"It's like a hipster grenade exploded."

Over the weekend, friend friend and I were walking in downtown Big City.

We saw a sign for a cool restaurant a couple of blocks away, but some girl was hungry, impatient and angry. I suggested a closer restaurant, mostly because it was right in front of my face, and friend friend agreed.

It was a Mexican food joint. Apparently the words "farm to table" were on the sign in front of the business, but I was honestly too hungry to read at that point. (Friend friend says hipsters love the "farm to table" concept and I'm all like...where do they think food comes from? Not a farm?)

We went inside this Mexican restaurant, and I quickly realized this was not only a Mexican food joint, this was a hipster Mexican food joint.

We lost count of how many flannel shirts and manly puffy vests there were around us. Oh, and the big, bushy beards!

When I got dressed that morning, I did not think about how to fit in to the hipster crowd in Big City.
I left my dorky glasses at home and I wasn't wearing flannel.*

I felt sorely out of place, and slightly too old to eat hipster tacos**.

In the words of friend friend: "It's like a hipster grenade exploded."

All I really wanted was a Diet Coke, but this place was way too cool for that. I had a blueberry soda instead.

(A blueberry soda and a taco don't really go well together.)

*We both wore flannel the next night and kind of fit in.

**My taco was tiny, but it was probably the best taco I've ever had. Also, the margarita I had was so strong, I had a dream I made margaritas last night.

I did not take a photo of my hipster tacos, so here's a hipster coffee and some cookies instead.