TORTILLA-TUDE and TONY

Russ and I have been loyal patrons of El Acapulco for twelve years. Without fail, twice a month or so, we enter the hallowed ground that boasts tacky Christmas lights strung up year round, flickering shrine-like candles under a picture of Hay-seuss, and and steaming chips and salsa. We have seen that establishment through a name change, personnel change, and a price hike. And we love it still.

However, we have noticed something lately--- that, frankly, the wait staff doesn’t give us the respect we deserve after being such long standing patrons. It’s almost as if we are BOTHERING them to bring a cup of sour cream which they charge me a dollar for. The more our disgruntled discussions escalated, the more a storm began to brew: we mused that the staff have shitty attitudes….why don’t we get a meal or two comped, after all our time there?...and dammit, we’re going to take our business to….(dum, da-dum dum DUUUMM) EL VAQUERO!!!
Gasp.. and silence! Yes, EL VAQUERO, the…gulp….competitor of El Acapulco! Could we actually be such rebels?

Well, yes, we could. And frankly, the service we got there was WORSE than at El A. (Must you fling my tortillas at me?) This wasn't attitude...it was Tortilla-tude at its worst. But oh, stay with me, because as Alicia Keyes says, what goes around comes around, (what goes up must come down, now who's cryin', desirin to come back to me...Okay, enough.)

We were, sadly, disgruntled at the state of affairs in the Mexican restaurant arena. Were we to be forced to eat at China Way now, or Thai Palace? Japanese Steakhouse? What, pray tell, would we eat, if not our Mexican delights? Was I to go without my #44 with a side of rice, forevermore?

Well, like a battered woman who keeps going back, we returned to El A, of course. We couldn’t let it go. Only, the next time we went, there was an unexpected twist. The one and only Pop Pops, AKA Antwon, ‘ Twon, To-To, Tony, my father, accompanied us. One of the MANY things I love about my father, (besides his sentimentality, his craziness, how he will come visit with a jug of Long Island iced tea, his sense of humor, and his obsession with sending me postcards from the town he lives in) is the fact that he is a zealous, energetic, enthusiastic food eater. He openly admits there really isn’t anything he doesn’t like to eat. So when we decided to show him a glimpse of our sophisticated culinary tastes (How cutting-edge!! MEXICAN FOOD!!??) he was all for it. We escorted him to El Acapulco.

WEll, our rather surly waitress arrived, took our order and high-tailed it away. Pop Pops looked pleased; his eyes lit up like a child’s as he anticipated the arrival of his food.

Five seconds later, it arrived.. “hot plate… hot plate”……..(part of the reason we loved El A is because we could arrive at 7:30 and be completely full, drunk, happy and putting our keys in the ignition at 8:10) and Maria scurried off.

Pop Pops bit into his first chimichanga. “Mmmmm…..mmmmm, WOW!” he moaned and groaned appreciatively. The first (chicken) chimichanga was a hit, and Tony’s fork was poised to attack the second because he needed a break from the chicken.. he’s all about red meat. He dove in. Then, the look on his face changed. Like a lunar eclipse, it grew dark and solemn. Then, downright pissed. When he surfaced with a mouthful of chicken, he was not happy.

“MISS!” He said, seeking out the waitress, then louder. “Oh, MISS!”

“Oh no,” I mumbled. I knew my dad well enough to be saying to myself: Here we go.

Maria was oblivious to his calls, so then Pops pulled himself up to his entire burly, large six foot three, two-twenty, and headed over to her. “Miss, come here.”

Here is the remainder of the conversation, as Maria hovered beside the booth and stared at Tony’s plate.
TONY: Miss, do you remember what I ordered?

MARIA: (quivering): Ummm, da, da number tirty-tree?

TONY: (steely) Yes. The number thiry- three. Now can you tell me please, what is IN a number thirty- three?

MARIA (racking her brains frantically) Ahhh…. Uummmm… one beef chimichanga end one cheecken chimichanga?

TONY, (with a cat and mouse grin) Yes. Now would you look at my plate, please?

MARIA (squeaking) Jees, sir….

TONY: What do you see there?

MARIA (whispering in defeat) I see… two cheecken chimichangas.

TONY: That’s right.

MARIA: I go get beef.

She bolted to the kitchen, and came back out about 18 seconds later with a piping hot beef chimi. She had taken Pop Pops’ inquisition well, but there was a brief, shining moment of defiance when she said quietly, “It was not my fault!” and disappeared.

Chomping happily on the long-awaited beef chimichanga, PopPops said loudly, “Well who the hell’s fault does she think it is? Mine?”