Margarita Debacle

Behold, the receipt. Click to enlarge.

So on Friday night, I went to La Palapa for Mexican food in the East Village. Normally the food is mediocre there, there's too much print on the menu and the margaritas are sour and very sub-par. I eat there because it seems vaguely upscale for area, and it is only natural that I want to surround myself with the trappings of wealth at all times.

Anyway, so we were sitting at the table and I order a pomegranate margarita on the rocks in an attempt to counteract the tartness of the margarita, and L.G. orders a strawberry frozen margarita, because I warned him about the garbage margarita situation and the necessity of counteracting it with fruit. So we get our drinks and mine is palatable, whereas his is literally undrinkable, like someone dumped ten vats of lime juice and a dash of tequila that had been fermenting in a barrel of smoked mozzarella cheese. So we call the waiter over, send the frozen margarita back, and L.G. order the same drink I have. The waiter brings the drink and waits for him to taste it, which he does and then scrunches up his face like someone has just squirted a lemon in his eye, and tells me to taste it, so I do and it tastes like total shit.

I then explain to the waiter that it's a well known fact in this town that the margaritas at La Palapa are shitty. They're too sour to drink and taste like lead. People come for the ambiance, but if they want crazy margaritas, they go next door to Paquitos or they go to my favorite haunt, El Nuevo Amanecer where you drink one margarita and you're crawling home. The waiter laughs and agrees with me that the margaritas are better elsewhere and snaps up L.G.'s drink. He comes back about a minute later with a replacement one. "How's that, not too shitty?" he asks, and waits for L.G. to drink and react. L.G. agrees that is indeed less shitty of a drink then the waiter says it's because they always put too much lime in, so he had to watch and direct the bartender to knock it off with the lime.

We enjoy the rest of our meal, and I comment to L.G. that I hope that the waiter wasn't just humoring me and then secretly spitting in my quesedilla. We then get the hilarious check, which I urge you to click on above. I am now a customer for LIFE.