I am a Chicano in Connecticut. I moved from Arizona to the East
Coast for my dream job. I have to admit that I’m still homesick.
Connecticut is a completely different world. To sum it up in one
phrase, vale madre.

It took a while for me to find a Mexican restaurant close to me.
It’s very comparable to that cardboard tortilla outlet known as Taco
Bell. When I first went there, I was served chips and salsa. Of course,
I dove right into the appetizer. The chips were very stale, and the
salsa tasted like candy. Sí, como dulce. I asked my mesero if they had a hotter salsa, because the salsa was nothing but
salsa de tomate with some chunks of cebolla in it. He
told me that they had a spicy pico de gallo and that he would bring it
right out. ¿Sabes que, carnal? What I received was
nothing but a bowl of chopped cebolla with some cilantro in it!
He proudly displayed a sonrisa and asked if I liked it. I
returned his pregunta with another pregunta and
asked if this was his hot sauce. His smile quickly faded and then he
said, “Pues tu sabes. Tenemos que servirle esa comida a ellos que
no están acostumbrados a nuestra comida.” I responded by
telling him that if you’re going to serve Mexican food, serve Mexican food.

I’m tired of Mexican-owned restaurants advertising their comida as auténtico, only to be disappointed by how
crappy the food, OUR food, tastes. Why do our gente feel
as if they have to water down our great cuisines for the gabachos? If Mexican restaurants want to advertise nuestra
comida as authentic, then why don’t the dueños
of the restaurants cook and show off the beauty of nuestra
cultura, and forget candy-flavored salsa in favor of great-tasting
salsa that not only makes our mouths water, but also makes us
teary-eyed?

Chicano in the CONN

Dear Wab: A tip for the next time you encounter salsa milder than
vanilla: Carry your own chiles. The Mexican always travels with a
sandwich bag containing his favorite peppers—a couple of long,
green serranos for freshness, gnarled chiles de árbol to bless
my beans with dry heat, the tiny pequín if I need crunch, and
one neon-orange habanero to rub in the eyes of any possible
stalkers.

Your sad story is one experienced by many Mexicans who travel
through the parts of this country that wabs have just begun to
colonize, but it’s not unique to us: New Yorkers always bemoan the
quality of bagels everywhere outside of Brooklyn, and San Franciscans
simply won’t eat burritos not folded in their famed Mission District. I
will argue, however, that Mexican cuisine is more whitewashed than
others, but I won’t reveal my thesis until next year, when my next book
Taco USA: How Mexican Food Conquered America (and Soon, the
World) appears. Stay tuned, and stay enchilado!

What’s up with all the salsa music in Mexican
restaurants?

No More Congas!

Dear Gabacho: Solamente no es Mexican eateries where you find
Caribbean rhythms replacing Mexican regional music. Movies, newscasts
or segments about Mexicans, Ugly Betty—really, any media
manifestation of Mexicans needing a soundtrack usually eschew banda
sinaloense (the brass-band one), conjunto norteño (the accordion one), pasito durangüense (the Melodica one)
and mariachi (the sombrero one) for salsa or some other type of Latin
beat.

It’s easy to blame anti-Mexican hatred for such swaps, but the
razón is obvious: gabacho America’s hatred of
polkas, waltzes and all of the folk music of a previous generation of
idiot Catholic immigrants that influenced Mexican regional. Seriously:
When was the last time outside Cleveland, Milwaukee, Oktoberfest,
The Lawrence Welk Show, an octogenarian dance in heartland
America, a Mexican party or a Weird Al Yankovic concert that you heard
such music appreciated without irony? America likes cool, and the
polka-loving bola de gente I just mentioned are about as hip as
Dubya.

Ask the Mexican at themexican@askamexican.net or myspace.com/ocwab; find
him on Facebook or Twitter; or write via snail mail at: Gustavo
Arellano, P.O. Box 1433, Anaheim, CA 92815-1433!

This article appears in Jun 4-10, 2009.