Seven months ago, I found myself newly single and moving into a 350 square foot studio apartment in Boston's Beacon Hill. I was a traumatized soul, wondering what the hell I was doing. Confident in the move, but terrified of this new life and this new adjustment. Where there had been safety in two, there was now only me. Unfortunately, I needed to move over 4th of July weekend, so it was basically just me and my friend's Altima. Beacon Hill parking is terrible and I stressed about how I would park, unpack and not get 1,000 tickets over the course of the weekend.
I thought I had my answer in a little gas station across the street called Grampy's. I assessed their little parking lot and figured I could definitely sweet talk my way into me parking off to the side, out of the way, while I moved and unpacked. I approached the guy behind the counter, put on my nicest, sweetest voice and asked if he wouldn't mind helping a sista out. Could I pretty please park right there? I promise I won't be there long and I won't be in the way.
His reaction was so firm and rude that I left Grampy's with tears stinging my eyes. I had not felt so lonely in such a long time. I vowed that I would never, ever, again step foot in Grampy's with a dime of my business. Ever.
And, with the exception of two very rare instances (I needed toilet paper), I have not. When I heard rave reviews about a little Mexican restaurant called Villa Mexico that was actually located inside of Grampy's, I vowed never to go there either. Mexican restaurant? In a gas station? Sounds like a recipe for an increase in toilet paper sales.
Except last night. I worked late. I was hungry and I'd only had a piece of cheesecake for lunch. My fridge is awaiting my suburban grocery shopping trip tonight. I thought about heading to the taco place in the West End, but it was so frigid, I didn't want to veer off course. I decided I would try my best to make use of the spinach I have in the fridge.
Then something came over me and I suddenly decided that I would try the gas station taco joint, Villa Mexico. I walked in at 9:10 and the lady informed me that they closed at 9 pm. However, she was very friendly and offered to make me whatever I wanted. I decided on two chicken tacos for $5.25. I'm not going to lie. She microwaved part of it, threw it on a tortilla press and sprinkled on some shredded cheese. I upgraded with sour cream and guac. The price came to $5.75 and I went home with my gas station tacos.
Whatever is in the black salsa is amazing. Truly, truly delicious. I housed the salsa covered tacos in a matter of minutes. But I couldn't bear to waste the remaining black salsa, so I heated up some brown rice and mixed it all together with a bit of lime juice and cilantro. So good.
So while I'm not going to rave about this mexican restaurant located in a reject gas station, I will give credit where credit is due. They make a mean ass salsa. You can buy it directly from them for $24.00. However, I think I'll have to start looking for a recipe to recreate it.