I think I forgot to post this. This was before
lunch with Sheila.

Pete picked me up and drove me to Jay's house, and
I convinced them to take me to Xochi for something
like the 6th visit in a year.

Be that as it may, they recognized Jay and didn't
recognize me. Jay is a free-spending prominent citizen.

For some reason I wanted the roast half chicken, which is
supposed to have a dried shrimp rub, that was probably the
exotic call. It was quite good, with the leg quarter just
barely done and the breast quarter done just over but still
tender. A complicated dance, and the kitchen stumbled just a
bit, neither the dark nor the light meat being as tender or
juicy as it might have been. The rub was more citrusy than
shellfishy but had nice mouthwateringness. Yes, I did
inquire about the possibility of getting all dark.

On the side a tart and oniony guacamole, textbook rice and
black refritos. A garnish of pea shoots and pickled turnip.

I had a Negra Modelo; the others had house cocktails for
which the restaurant is famous; I didn't inquire about
them - never did except for the Hugo Rita and the Houstonian
of which I've I believe spoken.

Pete's brisket enchiladas with black mole were reported
excellent, so I dipped a piece of tortilla in the sauce:
it was indeed excellent, spiced very darkly and with a
good amount of cooking chocolate. Light on the sweet spices.

To maintain his girlish figure Jay had a salad with a
chicken cutlet on the side. I didn't inquire closely into
this, lest he offer me a taste.

I ordered the cacao pod again, this time with three spoons,
which made for a sensible serving.

It's interesting. The food was good but not mind-bendingly
so, but the atmosphere and service straddle the line
between intimate and correct, informal and correct, and
improvised and correct to make the experience exceptiona.
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