I hesitate to even mention this in a public place, but my happiness and excitement is getting the better of me…

Tonight, I ate at a really really good Mexican restruant in New York.

The guacamole was freshly and expertly prepared, the tortilla chips were made from actual tortillas, the chile pablano was stuffed and bursting with flavor, the mole sauce brought tears of joy to my eyes, the Sangria was made to order and tasty, and it was all capped off with a rich and inventive chocolate-jalapeno ice cream.

Now, I have been on quest for the past year-and-a-half to find some good Mexican food in New York. I’d even settle for decent Mexican food, but before tonight it wasn’t happening. I asked everyone I met, friends, classmates, actual Mexicans, foodies, and even professional food critics! No one could tell me the location of a single quality Mexican restaurant. That’s why being lead to this marvelous oasis of flavor has made me feel all warm inside, even while the windchill brings the temperatures below zero outside.

But here’s the deal: don’t ask me where it is. I will NOT tell you. I won’t tell you what neighborhood it’s in. I won’t even tell you which subway line you might take get there. NO! This place is one Time Out or New York Times review away from being impossible to visit again, and I will not stand for that. So if you want to go, butter me up real good some time, and if I’m feeling generous I will blindfold you, spin you around three times, and lead you there. Until then, tell no one of what I have written here.

I’m going back next week.