It is Sunday night and Moni has the day off so we were forced to go to a restaurant. Despite the fact that Granada has a tons of restaurants, there are only a few that meet our criteria - good food, reasonable prices - so that means only Eurocafe, Kathy's Waffle House, Garden Cafe, Mona Lisa, Tercer Ojo and Chico Tripa. Because now, we have to strike one from the list. We had previously enjoyed the delicious french fries and fish po'boys at Voodoo, but tonight, everything was off. We walked in and the barstools were filled with the kind of ex pat drunks you don't want to be around - loud, negative and bizarrely dressed. Noah and I debated whether the woman in a red halter top, tight pants and bleach hair was in drag, but I'm afraid she wasn't.
We sat down in the dark and airless courtyard with the florescent light from the kitchen shining in our eyes. Noah said, look at that and we watched a rat, a big one, scuttle out of the kitchen, across the wall of the courtyard and up an electrical cord to the eaves. We ordered our usual, but the food was awful, over cooked french fries with no taste. Fish not quite done. Tasteless philly cheese stake.
The wait staff was lovely, friendly and attentive, but it couldn't make up for the overbearing presence of the big, fat, drunk at the bar. Does he own the place? He is always there. Blech.