Don’t Hate on Pollo Tropical

For all you who know me well, you know these things about me:

1. I am a sho-nuff foodie, and I loves me some good food.
2. I abhor fast food, and basically won’t even acknowledge fast food as actual food.

Well, this weekend, I had to bend the rules a little bit. While negotiating the last bit of the deal on my brand new California King mattress (woo-hoo!! and it is absolutely fantastic!), the folks at the mattress place got an order from Pollo Tropical delivered. Man, did that grilled chicken look good! Andy didn’t get a chance to see it, as he was, in fact, napping on the bed (ostensibly to make sure it was as comfortable as it seemed. I mean, you have to test-drive something like a bed. It is a major investment in a body’s future). But, when he woke up, he smelled the aroma of marinated grilled chicken and black beans and rice. By the time we left, we were truly hungry, and began a very earnest quest for the nearest Pollo Tropical.

We were in Hialeah (which used to scare me, because they changed the street numbering system from that of Miami, and at first, I couldn’t figure out how to find addresses there), and I wanted to hit the Ross, TJ Maxx and Marshall’s I saw earlier last week on 103rd Street. Most of the stretch of that road is shopping malls, so I thought for sure that we would easily find a PT and be good to go. As we drove further and further, our hunger and searching began to border upon desperation. You know how it is when you are hungry, and you crave something specific: you must have the very thing you crave. If you are anything like me, you will crave it until the craving is satisfied, be it hours, days, or weeks from the intial craving.

We drawing ever closer to the freeway (which is where the commercial district ends), when I let out a scream: “There! behind the Home Depot sign! Pollo Tropical!”

I don’t know how far north the chain runs, but this one was a perfect example of being in Miami. There was some kind of system and logic to it, but it was not what this northern girl is used to. There was a mass of people waiting for their orders. There were those bars that control the line, and since there was no one else before us, we went around it to the very front. As we did so, one of the workers there scolded us in Spanish for not going around the bars correctly. We ordered, got out ticket with the number on it, and then I joined the masses to wait for our food. The woman called out the order numbers in Spanish, so I practiced my number 551, again and again in my head so that I wouldn’t miss our order. Families were there, ordering enough for 8 people at a time, so the process seemed to go at a snail’s pace. About 30 minutes later, she called out my number, but I knew it was my order by watching what they put together.

The wait was worth it. That chicken is good. We got a whole chicken, black beans and rice, boiled yucca, a salad, and fried bananas. They have a guava barbeque sauce that kicks butt, and also a curry mustard sauce that is good. Andy and I couldn’t believe it — could it be, that we, confirmed foodies, are tearing up Pollo Tropical, the latino fast food that is on practically every corner here in Miami? Yes, was true, as we dipped the chicken into the bbq sauce, and soaked up the bean sauce with our rolls. Yes, it was true as Andy tells me that yucca and manioc are the same food, just a different name. Yes, it was true as we licked our fingers and popped one last fried banana into our mouths.

So now, if I feel like I want some chicken for the week, you won’t see me in Publix looking for some fake flavored roasted chicken in a plastic dome. You know that girlfriend will be all up in Pollo Tropical getting a whole chicken and a small side of Bananas Tropical.