I drove down east on Highway 10 last Saturday night on my way to an introduction to the new Browning’s – south of the border in Pulaski Heights (somewhere the Polish count is smiling). Yes, the long anticipated wait has at last come to an end and the famously favorite Mexican restaurant has risen again, and from early reviews, better than ever.
Turning north on University, out of the maddening Cantrell crowd, I was able to avoid one last light-running driver, who screamed obscenities at me as if I were Casey Anthony.
Safely on Kavanaugh I watched as couples and groups of people briskly strode the sidewalks, jaywalking in front of me, not worried in the least at the possibility I’d run them over. They were as lemmings moving towards the cliff and I sensed from which that purpose came – the return of Saltillo.
No parking on Kavanaugh and as I turned south on Pierce I saw a line slowly moving into the restaurant. I parked on R Street and cut across the large cavernous drive-thru at Pulaski Bank, sorry, Ibernia. It became eerily quiet as I walked and I sensed the spirits of famous departed souls like Bard’s and Shakey’s; even the Minute Man was there, none of them apparently blessed with the gift of the Phoenix as was my current destination.
Nearing Kavanaugh I saw three groups of people ahead, all whom I knew. But the only thing running through my mind was how I could cut in front of them, as fears of running out of cheese dip, or worse yet, margaritas, clouded my sense of fair play. Jimmy and Sylvia Vandover stopped just short of the front door. Having known Sylvia since birth I would have a problem pushing her out of the way. And Jimmy is a lawyer, who would probably take me for everything I have, which wouldn’t take long. They stopped to greet Randy Morley, Nancy Steenburgen and George Word from North Little Rock. What? Had Mexico Chiquito closed their doors? I’ve also known Morley a few years, since the days when we shared Cactus Vick at our birthday parties. So I couldn’t very well knock him out of the way either. Besides, he’s a judge, albeit out of his jurisdiction.
I gave Nancy a hug and saw my chance, subtly moving toward the door, but the wily Sylvia matched me step for step. We got to the door at the same time and I reluctantly held it open for her. But then I got a whiff from inside and the law of the jungle prevailed; I pushed on by. Sorry (I do feel somewhat bad because she is the one who taught me how to water ski). Inside I spotted J. Mark (Kingbossdaddy) Davis, my brother from another mother and the blood brother of Browning’s owner Steve Davis. After a Mark bear hug I spotted an opening at the beautiful new bar and moved to it. Behind it are many large flat screen TV’s. ‘It’s the perfect spot,” as my brother-in-law Bob Althoff said, “to watch the NFL on Sunday’s.”
The bar, as most bars in packed restaurants are, was slammed, and the staff was taking orders for refreshments. I got my margarita and talked to Beth Harvey while we sampled two types of really good salsa. All the tables were full, but I was content sitting just where I was. The more things change the more they stay the same. Soon however, another brother-in-law, John Althoff moved in behind me and gave me his margarita order. John is the oldest of the ten Althoff children, all who were born in St. Louis other than the youngest, Kathy, who you’ve read about here before.
John is a psychologist and it seemed the perfect time to confess my actions from earlier when I bullied my way in and over people to get in the front door. “Sounds like you have Temporal Anxiety Chalupa Obsession, or TACO, as we professional types call it.”
“That could be it,” I said.
“Have another margarita, it’s the only cure.”
John invited me over to his table and I, reluctantly, gave up my prime spot at the bar. I passed by Steve Davis and said hello. He seemed more than secure in his transformation from financier to Kingfooddaddy.
John led me to the large table in the center of the room. I sat next to my sister-in-law Lisa Althoff, and across from her mother Margaret and daughter Margaret Ann. We munched on fried calimari and queso while awaiting entrees of fajitas and enchiladas.
Lisa grabbed the extremely busy and polite Browning’s manager Pablo Chichoni and introduced us. Then he was off, taking care of other customers. Soon Elise Davis took the stage and gave a sneak preview of her upcoming show. And all was good again in the Rock.