Despite what our friend A thinks, South America is not South Mexico, and Graham, for one, craves some true, blue Mexican cuisine, unheard of this far south.
I am not far behind, happy for a change from milanese to taco or burrito, preferably of the street-kind variety.
So, when out and about on our Pucon discovery mission, we see a sign for quesadillas framing Volcan Villaricca, we go for it, hook, line, sinker. Hijeelos even has margaritas and fresh jugos, we see, and it is on–burrito with all the fixings for Graham, carrot, onion, chicken tacos for me.
Beautifully presented, these meager and overly-salted portions leave much to be desired, a mere appetizer of a meal for my starving lunch mate, and man, what a tease.
But, it’s all good, because server boy is a whole hunk of sweetness, cheeks pinched red and English accent soft and smiling, and we can’t help but think of our hippie, dirt-loving friends back home, who, surely, would pop something woody over the trilogy of tacos, volcano and tie-dye.
As the sign says, paz y amor, friends.
Where In The World Is Gwendo? 