We were on the hunt.
Jake and I just met up with a few of our friends and were looking for somewhere to have dinner. We began mentally ticking down the restaurants we’ve dined in, which were mostly Italian and Japanese. We were looking out for something we haven’t tried before.
That was when we spotted Mexicali.
Mexicali did not have any customers when we passed by. And that was a welcome sight because the mall was holding an otaku convention and there were more people than usual. So we thought, “Why not?”
One waitress got our order. The food was served by a waiter. And after the token pictures, we were ready to dig in. But I never got far with mine. The chicken burrito tasted really flat. I think they confused a toy as real meat and that was what ended up in the burrito. As for the vegetables, it’s like they were left under the sun for too long that their entire flavor was seared out of them. So I tried the nachos. It was crunchy alright. But week-old biscuits had more kick in them than those. And the salsa? It couldn’t make the dead dance. And I don’t think zombies would touch even with a 10-foot pole.
Something saved the dinner from being a total disaster: the vegetable quesadilla and the butterscotch pie. They were passable enough—more than the others—but, sadly, not memorable to stand out.
And, no, I wasn’t the only one complaining about it. Another customer, a woman who sat three tables away from us, also complained how awful the food tasted. She was more vocal than the two of us. Guess that’s why I pitied the crew. But only for so long because, whenever I saw what we ordered, I could only empathize with the other customer.
One week after that experience, we tried Army Navy. And that was a better burrito experience!
It may have been years now since we ate at Mexicali but—after such a meal—it’s going to take a lot to change my mind about eating there. You could heap praises on their food. You could give it to me for free. But I’d still decline. I will always decline.