Having spent 15 years in San Antonio, I should have known
better than to purchase and consume a “Mexican food microwave dinner.” However,
as is sometimes the case, my strange tastes led me into dangerous waters and I
attempted to eat this for lunch today.
The first thing that is to be noticed is the cover picture
on the box. The enchiladas, rice and beans look as though they have been
arranged by Abuelita herself, lovingly, diligently, and with just the right
touch of sass in Espanol. But upon opening the package, the customer is met
with a disturbing sight: the hard and excellent work of Abuelita is gone, and it
has been replaced with the quick work of what appears to be an elementary
school cafeteria worker, cigarette dangling from her lips as she snarls
directions to the frightened children. Apparently, she has run over the enchiladas
with her Honda Accord first, then dumped them unceremoniously into the black
cauldron that passes for a plate. She has separated the rice and beans—a major
faux pas that is simply unforgivable—and has sealed everything with the
familiar plastic lid of doom. The rice is congealed and caked together like a
gelatinous pudding of rice-shaped shards of cardboard. The beans are only “beans”
in the academic sense, having begun their origin story during the actual rebellion
of Pancho Villa.
The directions state that the plastic film is to be left on
while you microwave this masterpiece at 4-4.5 minutes. In my experience, the
rest of the world employs microwaves for the sole purpose of making food mildly
warm on the outside and frozen solid on the inside—so I always opt for the
higher number. This decision resulted in a bean-like lava that oozed underneath
the cardboard-tasting tube that called itself an enchilada. The plate was
impossible to touch, yet the food remained startlingly lukewarm, other than the
bean-lava, which vaporized the plate in a Pompei-esque coating of hell.
This “Mexican microwave dinner” is an abomination in the
sight of God—and Mexicans, and anyone who appreciates food. I cannot understand
how the manufacturers of this product continue to stay in business, but
apparently there are a lot of people who cavalierly buy this execrable excuse
for a lunch.
I regret to confess that, for this one moment in time, I was
one such jackwagon. May this Yelp review wave off any over-exuberant baserunners
who are thinking of rounding the third base of hunger toward the force-out of
food poisoning at home plate. You’re welcome.
