, policia, and English-speaking witnesses. We pulled up to a pink stucco lean-to.  Cerrado.  Shit.

To be continued...