Whenever we visit El Azteca (which is, let's be fair, once a week) Chup and I bring home a bag of chips (crispy and homemade) and a tub of their hot salsa.
It is so hot. Like inner body cleansing heat that begs for mercy.
I offered some to my teenage nieces Lindsay and Emily yesterday. You can see their reaction in my picture above. I thought they'd stop at one dip, but Emily ended up saying,
"This is so weird. I can't stop."
One time I mistakenly left a tub in the car over night. In the morning the car was on fire with the smell of pungent peppers and ancient Aztec secrets.
One time I ate an entire bag for breakfast, the fire of the salsa fueled my blood and I had enough energy to clean the whole house before noon.
One time we ate the mild salsa (which is really sweet with a slight of pepper) but we'll never go back again.
El Azteca is like Cheers to us. We like to go in where everybody knows our name. Or at least suffers through our earnest Spanish conversations. We always see someone we know eating enchiladas in the booth next to ours. This last time we bumped into brother-in-law Ric and his infamous father, John who asked me to pull up a chair at our table. Which I did, only to become privy to some very exciting news about to drop on Provo's culinary front.
John knows all the business.
But before we got up to leave, hot salsa in hand, John yelled to me with a wink,
"Now, don't go putting that information on your blog."
So, we'll wait. But in the meantime, try the hot salsa at El Azteca.
Burning sensations, feelings of sublimity.
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