Habaneros Los San Antonio

Would you give it a 10? If I were a wait person I would cringe to see my wife walk in the restaurant door. I am sure there are other diners more daunting to serve and more demanding than my wife and I will cite my brother's former mother-in-law as an example. She absolutely was not happy unless she was complaining about some aspect of the food served her. And if the food was impeccably prepared, then the service was the vent for her seismic scale volcanic eruption. I was game to accept a dinner invitation when the in-laws and family congregated for a dinner rendezvous in my early years as it usually meant a free dinner. Subsequently I developed all manner of excuses to avoid a certain to be an embarrassing repeat of the MIL's ballistic behavior. Don't get me wrong. My wife may feign an aloof discord to a perceived restaurant faux pas, but readily softens into her congenial self once an attempt is made to mitigate a problem. Extra points for speed and accuracy here. I must admit that today I contributed to the probability that the kitchen would err. With the instructions that my wife gave the waitress, however, there were two full pages of notes that comprised our order today. The waitress made light of the tedious affair and we joked over the five minutes that it took her to transcribe the verbal directives. It went something like this: make sure the nachos are cheesy, please substitute beef for cheese enchiladas, chicken instead of beef taco and make it a puffy rather than a crispy, serve the puffy on a small plate by itself, substitute potatoes for the rice, make the tortillas half corn half flour, and add a puffy bacon and egg taco with crispy strip, not chopped, bacon to my order. Everything was made fresh to order. The sauces on my juevos divorciados could not have been better and the eggs a viscous medium. The puffy bacon and egg taco was frankensteinian in its uniqueness and mouth watering in its consumption. "It's alive! It's alive!" (No apologies for my cinematic coltishness.) Here comes the fly in the soup. The enchilada beef for cheese substitution had missed the boat, failed to make the grade, stumbled outta the gate and was otherwise absent for roll call. With a slight glow still remaining from earlier jovial discourse, my wife made the error known, but very amicably done. (Relief!) Faster than I have encountered the manual assemblage from scratch of two stuffed beef enchiladas, the steaming beefsters sat smoldering in front of my wife. With more plates on the table than any industrial size lazy susan could ever hope to facilitate, we mutually m-m-m-m-ed and wowed in recognition of each scrumptious bite. We vowed not to let the opportunity to taste their breakfast tacos get away and so ordered several to go on their in house made, larger than normal tortillas. We thanked the cook/owner of the place as we exited the small neighborhood restaurant with a satisfied grin and a belt loosened waddle. And a parting joke for the next time we come in was to write up our own food ticket essay beforehand. In spite of the mistake or maybe because of it, brunch today was a highly eupeptic experience.

The service is nice if you know how to tip. I always do 18%. The tables are always spotless when they see me walk in. The busses is extremely attractive I think his name is Julio V. , he's really nice and will even refill drinks to my table without us asking. People here who complain about the service just don't know how to be respectful and to tip correctly 18% is the bare minimum for the staff to treat you with great respect.