Stupid Reno. In the end, that’s all I can say. It’s always the same. Good times, money up, money down, chasing free drinks, ridiculous food and then the blur of events comes crashing to an end and you find yourself crawling back up over the hill on I-80, wondering just what in the hell happened. Stupid Reno, I can’t wait to go back.

This trip to Reno was the familiar blur of booze, money and food that makes the Biggest Little City such a fun place, but this time one aspect was different. (And no, that was not coming home rich.) There are traditions one must adhere to when in Reno: casino hopping, breakfast (at any time) at the Top Deck in Cal Neva, and picking up a ridiculous souvenir at one of the shops along Virginia Street. This trip however, uncovered a new tradition: Bertha Miranda’s Mexican Food Restaurant and Cantina.

Frankie and Monica, long-time Renoers, first-time Burritowingers, turned me on to the joint. Also along for the ride was Forest, as he always seems to find his way to where the Mexican food is. We got to the family-style restaurant after a hard day of thrifting. Tired and hungry, we stumbled in and were immediately greeted with a lone mariachi, plucking out 70’s tunes on his guitar. Turns out a little Led Zeppelin and Bread go well with rice and beans.

A round of margaritas started us off on our journey. Strong margaritas. The previous night’s sins started to wash away on a sweet and salty lime-green wave. Which was good news considering we had a new night to fill up with debauchery. But first, before the gambling and the Reno spiral, first, there was dinner.

Monica, the meat-avoider, ordered a shrimp dish. The boys, us being boys, all ordered different variations of the same thing: “The Masterpiece”. Consisting of classic sit-down Mexican food fare, the massive plates were overflowing with a trio of deliciousness: an enchilada, a chile relleno, and a taco. Of course, rice, beans and sour cream came with. And like any good Californian expects, the whole thing was covered in cheese.

Digging in was a treat. Except for Monica, we all had chicken and beef somewhere in our trifecta of deliciousness. The chicken was the best. For me, it was in the enchilada. Tangy sauce covered a tortilla, which housed the tender chicken. The crispy taco, filled with beef, may have strayed from authenticity, but suffered none in the process. The best of the bunch however, was the chile relleno, a cheese stuffed pepper that surprised me with color as I cut into it: it was red. I asked the waiter what type of chile was used, and it turned out to be a New Mexico chile. Surprising, as I have come to expect the green poblano when ordering a chile relleno. Also, the beast was round and full, more so that I would have thought possible from a chile I normally associate with being longer and thinner that of the robust poblano. The taste was familiar though, and didn’t seem to diverge too far from the standard. The chile question is for more qualified minds than mine.

The amount of food was fitting for the excesses of Reno. We stumbled out of the restaurant appropriately stuffed and giddy. You learn from your excesses, and Reno is certainly a place to apply that knowledge. Next trip to Bertha Miranda’s might result in me ordering the same dish: sans a cheese chile relleno. Experience has now taught me that there will be enough cheese on the plate. While cheese-drowned plates of Mexican food are usually a sign of gringo-inspired flavors, Bertha Miranda’s use of cheese was not an attempt to cover up sins of the palate. It may be hard to call Bertha Miranda’s an oasis of authenticity, but an oasis it is nonetheless. The food was familiar, well-prepared and delicious. Sometimes in Reno, you just have to play the safe bet.