La Tormenta Intestinal
I am just waiting.
I know it is coming, and I know there is nothing I can do about it. I guess I could attempt to check myself into the hospital as a preemptive measure, but I’m not sure they would admit me for impending food poisoning. Besides, I’m a dead man anyway.
I ate lunch today with some work buddies, Duane, Chad, and Cory. Duane suggested we eat at “A little mom-and-pop mexican place, you’ll love it.”
I have eaten in tin shacks with dirt floors while chickens ran around my ankles, I have eaten in a truck stop in Mexico with so many flies I could barely see my friend across the table. I have never been in a place like La Tormenta.
I don’t think I can really explain what it looked like, but I will try (while I still have the strength to type). The exterior looked like an abandoned garage. The interior was worse. The floor was covered in dirty plush carpet. The ceiling was covered in wood paneling with bare fluorescent tubes, about half of which were working (I wish more of them were out so I couldn’t have seen the walls or the tables).
The walls were covered in depressing paintings of tropical “paradises” framed by split bamboo. The place had apparently been a polynesian restaurant at some point. There were stains all over the walls. The dining area was filled with second-hand dining tables from the ’70s, none of them matching, and none of which had been wiped down in weeks.
The chairs were a mixture of plastic patio furniture and upholstered Salvation Army rejects on casters. A large can of Raid sat on the filthy carpet by my chair.
Besides ancient crumbs, the table had a crusty bottle of Tapatío hot sauce with no cap, and a glass dish filled with what looked to be fossilized oregano.
This was what Chad would call “eating on a dare.” I’m still not sure why we didn’t run from the place screaming.
The waitress said “hola”, every tooth framed in silver, and asked, “Quien habla Español?” I did. She rattled off a short list of dishes that I can only imagine were the leftovers in her fridge. There were no printed menus. Duane asked me to tell her that he wanted two tacos with rice and beans. I did, barely resisting the urge to say, “Él quiere dos tacos de ojo, y para beber, urina de vaca“.
The rest of us never got a chance to order. She just walked away. We sat there laughing at how insane it was to eat in a place like this. Plan a murder? Yes. Drink a bottle of tequila in the corner while watching a dog fight? Yes. Eat? No!
There was plenty of gallows humor as we waited for our food. I’m not sure how she decided we all wanted two tacos with rice and beans, but there it was. We ate nervously, but I have to concede to Duane that the food was actually very good.
Cory, who also speaks spanish, had to go find the waitress so we could pay. Cash only of course. Apparently there were no set prices. “Let’s see, you guys had tacos…. What should I charge you? How about $8?” $8 total, for four lunches. I don’t think I have ever had a $2 lunch before.
We all got up and walked out, still laughing a bit nervously, but much more optimistic about our chances of survival. That was until Chad called our attention to the soiled mattress near the entrance. How did we miss that walking in!?
Banshees, the ace of spades…never has there been a more clear sign of death than that soiled mattress in La Tormenta.
I don’t expect any of us to make it through the night.
I hope that you are not talking about that great “Taqueria La Tormenta” just off of Center Street in Provo. If so, you owe me a big apology for defaming one of my very favorite Utah establishments. Oh, the way you describe it provokes from me a reaction completely opposite to what you describe. Maybe that’s because I didn’t learn Spanish in the posh mountains of Venezuela. I don’t really see the value in matching tables or set prices, or clean chairs for that matter. Of course, there wasn’t any soiled mattress around when I used to go there. Anyway, you’re lucky that the waitress even came out to serve you. The first time I went there (with my brother, Nick) I order “dos tacos de lengua” and she tried to tell me they were out. After looking very down, she went to the back “kitchen” and returned shortly to explain that she was mistaken and that I could have what I wanted. I mean, how do you not know if you have tongue on hand or not. My friend, I would gladly trade you places on any lunch break.
It wasn’t the mismatched furniture that got me, just the incredible filthiness of the place. I admit it, the food was great. BUT A SOILED MATTRESS!?
i awoke last night from a dream I can’t quite remember screaming, “the storm is coming! The storm is coming!” And I was right. It was.
As much of an adventure as that seems to have been – there is absolutely no excuse for the 3 of you not going to Pomaire now that it is back to normal!
Shame on you.
I’ve never been south of the border. But I was so convinced that I was going to serve a mission there, that I tried my best to become a part of the large Spanish-speaking community in central Canada (where I did end up serving). Despite the number of good folks from El Salvador, Ecuador, and the likes, it is almost impossible to find a Mexican restaurant in central Canada.
When I got home, a group of friends and I started frequenting Beto’s in Orem at 3 a.m. LONG before it was cool to do so. I’m actually quite sure we were solely responsible for their decision to put a store in Provo.
But anyway, I quickly formulated a very short list of how to tell if you’re about to eat good Mexican food. It has served me very well for the past 5 years.
1- They have drinks like Horchata and Jamiaca- even if they’re not “real”
2- They have limes and cilantro- two ingredients that make or break Mexican food.
3- You have all kinds of concerns about sanitation.
So I for one am completely not surprised that the food was great. A dirty matress though? hmmm. I’ll give it some thought. Maybe my list needs revision…
I do think that Josh and Joe Penrod and I are solely responsible for Beto’s success, long before the Provo store and back when niether were married and Joe was living with my wife and I staying up until 3:00 am playing Tekken 3 and making the mandatory Beto’s runs. I have no evidence of this, and it is most likely selective memory, but I really beleive that we were the first Beto’s regulars.
Those are bold claims. I might dispute that, but I’d rather be noted as responsible for keeping the Texano Burrito on Beto’s menu simply by ordering enough to feed a small country. Those burrito’s are heaven, especially when washed down with a large Horchata.
I for one think that the soiled mattress is a sign of quality Mexican food. Much like hobos used to mark barns with symbols letting others know if they will be welcome on the property or not, the dirty mattress was probably left by your forebearers to communicate “a fine restaurant” to those in-the-know. Or “painful death.” One of those two. Good food or painful death. So which is it? Are you still with us, Josh? Josh!?
Yeah, I’ve been there. In fact, I decided once upon a time that it would become my cool little place to go, because I could get a full size burrito with pork (I think) and avocado for $1.50. Once upon a time I would stand here and scold your negativity towards Taqueria La Tormentas, but now, I bow my head, knod, and hope that you make it. It was such an adventure there. Sometimes I ordered pork, and got beef, sometimes I ordered burrito and I got two tacos, sometimes it came with a side of rice, sometimes with a lime, sometimes with nothing. There was absolutley no telling what I was going to get. It didn’t seem to matter what I paid either. Sometimes two dollars, sometimes five, sometimes she gave me change, sometimes she didn’t. There was never any telling. My fiance’s family was thinking about taking all 25 members out to dinner, and my (now wife) recommends this place even though she hadn’t ever been there. Next thing I know everyone’s piling in a huge van to Taqueria La tormenta. We all tried to order, and they just started bringing out the food, steadily for about 1 1/2 hours. The kids were dancing to Ricky Martin, and the guy came out with a question mark on his face, like, “who gets this one”. We were all full and no one had ordered close to what they brought out. 25 people and they charged out $40. You simply can’t feed that many people on $40, so the question is, where in the world are they getting all of the free meat? If I had a dime for every strange Bowel movement that place has given me, I’d have $5.00…but I was a student then, and the suffering seemed worth it.
As far as scary ingredients go, though, I’ve found a pretty impressive one in the Morris Center: pubic hair. That’s right…last time they made Navajo Tacos, I found one right in the middle. Worse, my friend James found one in the ice cream he got from the soft-serve machine they have. Amazing that it got the whole way through the machine to end up in that ice cream cone.