While my cat was getting an x-ray at the vet a couple of weeks ago for vomiting issues, the doctor suggested I go out for a walk for about forty-minutes until the cat would be ready to take home. The stay at the vet was taking longer than I anticipated, so my lunch bell was certainly ringing loud by the time they told me the cat would need to get the x-ray. I took a stroll along Main St. in New Rochelle which has a number of different cuisines such as Indian, Chinese, Thai, but the heaviest influence there is Mexican. The place I walked into was called La Herradura, Spanish for "The Horseshoe", next time you're on Jeopardy, and caught the tail end of the lunch menu options which was about to run out in ten minutes. Although I selected an item from the lunch options, the rest of the dishes inside their thick, leather, with metal horseshoe on it, menu looked very enticing that I told myself I must come back soon, and so I did.
Two nights later that is, I was back and ready stare down the ten-pound menu with the chunk of metal on the front cover. The cozy place hardly had anyone in it except for a group of women cackling over some terrible jokes, and I actually ended up with the same seat I had two days earlier for the lunch. As usual, they brought out some chips and salsa to snack on, and the whole day I was dying for a cold pina colada, so they served me up an icy one. I was in the mood for steak with some onions, and they had a dish right in that wheelhouse (it had some Spanish name to it). With the meat came a side of rice and beans, with a small salad, that of course I didn't touch. The meal was delicious and I was left with the usual dilemma of whether I should get dessert or not. Nothing really stood out to me while I scanned the menu earlier, but I did have a slight curiosity to find out what Mexican coffee tasted like. At $4.50 it would seem to be quite an expensive cup of coffee, or maybe it was almost five bucks because it was the best tasting coffee imaginable? It was worth finding out so I asked them for one with the check.
Instead of a cup of coffee, the waiter brought out a mug of hot coffee with whipped cream on top. I immediately felt the mug to see if it was iced coffee, but it wasn't, it was hot. The ingredients to this concoction is strong hot coffee, from Mexican grown beans, with a shot of kahlua, and topped off with whipped cream. My first sip alone made me feel like I had just swallowed two gallons of pure gasoline. I used my spoon to dip some of the cream and try to neutralize the potency, but there was no doing, this was too powerful a force. I would've felt bad leaving the whole glass still full, so I took a few more spoonfuls to work the level down a little, but I really wasn't even making a dent. Without risking the lining within my own stomach from total annihilation, I decided it would be best I quit and declare Mexican coffee as the official winner. Anyone able to finish that full mug in less than ten minutes should have a holiday named after them. Everything else about the restaurant was splendid and I know I always have a place to go when I need to bring the cat to the vet.
Speaking of which, perhaps the cat drank some Mexican coffee that I don't know about...
Two nights later that is, I was back and ready stare down the ten-pound menu with the chunk of metal on the front cover. The cozy place hardly had anyone in it except for a group of women cackling over some terrible jokes, and I actually ended up with the same seat I had two days earlier for the lunch. As usual, they brought out some chips and salsa to snack on, and the whole day I was dying for a cold pina colada, so they served me up an icy one. I was in the mood for steak with some onions, and they had a dish right in that wheelhouse (it had some Spanish name to it). With the meat came a side of rice and beans, with a small salad, that of course I didn't touch. The meal was delicious and I was left with the usual dilemma of whether I should get dessert or not. Nothing really stood out to me while I scanned the menu earlier, but I did have a slight curiosity to find out what Mexican coffee tasted like. At $4.50 it would seem to be quite an expensive cup of coffee, or maybe it was almost five bucks because it was the best tasting coffee imaginable? It was worth finding out so I asked them for one with the check.
Instead of a cup of coffee, the waiter brought out a mug of hot coffee with whipped cream on top. I immediately felt the mug to see if it was iced coffee, but it wasn't, it was hot. The ingredients to this concoction is strong hot coffee, from Mexican grown beans, with a shot of kahlua, and topped off with whipped cream. My first sip alone made me feel like I had just swallowed two gallons of pure gasoline. I used my spoon to dip some of the cream and try to neutralize the potency, but there was no doing, this was too powerful a force. I would've felt bad leaving the whole glass still full, so I took a few more spoonfuls to work the level down a little, but I really wasn't even making a dent. Without risking the lining within my own stomach from total annihilation, I decided it would be best I quit and declare Mexican coffee as the official winner. Anyone able to finish that full mug in less than ten minutes should have a holiday named after them. Everything else about the restaurant was splendid and I know I always have a place to go when I need to bring the cat to the vet.
Speaking of which, perhaps the cat drank some Mexican coffee that I don't know about...
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