Verbal Herman Munster

So the freshmen are getting restless for the teachings of the Professor?
It's not that I haven't been writing all kinds of wisecrackery and indepthitude. It's not that I haven't been dining at all kinds of places that are better than your house.
I've just been getting down to brass tacks, going back to stiff parchment and a quill pen. So that it's the words, not the technology that you feel.
Thesis statement: It's just too bad that you people can't enjoy my fine calligraphy. Mostly, I just feel real sorry for you...

Angel Restaurant

Hey, hey, hey. La profesora goes bilingual to bring you edible news from the Pacific coast of Costa Rica; and what a rica coast it is indeed. Any country where fried plantains are ubiquitous is a country in which I should have honorary citizenship. Who do I need to talk to about that? And do they speak good Spanish? Because the profesora´s high grammatical standards are universal.
About 30 arduous meters from the Costa Rican Spanish Institute in Manuel Antonio, thatch-roofed and aromatic, sits Cafe Angel. This is the only restaurant that one can eat at in Manuel Antonio if one has 30 minutes between classes. Unless you want pizza, which is sospechosa at best. Luckily, this place is damn good. Todo is served with a side of rice and black beans, standard in this great nation, and the plantains were just a delightful bonus. Following the lead of my beautiful French classmate, Sophie, I ordered a jugo mixto expecting a glass of fruit punch. Imagine my surprise when presented with a smoothie. Are you imagining it? Not impressed? I am THOUSANDS OF MILES from a Jamba Juice. It´s more impressive than it sounds, jerks. The casado pollo that I ordered was of little consequence, frankly, but it´s really just the presence of chicken that counts in a meal. The accoutrements (ah, thank you Sophie for your European power over my vocabulary) were sufficient enough. It should be noted that the Cafe Angel experience far overwhelms my memories of the Cafe Angel food. The tin roof was covered in dried fronds, giving it the tropical appeal that I paid good colones to sit under. Hanging from this strange overhang were perhaps papier mache fish and seahorses. I say "perhaps" because this is a crazy backwards nation (that I call Unamerica) and for all I know they are real fish and seahorse skeletons, meant to guard against the American riffraff. Bien hecho, Cafe Angel, bien hecho.
On this particular afternoon, while sitting under the tin/thatch roof, the most ridiculous rain started up. When I say ridiculous, I mean a profound downpour cleansed my soul while I impatiently waited for my food, with only minutes to spare before class began. I had a raincoat with me which, most assuredly, had Mother Nature in stitches. No raincoat was going to protect me from this solid rain. I needed an arc. Jesus, why on Earth were you in Texas when I needed you? The second I climbed the stoop and exited my befronded asylum, I was completely saturated. Minutes later, walking into COSI, I was beyond wet. I had entered a new dimension of wet that the English language is not yet prepared to describe. I sat myself down like a trooper in my pleather chair and spoke in Spanish for another two hours, unable to dry in this bathtub of a country. But, by the grace of Cafe Angel´s sturdy to-go packaging, my food remained unaffected and I enjoyed a perfect alimentation, completely in spite of my uncomfortable pleather perch. Ah, Cafe Angel. So unimpressive overall, yet so Pura Vida. I cannot help but recommend you to the masses (and by masses, I mean Sam).
appetizing decor:

mi angelita mojada:

Less than Triumphant Return

No apologies for the delayed updates. I've already explained my superiority.
As I prepare for my spring-break related departure from this country, I also prepare to leave behind the world of professionally prepared cuisine. I will instead be consuming large quantities of rice, beans, and frutas de la selva. But while I quasi-dine during the month of April, I will salivate vicariously through this weblog. and so...
top ten san diego restaurants about which i will have shit to say while in costa rica:
10. spread...this may be a negative review. prepare yourselves.
9. i trulli...more of a commentary on italian men than any culinary insights
8. the roxy
7. filiberto's
6. frutilandia
5. pannikin
4. mozy cafe
3. amici
2. carl's jr...don't you dare judge me.
1. pipes...tears will be shed if i can't find an egg sandwich in la terra extrana.