Restaurant Mama Blanca

So…
We’re in Everett. We’re bored and hungry and across the street we see Mama Blanca. Mmm… authentic Latin-​y goodness. We step to the door where we’re halted by a big man in a jacket. We get the drill and start pulling out our IDs to prove our baby faces wrong. But they’re not just carding us. No, at Mama Blanca’s they pat us down…
Why???
Because…we…might…have…weapons? We… might…be…terrorists? We might be undercover cops to bring the whole joint down? I dunno…
But for the hassle, the husband insists we at least sit at the bar and talk. And by talk he really meant yell since this cantante in a white suit and white sombrero was singing traditional songs at what I’m pretty sure was an illegal decibel. We got two coronas and I tried to relax. Wasn’t happening — I couldn’t even concentrate on the menu because the music was making my head ache and I was still a little freaked by the impromtu frisking.
I downed that beer and dragged my husband next door to the tame, no-​one-​touches-​you-​before-​you-​enter Kipo’s Pizza.
Crazy thing is, I’d probably go back. You never know, the food might be good… in the afternoon… when it’s quiet.