If I were asked to make a list of reasons why I would spend time on the Newport Beach peninsula, it would submit instead a photo of Cabo Cantina. If you’ve never spent a Cinco de Mayo (which is Spanish for “don’t go to Mexican-themed bars today”) drinking watered-down margaritas mixed with beer while a sorority girl yells, “Woooo” in your ear every few minutes, then you can’t understand the subtle intricacies of a life lived well.
After a quick Google search and a few dabs, I was ready to take on the peninsula yesterday, despite the holiday making it almost impossible to avoid drunk jerks. I made peace with the fact that my original destination was out of the question, but I was surprised to discover that some Taco Bell locations had added liquor to their menu of ticking time bombs they call food. Even more surprising was that one such location was deep in the heart of bro country, next to Stag Bar in Newport.
The place was tiny, with much of the triangular dining area occupied by people in various stages of sobriety. I saw children enjoying quesadillas while men wearing jeans with sandals hit on girls who work at tanning salons. The two security guards on duty seemed like overkill, but after spending a few minutes in that drunk tank, I decided a few more of them would be better. I scanned the menu for any items that were branded “Club Bell,” but I was out of luck. The only thing exclusive to this location is the feeling you can’t wash your hands enough.
After finishing my $7 Pacifico and making an appointment at the clinic near my house, I got the hell out of Newport and back to Santa Ana, where every day is Cinco de Mayo and people wear shoes that hide their toes. I’ve noticed that Monday Munchies has gotten a little too “blue collar” as of late, so next week I plan to get baked and eat somewhere that denies entry to anyone who wears a tank top at night.