Cultural Honesty

He swung the door open like a gentleman, leaving room for me to slide in front of his body into the restaurant. As I walked in, all action stopped for a split second. The two older weathered men looked up quizzically and the large family at one end stopped in mid-chatter. The man behind the bar was wiping down a glass with a rag and he tilted his head.

I felt like the cowboy walking into the Mexican bar. It was actually a seafood restaurant.

GS told me it was pretty much a replica of the same restaurant of the city across the border. As only Spanish floated into my ears, he ordered accordingly.  I didn’t even need to cross to get the authentic experience – terribly convenient. I opened the menu and burst out in laughter.

The description for a salad: “a kind of fresh”. An appetizer was advertised as “tastely hot”. I appreciate that type of honesty.

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