Chicken Wings (with Ancho-ajo Chimichurri), Pork Tacos, and White Sangria
Well, I take back some of what I said on the previous post. Pacifico really only trumps Alma in terms of cheapatude and boozinations. Both of which are, of course, high on my list. Nevertheless, it’s a very similar restaurant. Though we were distracted by swarms of straight people and their spawn during our approach to the always ambiguous spot where you are shepherded to your table, the ambiance was still superior. Sure, a run down pickup truck was hanging out in the empty lot next door. And sure, maybe one day we’ll eat at Trout…dyah I mean Cafe Bueno…dyah I mean whatever the hell the place on the corner will be called when it fails again, as it inevitably will. But that’s not the point. You go to Pacifico to drink ridiculously cheap and boozy sangria and tacos. I wasn’t really all that impressed with my pork tacos, but memories of superior mushroom quesadillas are swaying my opinion at this moment. On the other hand, a woman did almost fall onto the giant Kronenburg umbrella tenuously blocking out the night’s rain. We almost died. You get what you pay for.