Wednesday, July 18, 2001

In which I am suspicious of culinary vocabulary…

I'll admit that when it comes to cuisine, I am not the most culturally aware diner. It's the old "I may not know much about culinary arts, but I know what I like" routine. I'm certainly not squeamish about trying new things, but when it comes right down to it, I don't know a lot about food.

For example, I was certain the "chalupa" was an item wholly invented by the Taco Bell marketing department, just because it was a funny, vaguely Spanish-sounding word that could be spouted by a shifty chihuahua on TV.

A few months ago, though, I was scanning the menu at a family-owned Mexican restaurant and discovered that, in fact, chalupas were authentic components of cuisine south of the border. (I think it was the first I'd actually looked at the menu in a Mexican restaurant in some time; in my favorite haunt near my home, they hand me a plate of chicken burritos with rice, beans and fantastic guacamole on the side practically as soon as I walk in the door. I'm a regular customer, even more regular after a second helping of beans.)

The chalupa aside, I remain convinced that the "chimichanga," although it appears on the menus of Mexican restaurants across the land — including many not promoted by small, annoying dogs — is a made-up dish. The word is just too damn queer to say.

Try it: Chimichanga. Chimichanga. Chimichanga.

See? It's just an intrinsically funny word.

I believe the chimichanga is the Mexican equivalent of the "Rooty-Tooty, Fresh-and-Fruity Breakfast" at the International House of Pancakes. I'm certain it's a word the Mexican people made up to taunt the gringoes, and that every time I order one, the waiter scurries back to the kitchen barely suppressing his snickers.

"He said it!" he then exclaims to the other staff and together they burst into giggles. "He even put the stress on the third syllable. God, that's hilarious!"

I suspect the French and their fictional "pommes frites" as well.