Last night I was out celebrating the birthday of my dear friend Paddy. Despite having a super evening, I woke up this morning with my mind made up. I hate Mexican food.

Considering that most of our evening was centred around a Mexican meal, it’s a miracle I had such a good time. But as I sat in our mock ‘Cancun’ restaurant and stared at the tediously long menu, it struck me that every Mexican dish is exactly the same. Whether you opt for a burrito, a tortilla or even a chimichanga you’ll be faced with the same greasy dish and it will almost certainly be laden with melted cheese.

Underwhelmed by the prospect of bland black beans and oily chicken, I decided to spice things up and opted for the extra hot  chilli. What an error that was. I spent the majority of the evening panting in a corner, with my mouth literally on fire. Not even a chilled Corona could soothe the burn.

So to sum up – Mexican food is either deadly dull or deathly hot. And I don’t like it.

Image credit: Flikr

After a bit of reflection, I’ve located the source of my violent hatred for Mexican food. It all comes down to my stint as a ‘serveuse’ in a Tex-Mex restaurant in Paris. Although I had intended to work in a quintessentially Parisian cafe, I ended up serving cheesy nachos in soulless American chain. It wasn’t quite the Amelie dream. And it was at Cafe Indiana that my Mexican grudge began.

It’s common knowledge that French kitchens aren’t the most hygienic of places but Cafe Indiana pushed the definition of hygiene to new heights. In addition to the infestation of cockroaches, Cafe Indiana had a serious problem with rodents. It was on more than one occasion that I saw a long tailed rat scuttle through our kitchen, and it seemed that mice used the restaurant as a breeding ground. Whenever a paying customer saw a mouse (which was fairly frequently) we were told to shut them up with a free coffee. Needless to say, we lost clientele on a daily basis.

So it was in this filthy environment that I became familiar with the ins and outs of Mexican food. Is it really a surprise that I hate it so much? And two years down the line, no amount of Corona or Tequila will change my mind. Lo siento, but nothing compares to a German sausage.

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