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Last time I checked, no government has successfully repealed the law of supply and demand (although many have tried).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

Assaulting the Senses in San Antone’

Mi Tierra Café
218 Produce Row
San Antonio, TX
Visited October 21, 2010

Beer selection: Excellent variety of Mexican beers.

Food: Top notch Mexican cuisine.



Part of the fun of this “Suits” gig is discovering those little hole-in-the-wall, out-of-the-way dives off the radar of most travelers.

Mi Tierra Café is NOT one of those places.

Mobbed with tourists and locals alike at literally any hour around the clock, dinning at Mi Tierra is an event – an obligatory experience for anyone who steps foot in San Antonio.

I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve dined here. In fact, if it weren’t for the pictures, I might not have memories of some of those 3am post-Fiesta enchiladas I’ve enjoyed over the years.

That’s the kind of place this is -- no one feels the least bit bashful about pulling out the camera during a Mi Tierra celebration.

Heck, even Lyle Lovett sings about capping off a fun-filled night in the Mission City at Mi Tierra with his “San Antonio Girl” and a Polaroid camera.

A sprawling San Antonio landmark for 70 years that brags in bright neon “We Never Close”, Mi Tierra’s is loud, brash, ostentatious, over-the-top. An assault on the senses. And more fun than watching Salma Hayek lose a water balloon fight.

The armies of friendly waitresses are all dolled up in big poufy dresses the color of the Mexican flag. Huge brightly-colored murals of Mexicans famous and provincial cover every wall. Strolling Mariachi musicians troll for romantic couples and fun-loving groups willing to exchange five bucks for a song.

It’s just not physically possible to leave this place in a bad mood.

Of course, the giant margaritas and large selection of Mexican beers might have something to do with that too.

But, alas, this was a work day for Suit757.

Alone in a sea of frivolity, wearing a suit, drinking San Antonio tap water. And I still left in a good mood.

The fact that amid all the Christmas lights and vivid decorations, Mi Tierra’s serves outstanding Mexican cuisine certainly helps.

My Enchiladas Nortenas was the Thursday lunch special. Six bucks for enough food to last me another 19 hours before my next meal.

Of course, like every good Mexican restaurant, a meal at Mi Tierra’s is preceded by chips and salsa. But unlike your local corner order-by-numbers Mexican joint, Mi Tierra’s homemade salsa kicks your taste buds. Spicy and downright addictive.

The enchiladas were stuffed with shredded beef and topped with an avalanche of delicious Mexican sauce, melted Monterrey Jack cheese and fried potatoes. The plate was filled out with refried beans and rice.

Definitely one of the best enchiladas I’ve ever had. Like everything else about Mi Tierra’s, everything on my plate was at least a notch above the ordinary.

Of course it is literally impossible to dine at Mi Tierra’s without marveling at the 40 foot long display case of desserts and baked goods. You have to walk right by it coming and going. Tourists are snapping pictures of the pralines, sweet breads and empanadas like paparazzi on Wilshire Boulevard.

A praline or two is absolutely obligatory.

The Food Network once did an entire segment on the making of Mi Tierra’s famous pecan treats. Apparently, pumpkin is the secret ingredient.

Along with lots and lots of sugar. These pralines are so sweet, it feels like the sugar is going to melt right into your teeth.

While it wasn’t quite as fun as some previous 3am visits, I’m pretty sure I savored and appreciated my enchiladas and pralines a bit more this time. Assault on my senses complete, I ventured out into the high-noon Texas sun ready to face my Suit757 day with a smile on my face.

Rating: Bought the Shirt!

Mexicans in Strange Places

Polo’s Café
1255 Overland Ave.
Burley, ID
Visited September 8, 2010

This “Suits in Strange Places” gig isn’t as easy as it looks.

It takes a lot of work. And research.

But sometimes, no matter how many places you search high and low for tips on where to eat, you just have to wing it.

Like when you’re hungry in Burley, Idaho on a Wednesday morning.

If you are just driving around a strange town looking for an interesting place to check out, there are few rules I’ve learned.

First, get away from the interstate. Burley has its share of Taco Bells, McDonalds and Denny’s to avoid out near my hotel at the I-84 exit ramp. Go downtown, if there is one.

You want to look for a place that is crowded at meal time, preferably with a gravel parking lot full of pick up trucks and police cars. That always seems like a good omen.

Old fashioned neon signs are good too.

Oh, and large statues of animals on the roof is another sure sign of quality. Especially BBQ joints.

So based on those rudimentary criteria, Polo’s Cafe didn’t look too promising.

The place was practically empty. No anatomical animal parts on the roof. And the cheap aluminum sign said American & Mexican Cafe – and it was breakfast.

But throughout the entire bustling expanse that is downtown Burley, Idaho (about one and a half blocks) Polo’s was the only place open for business.

Sometimes you just have to take a leap of faith. After all, that’s why God invented Pepto-Bismol, right?

Mexican food? For breakfast? In Idaho? At a place none of the locals seem interested in patronizing?

Such is the life of a Suit in Strange Places.

As I parked my rental car on Main St. and read the sign, I had one thing on my mind.

Huevos Rancheros. The Mexican breakfast of champions.

Now, I know in most parts of this country huevos rancheros isn’t exactly exotic.

But I live in a place where Mexicans are about as prevalent as vegans at a Ted Nugent concert.

As a matter of fact, this very morning, back home, my roof was being torn up and replaced. Not a Mexican among the crew.

If you can’t even find a Mexican to work on your roof, you’re not going to have too many huevos rancheros options either.

While I always look forward to the opportunity to sample huevos rancheros in my travels, sometime I have to admit, I find the dish a little boring.

At its simplest, huevos rancheros is just beans, eggs, cheese and salsa over a tortilla. In fact, in its purest form, it is always – God forbid – meatless.

But not Polo’s version.

This one featured a thick layer of spicy chorizo (Mexican sausage for you gringos) between the tortilla and the eggs.

Maybe I’m a little biased. I enjoy spicy food and consider myself something of a sausage connoisseur. But this had to be one of the best versions of huevos rancheros I’ve ever had.

The over-easy eggs were perfect, sprinkled with peppers, salsa and melted cheese. The beans, cheese and corn tortillas were a perfect counter-balance to the jalapeño bite of the chorizo.

Polo’s isn’t anything fancy. It’s not quirky in the least. I had the place to myself.

No, you’re not going to find Polo’s Café featured on the next segment of Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives.

But Polo’s confirmed that sometimes those little leaps of faith can pay off with something good you just can’t get back home.

Even on a Wednesday morning in downtown Burley, Idaho.

Rating: Seriously Thought About Buying Shirt.

Discovering a Mexican Diamond in the Suburban Rough

La Fogata
8090 E. Qunicy Ave.
Denver, CO
Visited August 10, 2010

Beer selection: Typical domestic and Mexican imports

Food: Better than expected Mexican dishes

Sometimes, finding a good place to eat isn’t that hard.

Look around at the folks eating there.

Typically, among the people dining at a really good Mexican restaurant will be, well, Mexicans.

Of course if you are the only gringo in the joint, that could be a good sign. (Or it could be a bad sign.)

So by those criteria, La Fogata wasn’t off to a good start.

A tidy little place with a well-flowered outdoor patio near the intersection of I-25 and I-225, this suburban cantina is as about white bread and yuppified as any Mexican restaurant since the Chi-Chi’s chain went out of business.

The only Mexicans at La Fogata were the ones cooking and serving the food.

But what do you expect in what is the vast soulless suburban hell that is south Denver?

As it turns out, you can expect some darn good authentic Mexican food.

My low expectations were exceeded right from the moment I dipped the first chip into La Fogota’s homemade salsa. Too many Mexican restaurants serve up a bland, tomatoey nothing-there kind of salsa.

Not La Fogata.

Their dark, maroon-colored salsa jumps right off the chip and says hello – a vibrant earthy burst of flavor and spice.

It turns out the salsa was a premonition of even better things to come.

My “Toquitos de Carne Adobada” were absolutely delicious, reminiscent of similar marinated pork dishes served up in Santa Fe, though not as spicy. The fork tender pork was smothered in Chorizo sausage-based bright red zesty sauce, with an extra helping of red sauce on the side to pour over the top.

Accompanied by grilled onions, lime wedges, tomatoes and a guacamole salad, it was one of the best Mexican dishes I’ve had in a while.

After I polished off my meal, my only regret was that I couldn’t sit there all afternoon plowing through every dish on the menu, complimented with an endless stream of Negra Modelas.

Alas, the jack-booted bureaucrats at Denver International Airport were waiting for me to justify their pathetic existence.

But I left with something valuable – a reason to look forward to a return trip to the strip malls and cul-de-sacs of south Denver.

Rating: Seriously Thought About Buying Shirt