So there's a Spanish-language soap opera playing on the television and there's an enormous portrait of Christ above it and I'm standing at the counter in a by-God authentic Mexican restaurant. I've had it with that sissified, Americanized Taco Bell crap, and I'm out looking for some by-God authentic Mexican food.

The board behind the cashier lists the menu twice -- once in Spanish, once in English -- in long columns under "Burrito" and "Enchilada" and "Taco" headings, and I wonder how much of my high-school Spanish I remember.

Asada says one side of the board. Broiled Beef. I knew that. Pollo is Chicken. Carnitas, Pork. Pescado, Fish.

Al Pastor means "Shepherd Style." Didn't know that.

Cabeza? Isn't that "head"? That can't be right. I scan to the other side and sure enough: Beef Head.

Lengua, the next line says. Lengua? I look over at the translation. Ah, of course. Tongue. Silly me.

Sesos is next. Brains.

And last, at the bottom: Buche. All by itself. I check, but there's no translation on the English side of the board.

And, really, that's just fine.