pork at the Mexican restaurant

Whenever we go to visit my parents, in their sweet sleepy little town of Gig Harbor, Washington, we always end up at the Mexican restaurant.

We all amble in and wave hello to the staff. My mother walks toward a booth by the window. They don’t even wait to be seated anymore; they know the place that well.

(Apparently, my parents wandered in the day the restaurant opened and sat down for lunch. “How long have you been open?” my father asked, meaning how many days.

The waiter looked at his watch and said, “Um, three minutes?”

So yes, they know the place well.)

We settle into the booth, all the adults crowding in together, our daughter standing on the booth between her grandparents. Guti, their favorite waitress, comes over to say hello and ask about us all. She points to Lucy: “Oh! She’s getting so big!” We talk about children and how quickly they grow and what her daughter is doing now and how lovely it all is. It’s one of those quick chats that makes us happy we go back to the same place each time.

My parents order iced tea. The other waitress brings a bowl of hot tortilla chips and a few small bowls of salsa. Lu leans forward and calls out “Chip! Chip!” As she nibbles, the rest of us dip and talk, look at the menu, and settle into the afternoon.

My mother always orders the same dish, with pico de gallo instead of cheese. Danny varies between burritos and combination plates with tacos and tamales. I try to order something different every time. Most of the time, the filling is pork.

This time, I ordered the pork chile verde. When I told Guti what I wanted, I said, “Could you tell your brother to make it for me the way he’d make it for himself?” (Everyone working at the restaurant is a brother or sister, including all the cooks.) She nodded. She understood — she knew I wanted it spicy alive with flavor, the way it would have tasted in Mexico.

(Try this the next time you go to a Mexican restaurant, especially one run by a family. Everything will taste better.)

When it arrived, I smiled after my first bite. Fiery green chiles but not so hot that my tongue wanted to come off. The chunks of pork were tender and falling apart in that sauce. The beans and rice on the side? Those went to my daughter, along with the salad and some tortillas. Me? I just wanted that pork chile verde.

My dad, every time we go here, orders the Macho Burrito.

I have to tell you — my father is not at all macho. And every time he orders this, I think of that old Saturday Night Live sketch where Bill Murray hosted a game show in Spanish called Quen es Muy Macho? Contestants guessed whether Ricardo Montalban or Fernando Lama was more macho. Whenever I hear that word, I think of that sketch.

My dad digs in, happy to find the shredded pork underneath the tortillas and cheese, avocados and sour cream.

He always looks contented as he eats this.

We finish the meal, happy and full. Guti brings the bill, with the little chocolate-mint candies. My dad hands her the credit card. We ask if we can help pay. Both he and my mother refuse. We thank them, including Lucy, who makes the sign for thank you by bringing her hand to her mouth, then opening to them.

We are grateful, once again.

El Pueblito

3226 Harborview Drive
Gig Harbor, WA 98332-2182
(253) 858-9077