There are funny things you can do with the letter J, but I don’t know all of them.

Today we venture into Vallejo’s Little Mexico for our homage to the letter J. J, which is mostly silent in Spanish, but when it isn’t, it sounds a bit like H with a bite of Y. For me, one of the most interesting things about following the alphabet through the streets of Vallejo (notice the internal J) is discovering the odd little neighborhoods, the hobo villages, or artifacts of a bygone era. Hula Girl, is terrified and convinced that I’m going to get us shot on these forays into the seedier side of culinary excellence. I’m not so much afraid of getting shot as I am of getting food poisoning. Frankly, as that seems to have happened countless times recently, it seems like nothing to fear.



The Process:
After perusing the Vallejo Directory, I find the J selections meager at best: Jalo’s, JJ’s Fry House, and Jamba Juice. I’ve been told countless times that Jamba Juice is not a lunch, so my chances of rallying the troops for a fruit based lunch seemed nonexistent at best. Putting in the obligatory telephone call to JJ’s, I wasn’t convinced that it would be the best food around, but was fairly certain that the experience would be well worth the increase in cholesterol points. Alas, again, no takers. Both Cougar and Hula Girl gave me looks that as much as said: ‘Remember that frog with the sugar on top? Bring it to me before you force me to eat at JJ’s.’ What can I say? Hula Girl and Cougar are women with good taste and who know what tastes good. Since I’m going into this whole eating adventure with the idea that since I’m not going to get anything good to eat, I might as well get a fairly odd experience. Cougar, who actually wants something good to eat said as much as she’d like to go along, she’d rather chew off and eat her own arm than to have another terrible meal. I can’t say as I blame her. And so, Hula Girl and I found ourselves parking the car in Little Mexico, an L-shaped strip mall with a money sending shop, a faith healing store, a Mexican restaurant, a taqueria and bakery, and a muffler repair shop.



The Chow:
Chicken Enchiladas all the way ‘round. Hula Girl went all the way with the rice and beans combo while I played it safe with just the whole enchiladas. The salsa was killer and the chips were crispy and warm and offered without so much as a question or a demand. There’s nothing remarkable about the food and the best I can say is that it didn’t kill us. I did like the interior of the restaurant, with the picture of Santo Toribio Romo and the sign the declared it to be a family joint and encouraging patrons to watch their alcohol consumption.



The Wrap:
A tortilla ain’t nothin’ but a flat, thin piece of bread: tasty, but lacking something fundamental. A hero it ain’t.

The Rating: 3 out of 5.