Carolina's

Thursday Brian and I had an unexpected opportunity to have lunch together. He suggested a place he'd never been to before which had been recommended to him by a client. He described it as a "hole-in-the-wall" Mexican restaurant with great food. Sounded good to me!

We get there, and this is what we see:

Not only does it have a pay phone, it has a graffiti-laden pay phone.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" I ask.

"I'd like to give it a try," he says.


"Will you protect me?" I ask.


"Yes."

See how willing he looks? Notice the tin shed behind him. Uh-huh. Okay then.

Well, we get inside and it's a bit, um, basic. You could also choose the words "old" or "run-down." A word you would not use is "charming." The concrete floor was peeling and the walls were bare... save for several magazine articles in cheap frames declaring the place one of "Phoenix's Best."

Magazines or no I'm still wanting to bail out, but Brian was all for it, so I agree to stay.

The food had better be good, I thought.

We placed our order at the counter fast-food style and got a number. There were several orders ahead of us, something I took to be a good sign. By this time a good five minutes had passed and no one tried to mug me, or even glare at me, so I started to relax.
.

We went to get our drinks at the fountain. They had a station for Coke products, Pepsi products (to Brian's delight), and another for products with Spanish names I'd never seen before. Brian accidentally filled his root beer too high and some spilled on the floor. I grabbed a few napkins from a nearby table and held them out for him.

"What's that for?" he asked blankly.

"The floor."

"This floor?"

"You're right," and the napkins went back on the table.

We selected a spot and sat to wait. Several people came and went while we were there, and I'd never seen such a diversified clientele in one place before. We saw people of all colors, as you do just about anywhere in this city, and most the time we were in the minority. What was unusual, though, was the fact that we saw so many people whose appearances suggested a wide variety of backgrounds. We saw business men in shirts and ties, heavily tattooed girls, younger people dressed all in black, an elderly couple who looked like they came straight from Sun City, and men with scruffy beards and worn clothes who looked a step away from being homeless. I didn't see anyone who scared me.

Nevertheless, I wasn't too keen on drawing attention to myself. Here's a picture I furtively took from our table, flash off:

Can I be frank and say it's weird that I happened to take this picture when there were so many white folks in the house? When we first got there, we were in the minority, but most often there really wasn't a majority or minority of anything. I should've taken a few more pictures, at ten minute intervals say. That would've shown the cool variety people filtering in and out of this place.

Most importantly, here is the food:

I ordered the chimichanga. I have two words. Oh. Yum.

Brian ordered the flautas. I didn't take a picture of those, but I did take a bite and they were pretty good. Carolina's sells their freshly-made tortillas by the half-dozen, so we ordered some to take home.

The bag was comfortingly warm, and the tortillas?

Huge. My initial reaction to their taste was: "Not as good as I imagined." But they were pretty darn good, and now that we're finally out of them I'm tempted to go back for more.

So, final verdict? I'm glad we went. The food was good and, if nothing else, it was an experience. I don't think I'd ever take anyone there, but if Brian and I were in the neighborhood and felt like Mexican food, I'd be willing to stop in again.

Assuming the sun was still up.