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| - The Memory Waiter. You know the guy: He never writes anything down, because, well. He's a pro. He'll get everything right, right? They never get anything wrong. Just ask them.
So here's a new twist. Sunday, that awkward time between too late for breakfast, don't want the full-blown brunch, just a tad too early for day drinking, hey howzabout some Meskin? Off to Tito's. First guy comes over, with his hands in his pockets. A tad informal, even for a strip-mall Mexican restaurant. My daughter really needed something, pronto, so we ordered her the appetizer bean nachos and were assured by Senor Pantspocket that it would be no more than five minutes. "Or six minutes," he added, which really sounded promising. Five minutes later, he comes back. "Was that chicken, or beef?" I wanted to walk; cooler heads prevailed. I marveled, as this guy wandered the restaurant, never once taking his hands out of his jeans. In hindsight I wondered if perhaps he didn't actually work there, but had no place else to be and decided to try his hand at food service. Sort of working, while not quite working.
Finally, our REAL waiter arrived, and all was again right with the world, the food planets re-aligned, and Tito's won our hearts. The food comes to table mere minutes after ordering. (Two of our party had been here for a weekday business lunch, during which time was of the essence. They get you in, get you out.)
Food was pretty good, portions allow for a full meal now, and a full meal whenever you remember you have that styrofoam box in the fridge. The decor is comically kitschy, although unintentionally so. The Tito's name is emblazoned everywhere: table tops, chair backs, booths. I mean EVERYwhere. I checked my back in the mirror, thinking they may have slapped a Tito's sticker there, too.
(I would be remiss not mentioning that I still mourn the restaurant that once lived here: The Egg Castle. It was a castle, honoring the egg. It was, for many years in my salad days the after-bar place, the post-10k race place, the hangover place, the walk of shame place. It's the laughter we remember, when we remember the eggs that were...)
"It's easier to be faithful to a restaurant than it is to a woman."
- Federico Fellini
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