I hate to travel, so when I actually make myself get on one of those new-fangled aeroplanes to go somewhere, I feel obligated to at least TRY to do something while I’m there. In this case, I was in San Diego for a meeting (the annual meeting of the National Association of Patent Practitioners, in point of fact). Knowing that I would be in San Diego, my sister advised me to get some great Mexican food while I was there.

This is a great idea, in theory. In practice, I’m sitting in a hotel without a car and with little free time. Nevertheless, I did some web searching looking for an appropriately well-reviewed Mexican place within walking distance.

A little digging and I found Pokez. Pokez had an abundance of great reviews on Yelp, but frankly, it was quite a hike. I opted for something closer.

So, Sunday night I started walking. The combination of heat and humidity in San Diego triggered the kind of perspiration that is usually reserved for cartoons and bad comedies. Nonetheless I soldiered on. I passed a Hard Rock Cafe, I passed some excellent-looking Indian restaurants, I passed the “Bare Back Grill” (but not without a careful examination). Finally, I decided I was just going to press on until I got to where I really wanted to go, Pokez.

When I got there, soaking wet and looking like a tourist, I was a little intimidated. “Eclectic” is perhaps too kind a phrase. It looks like a horde of Latino-skateboarder-graffiti-writing-art-students exploded inside it. The servers are large, and heavily tattooed. My sensible side almost made me turn around and leave. But dammit, I’m in my forties. If I don’t start having adventures now, when will I have them?

So I stayed. The server brought me some chips and homemade salsa, thin and freshly made. When he asked me if I had decided, I asked him if he recommended the chimichanga or the mexican steak. He looked pained, and said “It depends on if you want something crunchy, or like a whole plate.”

Look, I said, I’m just looking for something really tasty. I don’t care if it’s crunchy or not.

“Well, the mexican steak is pretty tasty”. I’ll have that, I said.

What I got was a platter with a mound of chorizo sausage sauteed with chunks of carne asada, fresh tomatoes and onions. The sides were vegetarian refried beans topped with jack cheese, mexican rice, and some lightly cooked cabbage.

The cabbage was exquisite. It was barely blanched, so it still had just a tiny bit of crunch. The seasoning was so delicate that you could still taste the sweetness of the cabbage. The beans were perfectly ordinary, except that the cheese melted on top had a great flavor and really added to the flavor. The rice was, well, rice.

But the saute was incredible. The chorizo acted like a seasoning for the already flavorful carne asada, creating a mix of flavors and textures that were heavenly. Toss in the onions and the tomatoes, which exploded in your mouth in little bursts of hot tomatoey goodness, and this was something very special. Paired with the hot flour tortillas, it was an almost religious experience.

This was about as far as I could go from a chain restaurant like Chi-Chi’s, in nearly every sense of the word. The food was fresh and delicious, and staff was authentic (authentically what, I’m not quite sure) and I’m pretty sure I was the only tourist in the place. Awesome.

Like I said, I’m in my forties. I need to start taking more chances. If they keep turning out as well as this one did, it could be habit-forming.