Aye carumba. I apologize for my español just now. See, I don't know that language beyond words like burrito, taco and enchilada. Oh, and cerveza, tequila and mezcal. OK, and el baño. Well, you get the idea, mi amigos. But let's just en el meollo de la cuestion (apparently that means "cut to the chase" according to wikipedia...so it's probably wrong...anyway): the meal between breakfast and lunch, a.k.a. brunch, a word my Googled English-Spanish dictionary could not provide.
I realize I wrote about this yesterday, but I thought it only fitting that I write a kind of counterpoint to the nightmare that was the Reef. So, today, I bring you Rumba Cafe, a.k.a. el cielo (I promise that will be my last retarded effort at Spanish).
We actually came upon this lovely establishment by accident one Sunday morning. We had wanted to try La Fourchette (a très mal morceau de merde located just a few doors south of Rumba on 18th Street in Adams Morgan), but, merci dieu, "The Fork" was overflowing (why? I have no idea, La Fourchette will be Bad Brunch Saga #2 next week). So, because nous avions très faims (all right, I promise that will be my last retarded effort at French...ok...and all other foreign languages I have to rely on Google to speak), we moved on to the emptiest place we could find. And for some unknown reason, that place was Rumba Cafe, my little slice of heaven.
We promptly received water, bread and our menus, at which time our friendly waiter took our drink orders. Five minutes later, our selection of mimosas, coffees, bloody marys, grapefruit juices and teas arrived. Fifteen minutes later, our food arrived. I ordered the Rumba omelette ($7.00!), which featured ingredients like chorizo and plaintains, while my companions ordered the huevos rancheros (I think that was $8.00, maybe). Anyway, it was dirt cheap.
Regarding the omelette, I can tell you it was one of the best omelette's I've ever consumed. Everything was cooked perfectly. The eggs were fluffy and non-greasy. The chorizo wasn't too chewy and the other ingredients lent the perfect amount of spice and flavor to make the meal just plain satisfying. I was full, but not sickly full. If Rumba were part of the Wu-Tang Clan, it'd be RZA, the most solid, all-around damn good artist. Like RZA, Rumba's sh*t is tight.
Honestly, it is nice to find a go-to place in this town of ours, especially a go-to place that also happens to be the seemingly cheapest place on the block. *Sigh.*
The final tally:
Time I'm Glad I Don't Want to Ask for Back: 1.5 hours (a very leisurely hour-and-a-half, I might add).
Money I'm So, SO Glad I'd Rather Not Spend on F*ing Zima: $12 (including drinks...good, solid drinks).