I know, I hear you - who goes to Paris to eat Mexican food? Thing is, I've been here for months eating French food 2-3 meals a day. Why not try something a little different? Besides, maybe I can speak a bit of Spanish, a language I'm considerably better at than French, scary as that is since my Spanish is far from good.
I was worried as soon as I got inside the place. First of all, samba music was playing. Not mariachi, not tejano, but samba! Ok, settle down - you're overreacting. Lemme go shout at my homies in the kitchen "Oye macho, que onda?" Nothing came back at me but puzzled looks. I know my Mexican slang is outdated, but not that much. Are these guys Mexican or Sri Lankan? I couldn't tell. You know when your gut tells you something but your brain overrides it? Yep, this is one of those deals.
Doubling-down on my poor judgment I ordered mole enchiladas. Sure, why not order something notoriously difficult to make well? When it arrived I perked up - it looked pretty good. First, a bite of beans - bad, really bad. Undercooked and watery. I was resigned to my fate. Next, a bite of the enchiladas. Interesting - not bad tasting - just not how they should taste. They were strangely sweet - as if milk chocolate had been used in the mole sauce. Not surprisingly, the tortillas were not right either. Had I been blindfolded I would've guessed I was eating some type of chocolate crepe with an unknown meat. To be missed, unless you're there to drink margaritas. They couldn't screw that up, right?