Really digging the whole ethnic strip mall action but not without mishaps. While waiting for a rotisserie chicken in the local Publix on my first night, I struck up a conversation with an alleged chowhounder who knew the area. She assured me that Jaliscos next door was decent and "authentic". Today, after huffing it back from the very cool Oleta State Park, I sent little Flaco and La Charnega to pick up some burritos and sides while I went to score more cerveza Estrella and Red Guitar vino. What awaited me back in my time warp if Joey Bishop was French Canadian motel was perhaps the worst Mexican food in the whole USA as Donna Fargo might have sung. Now listen peeps, I wasn't expecting South Tucson, East LA, the Mission in SF or Roosevelt Ave in Queens; only some gabacho-centric grub on the level of Chipoltes. What I got was rancid beans, dry rice, very WASPish enchilada style burritos made with store bought fajita size tortillas and the worst guacamole this side of Des Moines. Okay, okay, MY BAD knowing I'm surrounded by great Russian and Argentinean etc... WHAT WAS I THINKING? To make amends to la familia, I huffed it back down to Dolcevita to score a batch of their very good empanadas and who did I see licking a gelato with her kid and husband in tow? That's right, the local expert. She's lucky I'm not Larry David!