Food to cry for

Usually those guys who walk around restaurants with a violin or an accordion are dreadful. You try not to make eye contact. If they do head toward your table, you hide behind your menu. The two or three minutes they invade your quiet little meal seems like an eternity—ah, relativity.

The opposite happens when you dine at Murrieta’s Mexican Restaurant & Cantina. Carlos Campos, a true mariachi, strolls from table to table, strumming his guitar. When he’s standing up close next to your table, singing something tragic—a man begging his lost love to return or a guy stating simply that saying hello to his love is as painful as saying goodbye—your own life disappears.

Your heart breaks from the melody and his sincerity, and it doesn’t matter if you don’t understand a word of Spanish. You just understand.

When we dined at Murrieta’s, the only semi-tragedy we encountered was that Carlos was not working that night. So we made do as best we could and ate their always-delicious food.

Last night we ordered a bowl of muy fabuloso fresh guacamole ($3.95) to accompany their homemade chips (not made from any stinking el machino) and wonderful pico de gallo and fire-hot salsas.

We decided to split carne asada and garlic shrimp ($15.95) from the platos especiales con arroz y frijoles list. We told our server, Tony, that we’d be sharing the dish. He served it on a big silver platter. The carne asada came topped with whole grilled onion and tomato slices. The shrimp were succulent and garlicky.

We usually order a couple of entrées, but we got the hot idea to order a bunch of platos mexicanos as side dishes (also available as combos). We had some big decisions to make. First, the type of plato: tacos, enchiladas, tostadas or pambosas. Then, the meat: carnitas, chorizo, beef tongue, carne asada, adobada (spicy pork) or tripas (bovine stomach lining).

We chose a chorizo pambosa ($2.50), an adobada taco ($2.25) and a carnitas tostada ($3.25), all of which were fantastic in different ways.

Michael and I eat at Murrieta’s frequently, and each time we explore the menu, we are thrilled at our discoveries, including the time I tried birria (goat)!

Between bites, Michael said, “This is the most authentic Mexican-gringo joint in town. All us gringos eat here, but it’s the real stuff.”

The flan we had for dessert came with whipped cream dollops and multi-colored confetti sprinkles. Michael wasn’t able to take more than a few bites. The whole thing reminded him of a traumatic incident he had involving a clown named Chuckles.

Speaking of parties, Carlos Campos might just be available for yours. Go check him out. There’s plenty of space for a party right at Murrieta’s. If your group is cozy, sit in the oversized wooden booths. There’s a bar and a private party room in addition to the central restaurant area, which has an atrium-like ceiling with exposed rafters. Be sure to toss a penny in the wishing well inside the door. Wish for better luck for all those poor guys Carlos sings about.