An Unfolding Tragedy

Back on Monday, I wrote a piece about a new restaurant in the area  - La Mordida – and yesterday evening Honey and I decided to give them a try.

We got there early, about a quarter to five, and found the place empty except for a table full of little kids who immediately began yelling “Somebody’s here!” at the top of their lungs.  The kids were ignored until I looked over a partition to find the entire staff – apparently three generations of the same family – eating their own supper at a table in the kitchen.  At that point, one of the teenaged girls got up and seated us.

She handed us each a menu, took our orders for iced tea with lemon and (I guess) went back to finish her supper.  During the ten minutes or so that she was gone, the youngest girl got up from the kids’ table and came to stare at us.  She looked at us with big brown eyes while her mouth opened and closed like a koi at feeding time.  Her older brother, a cute and outgoing boy of about seven, explained that she was trying to talk, but didn’t know how.  He said she was only one year old although she appeared to be a lot closer to two.

The waitress finally arrived with our iced tea (with lime) and a basket of the greasiest tortilla chips I have ever seen.  The chips were cold and in spite of claims on the menu that everything was home made, the salsa was obviously out of a jar.

I ordered what seemed to be the signature dish – parilladas (a sort of Mexican mixed grill with beef and chicken fajitas and shrimp) but was told that they were out of shrimp, so I settled for enchiladas verdes.  Honey ordered a three enchilada plate with one each of beef, chicken and cheese.

Half an hour later, we were seriously wondering whether we were ever going to get any food (we were still the only customers in the place) and discussing whether to just get up and leave, when the waitress arrived with Honey’s plate.  As she placed Honey’s plate before her, she told me that the cook had mistakenly put red sauce instead of green on my order and was starting over.  I told her never mind, I would take what was already fixed and Honey asked her to take her plate back and warm it up – it was already too cold to eat.

While we were waiting, our waitress left the restaurant for a trip across the parking lot to the grocery store.  I don’t think she was getting anything for us, the only thing I could see through the bag when she returned was a can of Dr. Pepper.  In spite of her yelling “No. No. No.” and trying to hold the door shut, all of the little kids had run out and followed her across the parking lot.

Once we finally got our food, we wished we hadn’t.  It was insipid – no salt and no spices whatsoever.  The best thing we had was the guacamole, and the only thing good about that was that the avocado hadn’t turned brown!

When we went to the register to pay,  our waitress said that since they had got my order wrong she was giving me a dollar off.  Honey then explained that her order had only contained two enchiladas instead of three.  The waitress went back to the kitchen to confer, and came back to tell us that if we would return to our table, the cook would make her another one.  We refused, and she finally cut another dollar off of our bill.

I didn’t ask, but just based on our observations, I’m sure that this family has mortgaged everything they own to fulfill a dream of owning a restaurant.  Unfortunately, they were totally unprepared and singularly unfit for the task.  I would be amazed if they are not out of business by Halloween.  Over the too-loud conjunto music blaring from a local Tex-Mex radio station, you could almost hear the place circling the drain.

About the only thing they did right was name the place La Mordida.  This place BITES!