Bamba's

So I'm staying late for work and, thus, getting something to eat for dinner. I was in the mood to eat fresh, so I headed for the Subway about a block from me. In the same building is a LaBamba. Yes, the same wonderful chain of Mexican restaurants that graces various Midwestern college campuses and cities. Having never had Bamba's sober or during daylight, I passed it without much thought.

Once I got to Subway and realized the line was way too long for my extremely important schedule, I asked myself a question, the answer to which I've been fearing since my freshman year at IU: should I eat LaBamba sober? The internal struggle was fierce, but in the end, I decided that I would face my fears. My fear wasn't so much that I wouldn't like it. More than anything else in the world, I feared that I would like it, thereby ushering in an era of gluttony not seen in my gastral regions since the arduous and decadent Early Dormitory Era of late 1996, in which I gained 17 pounds by November of my freshman year.

As I entered the restaurant, the tension was palpable. It was unlike the five previous LaBamba's restaurants that I had visited, yet at the same time it was all too familiar in every way. Sensing my indisposition, the man of less-than-average height behind the counter asked, "can I help you?" I had passed the point of no return. Rather than go with the standard burrito, I ordered the super nachos with steak, to which I was greeted with the customary and strangely welcoming, "everything?" "No sour cream," I replied, without a hint of hesitation or regret. Nonetheless, it felt like he could see right through my mildly confident facade.

Once I got back to the office, my deepest, darkest fears were confirmed. Super steak nachos from LaBamba are just as good sober as they are when I am drunker than John Bonham (too soon?). I fear time, for my days in this world are numbered.