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It’s always the chicken, except when it is the salad.<\/p>\n
Years ago, while waiting for a long delayed flight in Juarez, a kind local physician took my roommate and I to dinner before we departed for Mazatlan. My roommate dealt with “Montezuma’s Revenge<\/a>” in flight. Mine arrived a bit later, after midnight in our pleasant tiny motel.<\/p>\n That next day, while relaxing and recovering, I reflected on what might have caused our unpleasantness. It must have been the chicken.<\/p>\n Fifteen years later, in Anchorage, Nancy and I dined at Wendy’s – the salad bar. Later that night, Montezuma returned. A visit made doubly worse by the early morning train ride north to Denali<\/a>. The train seemed to sway more than expected, made worse by a New Jersey seatmate who kindly offered stock tips for the duration. <\/p>\n “AT&T. Buy it and forget about it. General Motors, buy it and forget about it. Berkshire Hathaway. Buy it and forget about it.” <\/em><\/p>\n Two out of three is not bad.<\/p>\n And so it was, two decades later, Montezuma returned during a visit to Mexico. I must admit that the experience was far worse than I remembered. <\/p>\n Pollo. <\/p>\n Always the chicken. <\/p>\n