It being Thursday, it’s only fitting that I celebrate you, my dear Panchitos.
I remember our first meeting, yes I do.
JLo and I visited in 2010, hoping to sneak in some margaritas underage (wow, I know, we are speaking truths today, y’all). We tried, you asked for our IDs, we fumbled for excuses and ended up ordering diet Coke.
But that’s not all we ordered.
In our shame, we felt obligated to order some food, and that, my friend, was the first night I ever experienced POCO DE MEXICO aka 2 quesadillas, 2 flautas, 2 beef empanadas, a ‘lil guacamole, and one small bowl of queso. The perfect combo. A little bit of Mexico, indeed.
Fast forward two years and we are all of legal drinking age and we visit you every Thursday, Panchitos, for your two dollar margarita extravaganza. I was drunk on you, Panchitos, on your throngs of followers, the smells of beef and onion, the sizzle of fajitas passing by, the hypnotic lyrics “MOO la vaca….MOO la vaca.” We were all “looking for food” as your keyboardist so eloquently put it. And we found it.
Legends were born within your walls, Panchitos. The mythical 6th margarita, the timeless debate of frozen or on the rocks, the age-old prelude: “That one time at Panchitos when…..”
These days, we aren’t as good at keeping in touch, Panchitos. It’s no one’s fault, we are just in different places in our lives. We even live on the same street now. BUT I still smile fondly at you when I pass by. And yes, I’ve been known to visit now and then. But the music has changed. And now I have work in the morning.
Panchys, Panchuchus, Panchachos: Here’s to you; may your margs always be 2 dollars on Thursdays and may your plates always be filled with love.