Pacifico, Cobble Hill

Sweet Bajebus, when did Pacifico start taking credit cards!?!  Because out of the short list of issues Eats Meats West has with it (occasionally being crowded, prone to bad weather, sometimes an umbrella might collapse on you, etc.) by far the biggest complaint is that it is cash only.  Or at least it was.  We found this out only because the blind date next to us finished first and tried to pay with an Amex.

We were of course judging them the whole time. She was too good for him.  “Dumbass, they don’t take cards,” J and I joked to ourselves. 

Then when the time came for the waiter to coldly turn the man away, nothing happened.  It was miraculous!  This whole time we were naturally sharing a full pitcher of white sangria, and thankfully the price ($22) has still not gone up over the years. I was very close to getting the wings but sprung when I heard the special was a trio of crab, fish, and shrimp tacos.  I’m not sure that I really tasted any crab, but they were nonetheless delicious.  They were probably identical to the Baja tacos with just a little crab added, but whatever.  They were topped with what you can plainly see is a generous heaping of a mayo-based sauce.  A small avocado salad sits in the middle.  As I continually run out of things to say (both good and bad) about Pacifico, I direct your attention to this playground toy bolted two feet from the raging fireplace, which also happens to be in between our table and the bathroom.  Stop distracting me, cow-horse!    

Pacifico, Cobble Hill

Chicken Wings (with Ancho-ajo Chimichurri), Pork Tacos, and White Sangria

Well, I take back some of what I said on the previous post.  Pacifico really only trumps Alma in terms of cheapatude and boozinations.  Both of which are, of course, high on my list.  Nevertheless, it's a very similar restaurant.  Though we were distracted by swarms of straight people and their spawn during our approach to the always ambiguous spot where you are shepherded to your table, the ambiance was still superior.  Sure, a run down pickup truck was hanging out in the empty lot next door.  And sure, maybe one day we'll eat at Trout...dyah I mean Cafe Bueno...dyah I mean whatever the hell the place on the corner will be called when it fails again, as it inevitably will.  But that's not the point.  You go to Pacifico to drink ridiculously cheap and boozy sangria and tacos.  I wasn't really all that impressed with my pork tacos, but memories of superior mushroom quesodillas are swaying my opinion at this moment.  On the other hand, a woman did almost fall onto the giant Kronenburg umbrella tenuously blocking out the night's rain.  We almost died.  You get what you pay for.