I own this cactus that for the last six months has decided to lean over to one side like a sad, lame duck. Sometimes I try to prop it up with my finger and a Popsicle stick, but that never seems to work. It’s deprived of sunlight, I know this. But there’s nothing I can do. I’ve tried moving it to a few different places and nothing seems to make it happy.

So, last night, after making the decision to cross off ‘try cactus’ from our list of things to do, I made a thrifty suggestion to John: Why don’t we just eat my cactus?!? Put it out of its misery. Put it to good use. Not a bad I idea, I thought. But John would have none of it. He wouldn’t even consider it. He wouldn’t even allow me to look up the possibility on Google. So, as it went, we spent the bulk of our night in pursuit of cactus and cuban cigars.

First we stopped in at Tortilla Flats at Queen & Agusta. They’ve got a giant cactus in their window. Maybe they serve cactus? Turns out the best they could do was serve me a Cactus Cola (a fancy, sweet drink that doesn’t actually contain any cactus). We ordered it anyway, taking the time to continue our cactus search on our iPhones. Finally, after about thirty minutes of calling various restaurants, we found what we were looking for: Mexitaco at Bloor & Ossington. I’ve walked passed this little joint a number of times. As one of their appetizers, Mexitaco serves a small dish called Noaples (tender mexican cactus topped with pico de gallo and cheese served with five corn tortillas).

I don’t want to say I was disappointed, because really I had no idea what to expect. I certainly didn’t expect the cactus to be pickled. I love pickles! I love pickled onions. I love olives. Yet, I would never eat a tortilla full of pickles (which I think is a fair equivalent to this dish). On its own, the cactus is nice, though a little slimy. Perhaps paired with some meats and cheeses and crackers it could even be delicious. But stuffed in a tortilla? Pass. We ate about a 1/3 of our dish and I made the mistake of transporting the rest home in my bag. Slime everywhere. Slime on my book. Slime on my hat. It was gross. End of story.

To read about our cuban cigar pursuit, click here.
To read about John passing out to Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, click here.