Brain food

Ungh … ungh … brains … ungh … brains … mmnn …

We begin tonight’s ghastly tale of horror at a desolate and seemingly inhospitable shopping center south of the Moana border. A milky black gloom loomed over the many abandoned shops as fidgety merchants peeked out from behind dead-bolted doors and the wind and freeway howled in the distance as if to portend some coming tempest. And I myself was feeling somewhat rather … undead.

I had with me three helpful Gypsy Zombie Wranglers who were luring me along in hopes of finding the sole culinary item that could satisfy my ghastly cravings. We had come a very long way and I was feeling restless and hungry and partially decayed. I had only one thing on my mind: brains.

We stood frozen before Antojitos Mexican Restaurant. The door creaked open. The room was well lit and well populated. And against the back wall there sat the largest television set that a mind can conceive of. It was approximately the size of two Volkswagen buses laid one on top of the other. From out of this unwieldy box came a torrential flow of sounds that my Gypsy friends informed me was a language called “Spanish.” This strange language was also being spoken by the majority of the customers. Our waiter was quite friendly and able to speak in both Spanish and the normal way of talking to which I am accustomed.

The menu was also in both Spanish and Normal-speak and I was pleased to notice that the combination plates, which include an entrée and rice and beans, were only $4—which is cheap even by the notoriously stingy standards of the waking dead.

The Gypsies told me that if I asked for my enchiladas to come with “sesos,” I would be fed That Which Needs to be Devoured. Unfortunately, I misheard them and asked that my enchiladas be stuffed with “pesos,” which is apparently some form of Mexican currency. This created a brief period of intense confusion, but the matter was quickly clarified.

When the food was served, my instinct was to gnaw straight through the skin-like corn tortilla and begin slurping up the brains the way an anteater takes to an anthill. However, the Gypsies made me use a fork and knife, which I found to be difficult at first, but soon proved to make the meal more enjoyable as I was able to relish the flavor more. “Ah,” I thought as I ran my tongue along the convex contours of the meat, “This is the stuff that memories are made of.”

For most dishes, categorizing the flavor is a matter of black and white—but with brains, it’s more of a gray matter. They were squishy and spongy and somewhat bouncy—like a meat version of marshmallows. After devouring all three of my enchiladas, I felt a little bit uneasy, but I think that it was just psychological.

My traveling companions all assured me that their dishes were also "really good." The beans and rice were quite tasty and the guacamole was a special standout. The service was efficient and friendly and a grand time was had by all, the living and the unliving. You can tell that a lot of thought goes into the food at Antojitos.