We wondered what this could mean, and concluded only that to optimize is to consecrate; to obfuscate, sublime. This being self- evident, we proceed without proof.
Given this then, we can only conclude that Don Salsa -- the esteemed apple of this week's culinary eye -- must sublimate at room temperature to some degree. We say this because we were deeply unnerved by the neon green Salsa our table Donned to brighten the arrival of its fated diners.
Of course, this weekly assemblage of words and images is but a drab monochrome casting of these resplendent currents you know as Beggars' Banquet. Alas, for what does one need words when substance is so shadowed by form?
The lime-jello salsa disrupted our table with the vim of so many sore thumbs in a three bean salad. Naturally, our journalistic mettle compelled us to document in film this disturbing entity for our readers. Furthermore, not convinced that the preternatural nature of this perplexing chip dip could be directly conveyed in this antichromatic medium, we resolved to test the limits of visual expression in two-dimensional greyscale.
So, if all goes well, this page should be lovingly bespeckled with our highly experimental photographic vignettes. The photos, in turn, are laden with dense symbolism, which we cordially invite you to decipher at your leisure.
The service staff at Don Salsa clearly took issue with our freeze- frame interpretations of Mexican food and the tableware with which it is consumed. We were frequently on the receiving end of several daggerous stares from the less-than-sympathetic-to-the-arts staff. To boot, they repeatedly denied our requests to strike poses interpretive of their daily specials.
"What's your feeling about these free radicals, Chutney?"
All in all, the food was exceptionally mediocre. The fajitas were a tad on the salty side, but we can safely say that nothing we ate would be accurately described by "green and brainy-looking." This, of course, is hardly a recomendation, although we do know this is the restaurant of choice for the Science, Technology and Society steering committee.
More important than pure savory sensation, however, is the delicate yet somehow uncouth manner in which these inventively mundane platters were presented. We marveled at our waiter's impervious composure as he notified us that the kitchen was "a little backed up" upon serving our drinks.
When finally served, we came across somthing remarkable. There was, inherent to each dish, a certain antisymmetry we'd seen a thousand times prior; yet somehow this one was different. The refried beans formed a decidedly felicitous yin to the unquestionably compliant yang in the rice mirrored through the enchilada axis. The green salsa, once completely unprecendted in our experience, found kindred in an equally, uh, green corn-rolled guacamole retainer. Or, perhaps we were simply succumbing to the oblique effects of a Mexican meal rounded out by Dos (well, Tres or Cuatro) Equis.
Perhaps the photos which accompany this journalistic sojourn will provide more insight as to our mental state at the time. Maybe we should have tried the margaritas, as these are more often the drink of choice for those of us on the Pulitzer path.
If you'd like to sample the mysterious luminescent salsa -- which, by the way, tastes pretty good -- you could score a table and some chips at Don Salsa. Of course, you're under very little obligation to follow this up with a full meal. It's located at 415 W. Foothill Boulevard in Claremont, slightly recessed from the verboten path, tucked away in an appendage of the Griswold's mini-mall. Their psychic hotline is 625-3944.