I was driving through Venice - windows down, Hey Jude blaring through my car speakers - and I got to thinking about how I was so very, very single. Gazing at the passing storefronts I began to wonder if there was a person out there somewhere just for me. My perfect match, my better half, my soul mate.

An aching pang of hunger struck me deep inside. I briefly misinterpreted this as a yearning for true love and lifelong companionship.

But then I thought,

“Is there such a thing as a Mexican restaurant soul mate?”

Is there a perfect hole-in-the-wall joint with rock bottom prices and high quality eats somewhere in Los Angeles just waiting to be found?

One that offers burritos the size of my arm that drip with cheese and enchilada sauce, burst with hearty slabs of chicken and come slathered in chunky guacamole and sour cream that is velvety smooth yet not watered down?

A place that sells horchata that cascades over my tongue with just the right amount of consistency and sweetness, providing the ideal amount of refreshment and hydration as I savor my arm-sized burrito?

That features salsa that is neither too thin nor chunky, allowing my free, perfectly salted appetizer chips to easily scoop generous amounts of it into my mouth?

A restaurant with the right combination of authenticity and cleanliness, but never too little of the former in service of the latter?

Is there such a place? Is it out there for me to discover?

If such a place does exist, I pledge the following:

Dear Perfect Mexican Restaurant,

Though we have yet to meet, I promise my unequivocal love and loyalty until the day I die, move away or you are closed under suspicious circumstances after a surprise raid by the INS. I will be with you through the good times and the bad, when I have too little money to buy one of your Super Burritos or when your sour cream tastes just a little too so.

I will visit you regularly, braving great distance, traffic and any guilt stemming from the abandoning of obligations I had that got in the way of us being together. I will nod even when I cannot understand your cashier, and I will forgive you if I receive the wrong dish because he misunderstood my frantic finger pointing and complete and total slaughtering of his native language. I will not be a jealous partner. Rather, I will share you with my friends, so that they may grow to appreciate and adore you in the way I know I will.

Through it all I will love you, I will cherish you and I will share with you my money, my time and my ever-deteriorating health. The only sin I shall commit is gluttony, but I believe this particular transgression is forgivable because, after all, you are a restaurant.

Always and forever yours,

Michael