Puerto Vallarta is a city in Mexico, site of the famous Plaza de Armas amphitheater and Púlpito & Pilitas rock formations, and frequent port of call for TV’s Love Boat. It’s also a Mexican restaurant in Seattle.

When you walk in, their fast-food takeout counter is to your left, but I wanted to sit and eat in the restaurant, like swanky people. Didn’t see any staff except a kindly-looking old gent behind the takeout counter, so from 15 feet away I asked, “Should I seat myself?”

“Oh,” he said nicely, “I’ll take you to a table, and let the waitress know you’re here.” He came out from the counter, guided me up a walkway into the dining area, and said I could sit anywhere. I thanked him, and took a booth by the window, with a view of the sidewalk and street life on California Ave (there’s plenty).

A waitress was soon at my table, friendly and welcoming with an authentic accent. She handed me a menu, and I wandered inside it but had no idea what I wanted for lunch.

Having lived in California, I love burritos, but I’ve eaten ten thousand of them and wanted something different. My knowledge of Mexican cuisine ends at burritos, so I ordered a chicken chimichanga, only because it’s a fun saying those two words together.

From the street, Puerto Vallarta isn’t much more than another door in Alaska Junction’s long avenue of shops and restaurants, but the dining room is large, and nicer than I’d expected. The booths are made of carved wood, comfortably cushioned. Small, tasteful paintings have been brushed directly onto the walls. The carpet is worn but clean. This place has obviously been here for decades, and I’ll take that over anyplace brand new and plastic.

For added ambiance, hidden speakers play genuinely Hispanic music, not pop — ‘lounge singing’ in Spanish, sometimes with bursts of mariachi. It’s pleasant, and at a soft volume so you can choose whether to listen. If you don’t listen, it fades into the background.

While my order was being prepared, the waitress surprised me with chips and two kinds of salsa. There’s no better way to win my heart at a Mexican restaurant than free chips & salsa, crunch & yum.

I ate about half the chips and salsa before the meal came. The red salsa was semi-hot and delicious, clearly not from a jar, and had big chunks of onion. The other small bowl held an small undressed salad, mostly lettuce but with chopped jalapenos and tomatoes. The bowl of chips was generous, and I finished it as a side dish during the meal, leaving not a crumb nor a drop of either garnish.

As for the meal, even eating and enjoying it, I wasn’t sure what a chimichanga was. The menu didn’t say, and I didn’t ask, but I Wikipedia’d it when I got home: it’s a deep-fried burrito (my 10,001th), folded to roughly the size of a jumbo cheeseburger. Mmmm.

Also on the plate was a guacamole sauce, sidepile of lettuce, yellow rice, beans topped with cheese, a dollop of sour cream, and the dreaded slice of bland tomato you find at most restaurants. Other than the tomato, it was all delicious, even the rice, and I’m usually no fan of rice.

Eating anything ethnic, especially when jalapeno peppers are involved, I worry that the food will be too fiery, but Puerto Vallarta only hinted at hot. My nose barely ran, with only three blows during the whole meal. Perhaps they made it extra mild for the gringo, and if so, my sincere thanks.

I lunched hunched over the plate like an old man, because everything had serious drip potential and I was wearing my last semi-clean shirt, which I’ll be re-wearing at the family’s Thanksgiving on Thursday.

Everything was delicious, at a price low enough to ensure I’ll be back — $21.78 total, which included a tall Diet Coke. I tipped kooky big, and waved at the old guy behind the takeout counter as I left.

My brief vacation to Puerto Vallarta was marvelous, and I pity the fools walking into Chipotle across the street.

11/26/2025

Cheap Seattle

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