Who’s Going to Make My Chimichanga?

Mango’s Mexican Café
44 West Main St.
Mesa, AZ





Who’s gonna build your wall, boys?
Who’s gonna mow your lawn?

Who’s gonna to cook your Mexican food

When your Mexican maid is gone?

        -- Tom Russell, “Who's Gonna Build Your Wall”


If Suit757 and leftist songwriter (as if there is any other kind) Tom Russell ever met up in some back alley honky tonk bar, we’d probably agree on very little.

But his questions are good ones.

So who exactly is going to do all the work that needs to be done around here?

On my latest trip to the Grand Canyon State, I thought that’s a question Arizonans might want to contemplate in the wake of their famous attempt to step into the breech vacated by the federal government’s unwillingness to enforce our southern border.

As always, whether it is the war on illegal drugs or on illegal immigration, our government irrationally focuses on stemming supply rather than demand. Supply always follows demand.

Always. That’s Econ 101.

Last time I checked, no government has successfully repealed the law of supply and demand (although many have tried).

The problem with illegal immigration is our welfare state.

Nearly 40% of legal American citizens do not work for a living. And guess what? They aren’t exactly starving in the streets either.

Fifty million collecting ninety-nine weeks of unemployment checks. Fifty million on Food stamps (now redeemable at Whole Foods!). Eight million on SSDI. Subsidized housing. “Free” healthcare. “Free” cell phones. And on and on.

Who’s going to mow lawns, wash dishes and pluck chicken feathers? For seven bucks an hour?

No one -- if their President is paying them ten bucks an hour NOT to work. (For whom do you suppose these naturalized American looters will be voting next year?)

In contrast, Mexicans only get paid when they work. (They’re not eligible to vote. Yet.)

And thanks to all those Obama voters sitting around their taxpayer-subsidized trailers waiting for Election Day, there’s plenty of work to be done.

As my mother once told me, those dishes aren’t going to wash themselves.

I guess what I’m saying is, I don’t have a problem with Mexicans. I don’t have a problem with anybody willing to work for a living.

The ones I have a problem with are those who think they can live off the hard work of others.

Sure, Arizona and every other state has the right to control its border, but as long as there are lawns to be mowed and Mexican food to be made, I say the more workers, the merrier!

When you dine at a Mexican restaurant in Arizona, you can’t help but think about the controversial issue of illegal immigration.

Maybe I go a little “soft” on illegals because I like good food. And Mexicans make some of the best food on the planet.

Legal or not, I’m just glad someone in Mango’s kitchen makes such a darn good chimichanga.

About as far removed from the border wars you can get, Mango’s is a tidy little store front on Main Street in the well scrubbed white bread Mormon enclave of Mesa.

Mango’s has a little outdoor seating area on the sidewalk, but you’d have to be one hell of a nicotine addict to choose to sit out there in today’s 108 degree heat.

I grabbed a small table against the wall in the air conditioning. And waited.

I thought I was being ignored until I realized how it works here.

Go to the bar, place your order, pay up and take a number card.

Within seconds, I had a basket of chips and thin but zesty homemade salsa.

Within minutes, my chimichanga arrived, looking like a work of art, topped with homemade guacamole and fresh sour cream and a few jalapeño slices, just to liven things up a bit. Beautifully plated with rice and refried beans topped with melted cheese, my chimichanga looked almost too good to eat.

Almost.

As soon as I punctured its crispy tortilla shell with my fork, a massive amount of shredded beef and diced onions and tomatoes poured out. No filler. Just an overly generous quantity of marinated, shredded dead cow.

Chimichanga is translated roughly “thingamajig” in Mexican. It’s basically a burrito that is deep fried.

Do I even need to bother to explain why that is advantageous?

The result is a crispy, rather than soft meat-filled tortilla.

I didn’t need to eat again for another 30 hours.

Yep. Arizona may be trying to get rid of their Mexicans. But Mango’s here in Mesa is reason enough to keep a few of them around.

Rating: Seriously Thought About Buying Shirt.