Fresh

Fresh

So, I’m in Butler, New Jersey, about an hour early for an appearance at Soul Journey … one of the friendliest, best-stocked metaphysical stores anywhere.

I check in with Sandi, the owner, and she suggests (since I missed lunch) that I walk next door to the Mexican restaurant. She mentions the pizza place across the street and the Chinese wok down the block — independent local places, all. Still, there’s something in her voice when she mentions the Mexicans … and so, next door I go.

As it turns out, the shop, located in a couple of converted storefronts, doubles as a Mexican grocery. Just inside the door, alongside the drink cooler, sits a small refrigerated case of fresh produce. In front of the counter sit two young women, eating a pizza from the place across the street.

I briefly wonder if Sandi’s pulling my leg by sending me to a restaurant so ill-appointed its staff makes a habit of eating elsewhere … especially since I appear to be the only patron in the place.

Once seated, I order nachos and a chicken burrito. The response to my order shocks me: the woman behind the produce counter nods, snatches up fresh tomatoes, chilies, onions, and avocadoes from the glass case, and proceeds to dice these just-off-the-vine ingredients into some of the finest salsa I’ve ever eaten.

The chicken burritos — just seven bucks — arrive next. A mild tomatillo sauce smothers the thick, bready tortillas. Inside: piping hot shredded chicken, chopped fresh veggies, and Mexican rice. Pure heaven … and far, far more than I can eat. No exaggeration: these burritos must weight a pound apiece!

As I leave, Sandi spies me coming out of the Mexican place. She’s casual about it. “So how was dinner?”

Best. Mexican. Food. Ever.

So, I’m in Butler, New Jersey, about an hour early for an appearance at Soul Journey … one of the friendliest, best-stocked metaphysical stores anywhere.

I check in with Sandi, the owner, and she suggests (since I missed lunch) that I walk next door to the Mexican restaurant. She mentions the pizza place across the street and the Chinese wok down the block — independent local places, all. Still, there’s something in her voice when she mentions the Mexicans … and so, next door I go.

As it turns out, the shop, located in a couple of converted storefronts, doubles as a Mexican grocery. Just inside the door, alongside the drink cooler, sits a small refrigerated case of fresh produce. In front of the counter sit two young women, eating a pizza from the place across the street.

I briefly wonder if Sandi’s pulling my leg by sending me to a restaurant so ill-appointed its staff makes a habit of eating elsewhere … especially since I appear to be the only patron in the place.

Once seated, I order nachos and a chicken burrito. The response to my order shocks me: the woman behind the produce counter nods, snatches up fresh tomatoes, chilies, onions, and avocadoes from the glass case, and proceeds to dice these just-off-the-vine ingredients into some of the finest salsa I’ve ever eaten.

The chicken burritos — just seven bucks — arrive next. A mild tomatillo sauce smothers the thick, bready tortillas. Inside: piping hot shredded chicken, chopped fresh veggies, and Mexican rice. Pure heaven … and far, far more than I can eat. No exaggeration: these burritos must weight a pound apiece!

As I leave, Sandi spies me coming out of the Mexican place. She’s casual about it. “So how was dinner?”

Best. Mexican. Food. Ever.

Mark McElroy

I'm a husband, mystic, writer, media producer, creative director, tinkerer, blogger, reader, gadget lover, and pizza fiend.

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Who Wrote This?

Mark McElroy

I'm a husband, mystic, writer, media producer, creative director, tinkerer, blogger, reader, gadget lover, and pizza fiend.

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