Disappointed with a Capital D

I've lived in New Mexico, and I've lived in Texas. Combined with a lifelong love for all things cheesy and greasy, I would consider myself well-versed in Mexican food fare.

Inspired by this post, written by my dear friend, Julie, I decided tonight sounded like a good night for some Mexican food. Since Noni and Poppy left this morning after two weeks of pure, unadulterated spoiling of us, we couldn't bear the thought of cooking in the kitchen because nothing would be anywhere near as delicious as what we've been consuming the past 14 or so days. Plus, we were tired from our first day back on our own.

Danny suggested that we go to this mainstream place near Old Town Alexandria, but I didn't like it much the last time we ate there. I prefer the hole-in-the-wall kind of Mexican place. One with sombreros hanging from the ceiling and a whole lot of character in the form of bad music and mismatched decor. That, and the mainstream place was going to require quite a trek and treks with hungry kids are not on my "favorite things to do" list. So, I suggested a restaurant we'd recently seen near the Harris Teeter, which is only about three miles from our house. That was a winner.

We found a great parking place, unloaded the children, and headed for the door of La Casa. Now, I never took a lick of Spanish in my life, but I know that La Casa is Spanish for "the house."

Genius, right?

I was so excited that I could almost taste the chips and salsa on my lips and smell the greasy beef through my nose. Truly, my mouth was watering more and more with every step towards the door.

I shouldn't have wasted the sensory overload.

As we approached the door, Danny said, "This isn't a Mexican place. It's Italian."

"No, it's not. It's called La Casa. That's not the name of an Italian place, " I said. "It's totally Mexican."

Then, I saw it. The neon slice of pizza hanging on the wall alongside the display of "Slice Specials."

You've got to be freakin' kidding me.

Not only was La Casa a pizza joint, they also prided themselves on the Greek foods they served.

Hmmmm. Italian and Greek. In a place called La Casa. I. don't. think. so.

Luckily, a quick glance to the right yielded a last resort option since reloading the car in search of another Mexican place was out of the question.

Chipotle.

Please don't get me started on my dissertation about why Chipotle is disgusting. In this situation, it was like finding water in the desert.

Long story short, my desire for authentic Mexican cuisine in a not-so-mainstream kind of joint was completely denied. La Casa did not deliver. At all.

Although, if you're nice, they might deliver you a slice. Or two. Or a gyro. Whichever.