Arango Café
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The universe slapped a smile across my face as I sat in a slat-backed, high stool and listened to Pedro Que Necesidad. I must like the song? Oh, well, while that’s true, the catalyst was actually a small child that ran out from behind the counter in his blue snow coat. “Byeeeeeee,” he called back indiscriminately, and then proceeded to throw himself in the snow heaps in the parking lot, which were—it must be noted—mostly black and melted down to about three feet in depth. I drank my coffee and typed; past the window clings, he tumbled, somersaulted, and collapsed repeatedly into these gross remnants of the snowstorm from the middle of the week. Why am I telling you all of this? Because he’s why I rated this Mexican restaurant higher than I normally would. I had been looking around at the clean space, wondering what to say—whether I should comment on the macrame or the poinsettias first—and then he flew in, the perfect, unplanned element imbuing the scene with life. You’ll enjoy it, the stone-style tiles and the deep red, undulated drop ceiling, however my wish to you—and I can’t believe I’m typing this—is that you enjoy it as much as parkour in soiled snow.
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Drink: Latte
I noticed the latte was 25 cents less than the cappuccino. Oh, just bring it. The syrups, which he offered me, also didn’t cost any extra. The man taking my order recommended the French Vanilla. I was absolutely not expecting its presentation. It came out on your grandmother’s loose, flower-touched saucer—well, I should probably say your abuela’s foster saucer. Unfortunately, while it really did present, it was too hot (like please be careful), the French vanilla was nowhere to be found, and it really was completely flat in flavor aside from the sprinkling of cinnamon (which I didn’t really think added anything). It is enormous (and, you know me, I love a warm friend), but it really does end up tasting like a jamoncillo (it even had the same/similar color) in liquid, less concentrated form. An idea? Translate latte to The Jamoncillo Coffee, and they’ll have a hit signature variation on their hands.
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Food: Flautas
The description: “4 stuffed chicken flautas smothered in black bean and covered with lettuce, queso fresco, and sour cream” I’m starting here because yes, yes this is what you get. And, while it also checks out with how flautas are supposed to be, I was left unsatisfied. It felt skimpy. Maybe it was because smothered should have been “topped with a black bean reduction” or stuffed chicken flautas should have read “flautas cleaned wrapped around shreds of white meat chicken.” But, really, I doused it in the spicy sauce I requested (which he warned me was extremely spice—it isn’t), and I still had trouble locating some flavor. Here it is—the moment of truth. Would I get it again? Afraid not.