Upon entry you’re met with a cozy waiting area decked out with red, blue, and yellow papel picado flags overhead. A Mariachi jam, the clattering of plates, and snippets of chatter fill the air. Hustling-by waiters throw you warm smiles through stacks of steaming food. 

Despite the surplus of customers already being served, the staff at this small Mexican restaurant in little town St. Cloud, Minnesota is happy to see us. 

“!Hola! Welcome,” beams a dark haired, bright eyed woman. She fits right in with the vibrant colors blanketing the walls, statues, and the lively water fountain placed at the core of the seating area. 

After a brief wait, we’re guided to a back room lavished in murals. There’s women dancing after little ones, men in sombreros singing their hearts out on small instruments I had never seen before, and fantasy-type animals with piercing eyes, all of it layed out in marvelous colors. I don’t know the dances being illustrated, the songs being sung, or the stories behind the animal creations, but I can feel the energy. You can feel the pride in this culture, the happiness there. 

My group of 13 is seated at one long table, half on a wall bench, the rest of us on vibrantly-colored chairs. Moving the chair back, you can feel the stickiness on the floor—like something was spilled, but uniformly throughout the whole restaurant. You hear a little “skwat” each time you pick your foot up. It’s enough to make me sit crisscrossed in my chair. 

Apart from the viscid floor, I was perfectly content, sitting amongst my teammates who were musing over the portraits and chatting with our waiter. She had dark hair in pigtails and a big smile. 

“Are you guys here for the robotics competition?”

“Is it that obvious?” One of the seniors on our team asks dubiously. We weren’t even wearing our matching pinkish-red shirts.

“Oh, haha. No, I just like to stay up to date on the stuff going on locally. It’s big news that you guys are all coming out here,” she explained. “It’s really neat the type of work you highschoolers do. It’s impressive.” 

“Aw, well thank you!” I beam. She gives me a nod and slides the last of our dishes under our noses, telling us to enjoy the food. We all dive into our respective fajitas, chilaquiles, and enchiladas, swiping chips and salsa from the center display as we go. 

My mouth waters as I assemble my first fajita. It came with my own tortilla-warming bowl, and a hot plate filled with my chicken-steak mixed fillings, cheese, lettuce, and guacamole. I lay it all out on my main plate, staking what I can onto the little tortilla laying amongst the little blue flower paintings lining the ceramic dish. I fold it up and take my first bite, the warmth and tenderness of the meat melting into the creaminess of guacamole. The blend of cheese to paprika to garlic powder to cayenne pepper is heavenly, and I can tell by the joy in my teammates’ eyes that their meals are just as delicious. Most of them—being 17-18 year old boys—will devour just about anything placed in front of them, but it takes a special hand at the stove for them to show outright appreciation and enjoyment. Gaivn, seated to my left, snags a fork-full of my steak-bites and gives a nod of approval. 

“That’s good stuff right there,” Peter shouts out as he digs into any perceived left-overs. Manasi gives a feigned smirk of annoyance as he spoons some of her un-eaten veggie enchilada onto his plate. 

And so the night continued, faces being stuffed with food and laughter taking a comfortable seat at our table. It was the perfect way to decompress after an intense day of racing about the competing arena on little food and little to no break-time. For the next hour or so we all just enjoyed each other's company and the hospitality of this little-known Mexican restaurant in St. Cloud, Minnesota. I’m not sure when or if I’ll be passing through that town again, but if I do, I’ll be sure to pay another visit.