All in Mi Familia

Last night I may or may not have had the worst meal at a Tex-Mex restaurant in my entire life.  Then again, seeing as I never actually 'had' the meal it's difficult to really say.  Of course the entire experience could have simply been a dream.  A long, horrible dream...so it's best I tell you about it from a hypothetical perspective. Just in case it never really happened.  One can never be too sure about these things.  That, and the fact that lawsuits can be a real pain in the ass and all.

Hypothetically our group of eight (five adults and three children, the oldest being five) chose to dine at Mi Familia on a Saturday night in Roanoke, Texas over several other restaurants within a one-block radius in the center of town.  Another couple in our group had dined there previously and had a good dining experience and they wanted to share their 'find' with us.  As we drove into town I noticed lines outside ALL of the dining establishments in town.  All of them with the exception of Mi Familia.  'This doesn't look good,' I thought to myself.  Later I would be thinking: 'Self, you should have gone with your first instinct.'  Not to mention: 'Self, you have no one to blame but yourself.'

We were immediately seated--outside and adjacent to a side road leading into town; a road that apparently every man in Texas with a truck with those really big tires has to drive on to retain their Man Card because I can't recall a 30-second window in the entire two-and-a-half hours we were seated that one of them didn't drive by and rev their engines at 4,500 RPM's while idling at the stop sign about 30 yards from where we sat.

Once our waitress arrived (Translation: After 20 or more trucks passed by) we finally placed our drink order.  Ten trucks later the drinks arrived, and seven of us actually got what we ordered.  Seven out of eight; not a bad batting average if you played for the Texas Rangers.  Four bowls of chips and salsa appeared and after another 30 or more trucks passed by we placed our dinner order.  Here's where the fun began.

•   30 trucks later and the three children had their meals.  By the time another 15 or so trucks passed by they were all finished.  They immediately began throwing the balled-up wrappers from their straws at one another and when that got tiresome considered throwing the rice and beans they didn't eat at one another.  

•   20 trucks later two of the adults had their meal in front of them.  I don't think another half-dozen trucks passed by before one of the adults had inhaled his entire plate.  I wasn't impressed because I've seen that act before; the adult was my older son Justin.  I'm pretty certain he doesn't chew when he eats.  

•   25 trucks later another adult meal is served.  I look around the table and notice that all three children and one adult were finished with their meals, two adults were in the early stages of eating theirs and two adults still hadn't received their meals: Cindy and I.  Cindy calls the waitress over and asks about our meals.  The waitress apologizes and says the cooks in the back 'hate her' and appear to be doing their absolute best to make her look like a fool. ' They're doing a pretty good job', I think to myself. 

•   10 more trucks and the only other customers dining ‘outside’—a couple in their early 60’s, I’m guessing—get up from their table to leave.  They’re either finished with their meal, tired of inhaling the fumes of the passing trucks or afraid one of the random forks or knives flying out of the rolled up napkins the children are swinging like ninja swords will pierce their eyeballs. 

•   Cindy complains to the waitress about how long it's taking to get our meals.  'How long can it take to serve a bowl of guacamole?'I think to myself.  

•   30 more trucks and Cindy and I have our dinners.  Cindy notices that my meal is actually the meal Justin ordered.  Too late for us to simply swap plates, seeing as Justin had devoured MY dinner well over 30 minutes ago.  The waitress takes my plate and returns to the kitchen.  In no time (10 trucks) she returns with my dinner, the correct one this time but this time the beans are cold and the enchiladas are burnt on the end (how does THIS happen?).  Cindy takes one bite of my beans and DEMANDS a hot plate of food for me (I'm pretty passive about everything at this point because I had already eaten about 200 or more tortilla chips).  Cindy explains that she is 'sick and tired' of poor customer service (See what owning two stores has done to her?  I'm liking this!) and being taken advantage of.

•   I thank Cindy for taking up for me and tell her the cook will probably spit in my food.  

•   Cindy takes a bite of her guacamole.  When I see her reaction all I can think is 'Holy guacamole, I can't wait until the waitress returns!'

•   20 more trucks and I have a hot plate in front of me with the correct food on it this time.  The waitress tells us again how much the cooks hate her and that no one spit in my food because she watched them while they prepared it.  This makes me wonder why she would say such a thing, because she was long gone when I mentioned 'spitting in my food' 'to Cindy.  I eat none of it and let Justin pour it into a to-go box I mentioned to him earlier he might want to ask for; just in case.  Cindy, however bends the ear of our waitress about the 'slimy guacamole' and the fact it's 'inedible.'

•   One of the adults who had previously dined at Mi Familia asked to see 'Walter,' the owner.  'Walter' came out and after he heard of our experience he said something half-assed about 'winning some and losing some' and 'not always having their 'A' game.'  I DO know he said absolutely nothing about: (a) Being sorry, or (b) that he would make a concession for our horrible dining-or-lack-thereof experience.  

•   The waitress returned--WITH OUR BILL--and believe me I SO just wanted to walk out without paying the bill but I thought (a) I'm from out of town and I don't want to spend the night in some jail in the middle of where-the-hell-am-I, Texas and (b) going to jail would send a bad message to the children.  So I give the waitress my credit card and when the bill comes back I write on the 'tip' line in the smallest handwriting I could muster: 'Get it from the owner.'  I hated stiffing the waitress--seeing as everyone working at the restaurant hated her and all--but I thought on a higher level that if she got a tip it would encourage her to keep working for a man who didn't give a rat's ass about his customers and in the long run I was doing it in her best interest.

The next morning I entered 'Mi Familia Roanoke' for a Google search.  I found a Yelp listing of the restaurant and after looking at the various comments made by past patrons, I discovered a host of others who had similar experiences.  Apparently others in Roanoke, Texas looking for a dining option last night had consulted Yelp before selecting their restaurant.  If only I had been one of them.    

Maybe last night wasn't a dream after all.  Before you choose to dine at Mi Familiar in Roanoke, Texas, you may want to reread this.  Only this time, skip over the word 'hypothetically.'