I'M REALISTIC. I know I'm not going to step out of my house and find Bob's Sushi every week. Not just 'cause I live in the country, either. Even in the city, there are only so many Bobs and so many sushi restaurants. It's not like Ed's Diner, in other words.

So last week, on Sunday, May 4, we played baseball at Silver Terrace, where I hadn't played baseball for years and years and years and years, if not longer. I thought I'd go early, see who's cooking what around them necks of the woods.

I didn't think, I'll get off the freeway and eat at the first place I see. First place I saw was a taquería called Cinco de Mayo. Much as I'm in the market these days for a new favorite burrito, I drove right by it, thinking, there's gotta be a Dave's Dim Sum or Betty Ann's Pupusas or Moishe's Rib Shack around here somewhere.

Then I thought, Wait a minute. It is Cinco de Mayo!

It wasn't. It was Cinco de Mayo Eve. But I didn't have a calendar in my van. And anyway there were probably parades and all on Sunday. And you can only expect so much of serendipity. For all of these and many other reasons, to make a long story short, I pulled a U-ey.

Cinco de Mayo Taquería and Groceries. By "groceries" they mean, you know, burritos and stuff. Maybe there once were shelves of Wonder Bread and baked beans and coolers full of milk in there, but not no more. Or maybe they're coming; there's a big empty area in back.

Up front there's the assembly line, on one side of the room, and against the opposite wall a row of tables, each equipped with three things: a bottle of Tapatío, a stack of paper napkins, and a salt shaker.

Big-screen TV's got soccer, in Spanish, and on the wall next to that there's the famous picture of Jesus with his heart on the outside, waiting for surgery. I can't remember if his eyes are looking up in that one; if they are, they're looking at a painting of Mother Mary, going, "Hi, Mom!"

And the other wall's loaded with soccer posters, sombreros, a colorful blanket, and a big huge mural of a cute little town.

That's the atmosphere.

As for the food, the tortillas for the burritos are grilled, as opposed to steamed. That's good. And they're pretty good, which is good. But – here we go again – $4.15 for a regular, and no chips. Chips are a dollar extra. Which, if I'm not mistaken, puts you up over five bucks without even anything to drink.

Luckily, I had bought a five-pound bag of tortilla chips at Costco to contribute to a party, and then wound up going home with most of those pounds, which were still in the car. In a perfect world, I would have brought that bag into the restaurant and gone around pouring chips onto people's plates, to make a point (i.e., chips are cheap!) ... but I only just now had that idea, damn me. Which is why I'm a writer and not an activist, I guess.

Being a writer, I ate my burrito, cussing and cursing. And then I went out to the car and ate a bunch of chips, cussing and cursing. And then I went around the corner to Silver Terrace and, being a writer, went oh-for-however many times I batted, cussing and cursing. And now, being a writer, I'm writing this shit – still cussing and still cursing.

When I finish ... we have a show tonight, my band. I'm going to bring the remaining four pounds of that five-pound bag of tortilla chips and pass them out in little bags, if possible, to everyone in the audience, to eat with their next burrito.

That bag cost something like three dollars and change, and my guess is that I will still be in business, come tomorrow, not only as a writer but as a starving artist in general.

Listen, taquerías, you've already raised your prices. A handful of chips, more or less, isn't going to kill you. It's probably not even going to hurt you. If it is – if it really is the difference between staying in business and going out of business – then how about if we meet halfway. I'll pay, say, twice whatever that handful of chips really costs you. Which, if you go to Costco, we're talking pennies. Hell, I'll meet you more than halfway; I'll pay four times, five times – say, 20¢ – and I will neither cuss nor curse, and show nothing but respect for our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ no matter which side of his body his heart is on, I promise.

But ... a dollar? For chips? Fuck that shit.

Cinco de Mayo Taquería and Grocery. 2426 San Bruno (at Silver), S.F. (415) 468-9272. Daily: 10 a.m.-8 p.m. Takeout available. Beer. Credit cards not accepted. Wheelchair accessible.