The Quest for the Ultimate Fajita
The Pancho's Experience

"Ai-Yai-Yai!". The photo of Freddy Fender, "the king of Tex-Mex", was captioned with this announcement. What they failed to point out is "Ai-Yai-Yai!" must be the approximate equivalent to "Oy Vey!", or less politely, What the #&@* was that?!?! The fact that Freddy would not add a positive or negative comment in English should say it all. And I know he speaks the language! I remember, "I'll be there before the next teardrop falls." Big song. Okay... I lied. It was bigish in Dallas, circa Urban Cowboy. Then again, so were mechanical bulls.

There are times when the words of my mom ring clear. "If you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all." Boy, wouldn't that make for fun reading. I love you, mom, but I have to do what I have to do.

This is where we get back to the food. (Cue the sound effects.) The Pancho's concept is simple. Line up like lemmings ready to take the gold in the vertical long jump until your turn to request whatever simulated food substance catches your eye. I order by color there. "Yeah. Two of those red thingies, and do you have some more of that yellow stuff coming up soon?"

Now, the fajitas were available as part of the buffet the day I went. Thank goodness for small miracles that I didn't have to pay extra. At the end of the serving line were the tortillas. Two to a foil wrapped package. Cute. If you can't eat them, you can use them on your TV antenna. Really, who only uses two tortillas for a fajita meal? We need huge, manhole cover sized tortillas, an inch thick, with those wing thingies you see on commercials to keep your fajita accessory pack from staining the shirt. (Brusk, wolverine-in-your-ego grunting noises here)

The chicken substance can best be described as "I can't believe it's not butter!" If it were on Bo Pilgrim's farm, it would have to be put out of the other chickens' misery. The beef was reminiscent of a burnt sienna crayon. Waxy and flavorless. The cow that died for that experience is also having trouble passing it's hide off as imitation vinyl. Both meats were watery, cold, and just meaty enough to qualify as bland. Point of order. Marinating in ice is not recommended. Mmm.

The redeeming quality, the sour cream and cheese, or, the white and orange stuff, as the case was, seemed to have just enough filler material to keep me from being hungry enough to try any more than I did. All I can say is "Thank God for MSG".

Overall, this was an experience which would give people shell shock. If this had been a first fajita experience, it would have turned lesser men to Jell-o at the sound of the word fajita, but, true believers, I am willing to risk life and limb to make good on my promise to find Paradise wrapped in flour. If I have saved one person from making the same mistake, I have saved a life.

Back to the shell
Return to The FajitaQuest

Questions or comments? e-mail ptyrtl@oocities.com

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