Outdoor Dining
June 21, 2006
"I'm hungry," said Deborah, on our way to the subway after work.
I remembered a Mexican restaurant nearby with backyard seating and suggested we go there. Its entrance is set below street level. You follow railings draped in Christmas lights down cement steps, into a dark room with a low ceiling. Our eyes didn't have time to adjust before we were through the room and out the back door. Outside, the scene resembled a junkyard, with tables crammed in among discarded Mexican knick-knacks: gourds, masks, an oversized plastic owl, a cement cow skull, and some dead tomato plants.
"Anywhere you like," the waitress said, even though only one table was available.
We slid the picnic table a bit, wrestled with a couple of aluminum chairs, and sat down. Next to us was an old man tuning up an acoustic guitar, its finish worn to bare wood. A guitar pick-up was stuck to the face of the guitar, near the soundhole, with what looked like putty or maybe plastic explosive. A thin wire ran from the putty into a cardboard box that housed either the detonator or a small amplifier. It wailed and whistled with feedback as the old man experimented with various placements. He settled on putting it underneath his wooden folding chair. The man himself was wild-eyed with gray hair and scaling skin. "Is he wearing eyeliner?" Deborah whispered.
"I think so."
When he finally started playing a tune, it was nearly indistinguishable from when he was tuning. He appeared drunk. His movements were dramatic and his expressions filled with emotion. I'm sure in his mind, his playing was exquisite. Unfortunately, he was the only one there. The rest of us had to suffer through the broken-fingered plinks and squawks of a separate reality.
The wind kicked up and blew a stack of menus off a table. My plastic cup — filled with what the waitress told me was Mexican iced tea, but tasted like sour grape juice — slid across the picnic table. I caught it just before it spilled. A few raindrops dotted the table.
"Want to move inside?" I said. "If it rains, everyone is going to make a run for it. There aren't many tables in there. Let's beat the crowd."
It didn't rain, but I was happy to be inside anyway, beyond the sound of the guitar.
We sat near a television that was playing a bootleg DVD of "Cars" that had obviously been videotaped off a movie screen.
"This has been a weird experience," said Deborah, as she looked around the room. Statues of unfamiliar saints were everywhere. Skeletons, Jesus, Mary, masks, everything lit by candles, or glowing green and red in the slow pulse of Christmas lights. "The food here is either going to be really good, authentic Mexican food, or else totally crappy."
Guess which?
