See what’s pumpin’ in ‘Cruces!
G-Fresh, Throb Columnist
Located just south of downtown, sitting quietly in the ominous shadow of that one tall building, is one of Las Cruces’ oldest eateries. Whitey’s recently received a fresh new look, not having been remodeled since 1982. I ain’t been there for a few years – not since that one time I picked up a chick at the pool hall across the way and treated her to a midnight omelet. Ay, the memories! But I ain’t like that no more.
It was a late Friday night – I was out doing field research at that cowboy bar and after a few dances things was gettin’ heated up so I take off my hoodie down to my wife beater. This bouncer dude comes right up in my face and points to a sign – No Wife Beaters it says – and then points to the door. I was like “dayam” and wasn’t in the mood for a club shooting, so I split. I was feelin’ munchy and I saw Whitey’s right across the street, so it was a no-brainer.
There were a few punks hanging around a lowrider in the parking lot when I arrived and I ignored them when one yelled “Yo, want some?” to me. Once inside Whitey’s I was quickly seated by my server, José, who tried to interest me in a pre-order of Cheezee Pancake Poppers™. I declined and scanned the menu – the Insomniac® menu – and got the feeling it was created expressly for late night drunks and stoners. I took a quick look around at the other patrons and it made sense: at a nearby table sat a couple of dreadlocked hippies intently building a pyramid out of straws and humming, in the corner sat a woman with a black eye nervously drinking a cup of coffee, and at another table sat a coven of glittery club girls laughing hysterically over a basket of fries.
The menu choices were intense, even for Yours Truly: Pablo’s Party Potachos®, the Phat Daddy Burrito®, Smokin’ Spliff Snackerz®, the Rockin’ Rollin’ Ranch Sundae®, and Screamin’ Cream Cheezers®. Then I see the Pure White Vanilla Milkshake for $5, invented by Whitey’s “Band Of The Month”, the White T’s. I’d like to know what a five-dollar shake tastes like, so when José comes back I order that and some blueberry pancakes.
“Oh, we ain’t got blueberry, man,” laughs José. “This is the ghetto. You got to go to Village Inn for that. But I got strawberry and and chocolate chip.”
I ate this.
My food and shake arrived within a few minutes and I start laughin’ because it looks like a big platter of shit. I was so hungry I didn’t care.
“Dig in, man,” says José. “You want some extra napkins?”
I shovel the food into my gaping maw – it may have looked like crap, but it was delicious. Feelin’ the heat of the chili, I suck down my five-dollar shake to neutralize the fire.
“Goddamn! That’s a pretty fuckin’ good milk shake,” I say when José comes to clear my table. “I don’t know if it’s worth five dollars, but it’s pretty fuckin’ good.”
The bum behind Whitey’s who scared the crap out of me.
I cruised by the next morning to check out my mess and that bum started yelling at me, something about this being his Dumpster. I took a snap of that mofo and split. Wild times, y’all. I give Whitey’s only two stars, probly won’t go back.
No comments:
Post a Comment