It’s weird the way places stick with you.
My favorite restaurant is probably Juan’s Flying Burrito in New Orleans. I’ve been there probably four or five times, and I’m absolutely sure they have the best nachos of anywhere–my favorite comes with jerk chicken, pineapple salsa, and black beans, among other bits of deliciousness. I can eat the whole thing, though afterwards I am filled with chagrin, both because it’s a ton of food and because now it is all gone.
The first few times I went with a dear friend. I’ve been once on a date (with the same friend, though that ended up being a bad idea on both ends), and last night I went with my cousin before a concert.
I have kind of a weird relationship with my family, though, and all I could think was how much I wished they served jerked nachos anywhere else so we could have gone there instead.
I don’t know. It’s a lesson about what you are willing to keep even when it makes you feel weird to do so, I guess. I’ve always been weirdly emotional about kind of all the wrong things, but I don’t mind.
Really the solution is to buy myself some jerk spice and make my own damn nachos.