"Man, talk about a disappointing experience. My girlfriend and I, craving some Mexican food, decided to look up some of the favorite spots in the region. We noted this spot on Yelp over in Wolfeboro with surprisingly decent reviews. Awesome! Let 's go check it out. It was busy for a Sunday night, but the weather was great and the hostess could seat us outside at a small table very quickly. Score! After some back and fourth, we decided on our entrees; A $20+ steak burrito for myself (hey were on vacation, right? and the chicken enchilada plate for the Mrs. One teensy little request by the GF, Please don 't make it too saucy, I would prefer it slightly dryer she says to our waiter, Chad, or Logan, or some other name I cant quite remember. Famous last words. Que 25 minutes of small talk and waiting around (no complaints, it was in-fact quite a busy night and our entrees come out. My steak burrito presented well enough, but unfortunately possessed the flavoring of a lightly salted shoe. I take a bite, 'hmm, is this.. kale..? '.... another bite, 'Boy! sure are a lot of refried beans in here for a $20 steak burrito! ' another bite, 'Ah! there 's a small piece of steak, tastes like a flank! ' But if the night ended there, compadres, this would be a 2-3 star evening and probably not a Yelp rant into the abyss, no. We 're just getting to the creme de la creme (cremas de cremas for those Spanish speakers out there of the story. My. Girlfriends. Enchiladas. Feast upon the picture now in front of you (or below, or above, I 'm not sure how the Yelp UI works . What came out of that cute little kitchen in quaint little Wolfeboro NH can only be described as an abomination of the Mexican culinary experience. Try to envision three flour tortillas containing chicken dried for no less than 7 years in the Sahara (it was really dry , SMOTHERED in what I can only describe as an overly sweet-marinara sauce..??? Finished with a generous glaze of zig-zagged sour cream finish. Boo-thang takes a bite. Eyes slowly open, wider than the square plate that sits mere inches below her nose. With each chew, she comes to the awful realization that she 's actively tasting, consuming, digesting a meal not fit for human consumption. The dry chicken morsels are overcome by a flooding of sweet (and I mean SWEET marinara sauce. I ask her what 's wrong? Is it alright? Terror begins to fill her eyes as her tastebuds catch up to her motor functions. She quietly, but politely, finishes her grueling bite. No she says. Gulping down some water, No bueno , she adds. Conflicted by the competing forces of her hunger and judgement she musters the courage to take another bite. The overwhelming sweetness of the MARINARA sauce continuous to assault her palate. She stops eating from there. Connor, or Hunter (gosh, I cant remember his name comes over, Is everything alright? It 's just okay my girlfriend replies, let-down by over Canadian-born overt politeness. We get the rest to go. She throws up when we get home. End of night, 1 outa 5."
