Juana Mezcala — Restaurant in Oaxaca

There I sat on a fine Christmas night like any other. The air was cool and the gentle breeze which had caressed the dust about the streets during the day had settled, allowing my friends and I a comfortable setting so that we could eat a meal in fine spirits and even finer company. My eyes darted ceaselessly around the busy restaurant. The waitress. The barman. The cooks as they placed their finished dishes on the wooden counter for the customers' consummation. The burger I had ordered had eroded from the memories of those who were present to hear its ordering. The chainsaw in my stomach growled a terrible growl, and my hunger was at new, unprecedented levels. My harsh ribs protruded through the emaciated skin on my chest. I had but moments left. Beads of sweat percolated above my brow and I dabbed a napkin at them in a futile manner. I searched longingly for the gaze of the waitress, but alas her eyes did not find mine. Her smiling face was illuminated by the sharp blue glow of her phone screen as she consumed social media. In the deepest depths of my worn out soul I beseeched the fair maiden to find my gaze. Find my burger. My efforts for nourishment were surely in vain, a tight mailed fist clenched ignorant against the sky. I needed to be strong. Strong like the cow from which my hypothetical burger would be drawn. I cast my gaze about me in despair, and I saw one of the stray dogs by my side as he looked deep into my eyes. The pungent sense of pity that one would have for stray dogs was reversed in such a tumultuous moment, and it was not I who pitied this dog. His heavy eyelids conveyed a deep sense of empathy, and in my hunger-fueled stupor, he rose to his hind legs. His large delicate paws draped around my shoulders. "All will be well, my friend," he assured me. "This too shall pass". The illusion came to an abrupt conclusion and I realised I had caught the eyes of the waitress. With a swat of my limp arm, I beckoned her towards me. The words stumbled clumsily out of my mouth and crashed to the floor with a resounding thud. "Burger... where?" Her brown eyes ambled skywards in the direction of her ears as she attempted to compute the little information I had given her. After what felt like half a dozen years, this fair maiden understood my predicament. "We forgot it," she mumbled in a monotone fashion as she reversed and turned sloppily on her heels. She made for the cooks and she explained the situation. She did not need to say sorry. I did not want an apology. I wanted a big burger. "Be brave," I thought to myself. "Patient and brave." But then I thought of Tolstoy's position on bravery. He posited famously that bravery is for a man to do what he ought to do. And deep down I knew that what I ought to do was hurdle the counter in one fell swoop of agile vigour and make the burger myself. My patience was cowardice, and looking myself in the mirror would be a challenge later that evening. However, I resigned myself to wait. The cooks were in no great rush. They performed trick shots between themselves to see who could make their bright flames dance higher on the greasy pan, and one of the two cast a flame which almost kissed the ceiling in a way a man might kiss a distant relative on her cheek at Christmas. I looked at the lovely woman opposite me, whose company was always a great pleasure. Only this time, in my hunger-driven fugue state, she did not only look lovely - she looked delicious. Her forearm was a ripe honey-glazed ham as she swirled her drink with the carelessness of one whose belly was full. I wanted so desperately to sink my teeth into everyone at the table. Out of the corner of my weary, tear-laden eyes did I spy a burger placed on the counter, and the waitress picked it up and began her procession in my direction. A mirage in the desert. The light was fading until naught remained but darkness. My cone of vision closing in. She got the burger to me just before my untimely passing at the ripe age of twenty-five. Miraculously, I did survive. The burger was ok....

So close to 5/5. The music selection was some of my favorite in PE. The Jalapeno poppers were really good, and the steak tacos were almost GREAT. I would recommend a bit less guacamole on the steak tacos, and serve with the jalapeno popper sauce instead of the green sauce they come with - just too much green in one dish. Other than that, really solid service, great deals on beers + mezcal, and really nice portion sizes. The hot food was also hot - while a lot of hot dishes are served luke warm in PE for whatever reason. I will be back, and hopefully I can adjust to 5/5 stars as I was...

Juana Mezcalería has a great menu full of local flavours,catch of the day, steak, tacos & ceviche and incredible cocktails. Their cocktail menu is original and full of mezcal forward beverages that are delicious. The rib eye was delicious and came out medium rare as I asked. Live music started playing around 7pm and the band was psychedelic funk and they were great! Servers were friendly and happy to serve our table of seven. I...