I once thought the center of the universe was most assuredly located at the intersection of 6th and Mission in San Francisco. Never before had I felt such insane magnetism and outright unpredictability. I now know this notion to be a folly and suspect that the true hub of the cosmos lies in a much more serene (albeit hotter) environment. San Ysidro, California, the last bastion to browse through endless retail stores before heading south into the equally vast reaches of the Baja Peninsula. Stashed away under the 905 freeway lies the site in question, a well-stocked liquor store with a parking lot host that will knock your 'swap meet' socks off and leave you dreaming for more.
Complete with a few working payphones and the ever pleasant rattle of light rail, Mariscos German must of used some sort of celestial divining rod to find where to best chock their wheels. The menu here is extensive: ceviches, cocteles, clamatos, caldos, and even some sabrosa carne asada to keep things honest.
Whatever delectable direction you choose to take, all orders come with a spicy seafood broth that will warm up the taste buds in a hurry. Typically there is a prawn or two to be found floating in your cup, which is mostly for flavor in my opinion, but if you're starvin' como Marvin take the extra step and suck away.
For me, it seems, the intergalactic concourse is all about the tacos de pescado: precisely fried white fish in a warm tortilla simply topped with shredded cabbage, pico de gallo, and crema. It would be tough task to find a contender for these magnifico plugs on either side of the border...muy bueno. It may be that our perception of time is determined by our personal inner clocks. Being that the center of the universe is relative to our own limited travels through the ether. Er, right...I'm just glad to have pinpointed its source once again, at least for now.
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