This Sunday was supposed to be dedicated to the lost art of mimosa-drinking in the morning (or at least it's a lost art in my life right now). I wanted a chill brunch in the city with my girls. What I got instead was a two and a half-hour line to wait in, inside of which I was pressed against all kinds of people who were still drunk from the previous night's debauchery in the Castro. This isn't necessarily a bad thing, and if it had been a nice summer's day, I would have even enjoyed it. But it was pouring rain out, and everyone's raincoats and umbrellas were all over the floor. The bathroom was even flooded. Gross. When we tried to let loose and dance, even the thoroughly-Castro gay men looked at us like we were crazy. They were blasting house-infused Usher at 11AM, what else are you supposed to do, people?
When we finally got sick of people squishing up against us, we decided to take things a bit easier and move on to margaritas (it was no longer the morning by this time, okay!? That was a very long line!) and my friend brought us to a fabulous Salvadorean restaurant called Playa Azul in the Mission.
Playa Azul was way more low-key and way more my pace. It also happens to be down the street from El Rio, where every Sunday is Salsa Sunday and every Saturday night hosts a different ethnic food (priced at "donation only" prices). We sat down and ordered a giant plate of nachos covered in shrimp, crab ceviche, cheese, and avocado, and we waited for our big pitcher of margaritas.
Me + Margaritas + Cheese + Crab Ceviche = State of Splendor
Anyway, I'll take Playa Azul over Lime any day, even if I can't have a bottomless mimosa brunch there. I should probably start waiting until the afternoon to have my first drink anyway. Probably.
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