El Chapo gave us the most baller dining story of all time.

Wildcasa.com El Champo Guzman eats like a boss

Source First came one man, accompanied by two, three more. He spoke with a thick, loud voice; grabbing the attention of the diners who at that moment numbered maybe thirty.

“Gentlemen, please. Give me a moment of your time. A man is going to come in, the boss. We ask that you remain in your seats; the doors will close and nobody is allowed to leave. You will also not be allowed to use your cellulars. Do not worry; if you do everything that is asked of you, nothing will happen. Continue eating and don’t ask for your check. The boss will pay. Thank you.” The diners stayed where they were, surprised, expectant.

It was one of the first days of November. Eight at night. The restaurant, Las Palmas, on Xicoténcatl Boulevard, in Colonia Las Quintas, was suddenly filled with people.

Fifteen men entered the restaurant; including the boss, el patrón, Joaquín Guzmán Loéra, El Chapo; and his hitmen, his pistoleros.

The diners sat still, stupefied, embarrassed, and frightened. The fear and the paralysis, an attack of the heart; here in this tiny space, amidst the tables and wooden chairs, plates piled high with cabrería, bottles of cold beer, plates of pulpo and camarón.

It’s said that El Chapo came in through the front door. He walked among the tables, squarely between the patrons; his entry more stalking than walking; tranquil and proud. He greeted each person there. “Hello, nice to meet you.” “How are you?” “I’m Joaquín Guzmán Loéra. A pleasure.” “At your service.”

He circled the room full of occupied tables, filled with families, couples, business men, associates who had gathered to eat and to drink. Nobody was spared the greeting, the squeezing of the hand, the benediction. El Chapo retired to the private salon inside the restaurant where the house specialties are expensive cuts of beef and large shrimp.

A group of his collaborators and gunmen followed him into the salon. The other half sat with the diners, watching and speaking in low voices. He spent two hours locked in the salon, dining on shrimp and pulpo, plates piled high with red steaks and chiles, sweating with their heat.The meal ended finally. El Chapo left without fanfare; a moment later his gunmen left as well.Then, the settling of accounts; before he left, he paid everyone’s bill.

We’ve already covered the amazing story of one drug lord on this site and now the recent capture of El Chapo Guzman (Sinaloa drug cartel bossman) reminded me of this epic story of how he dined in a most baller manner. When I first read this story all I could think was, “Is that actually a thing? Do people actually do that? Just walk into a restaurant and take over?” Apparently, yes. Yes they do and the Mexican restaurant scene is pretty much a Thunderdome where you eat at your own risk. And you thought Montezuma’s Revenge was all you had to worry about when eating in Mexico. Nope. One second you’re on a date with your lady just trying to run some game and get her liquored up and in the mood. The next thing you know the place is being stormed by some kingpin’s private army and your cell phone is being confiscated. So much for those selfies of you and your date you planned to ‘Gram to make all your ex’s jealous. New gameplan brah. Better try your hardest to NOT remember anything that goes down during this meal.

And another thing who knew these Mexican drug guys were so good with words? “Gentlemen, please. Give me a moment of your time. A man is going to come in, the boss. We ask that you remain in your seats; the doors will close and nobody is allowed to leave. You will also not be allowed to use your cellulars. Do not worry; if you do everything that is asked of you, nothing will happen. Continue eating and don’t ask for your check. The boss will pay. Thank you.”  That’s a monologue on par with anything Hollywood has to offer these days. Eat your heart out Tarantino. Some south of the border cartel brute just went Shakespeare on your ass. Such great lines. My man Chapo is dining like a champion. I mean can you imagine eating dinner and hearing that? “I’m sorry, what do you mean ‘the boss’? You mean like the boss of drugs? Oh, ok, yeah. In that case I’ll just sit the fuck down. No problem.” I’m pretty sure I would go from very confused and annoyed to incredibly polite and docile in a matter of seconds.

2 thoughts on “El Chapo gave us the most baller dining story of all time.

  1. Pingback: WFT story of the day: A rampaging, 22-pound Oregon house cat with a “history of violence” attacked a baby and trapped a family and their dog in a bedroom at their Portland home. | WildCasa.com

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