So, I've been doing a lot of soul searching. After a couple years of playing the field--and doing some serious waffling--I am finally ready to commit: You, Las Americas, are my favorite restaurant in Nashville.
On Saturday night, still nursing the evening traces of a mild hangover, I splashed hot sauce on a taco as the dude with the electric-acoustic guitar sang way too loud and Spanish-language music videos flashed across the mounted TV screens and I knew: Our love is the real thing.
Or maybe it was the first bite of that tostada de camerone--marinated shrimp, tomatoes, onion and cilantro paired with a squirt of lime and a sliver of buttery avocado--that really pushed me over the edge.
Then again, it could have been the bean and cheese pupusa--gooey on the inside, topped with heaps of tangy cabbage slaw, salsa verde and hot sauce--that set my heart aflutter.
Wait, maybe it was the bill: $17 for a Coke, the tostada, two pupusas, four tacos and a sope topped with pork al pastor and queso blanco. (No, I wasn't dining alone.)
Even more likely it was dalliance with another--a thoroughly mediocre meal at Local Taco where the flour tortillas (Corn 4-eva!) were a leaden sheath for not-so-exciting fillings (What does a girl have to do for a spattering of cilantro? Maybe a zip of crema or a squeeze bottle--or three, like at Las Americas!--of killer salsa?)--that made me realize just how special you are.
I love you. Don't ever change.