I am VERY set in my ways, and not at all adventurous when it comes to restaurant decisions. Me, try eating at a Peruvian restaurant? On Grand Avenue? In a basement!?
NOT gonna happen.
The thing is, God knows this about me. He knows the only way to ever get me to move outside my comfort zone or do anything different is if He uses a beautiful girl to bewitch me and make me momentarily forget about my commitment to being a curmudgeon.
So He arranges for me to meet this gorgeous Latina, and she's really big on South American food. Not the kind of lady who would eat anything inauthentic. I would probably follow her into Dante's Inferno or a nuclear wasteland, so I'm lucky she merely lead me here, to Golden Inca.
This place is a very well-kept secret, hiding innocuously in a downstairs space at 415 Grand Avenue, clean, well-lit, tasteful, and completely unpretentious.
I am too much of a dilettante to speak intelligently about the nuances of the food here, but I'll say this: The boneless chicken breasts are so tender, they practically melt on your palate. The breaded chicken is lightly fried in such an artful way that it has forever ruined my ability to appreciate anybody else's fried chicken. And the steamed rice? You can taste the olive oil that was used in the process. I will never again look at a bowl of steamed rice from a Chinese restaurant in the same way.
Go here.
Get the lunch special, whatever it is. Order some passion-fruit soda to go with it.
Thank me later.
Actually, thank the beautiful Latinas of this world.
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