Casa Olé
So Kelly knows that Casa Ole’ holds a lot of memories for me. These memories mostly consist of being a broke kid, hanging out with friends, seeing people from school, good Mexican food and the center of social activity in Pasadena from about 5 years of my youth.
So Kelly and I are driving up Highway 6 this past Sunday to go to that big new outlet mall up on 290. Side note on that... don’t go. Its a little after 1 o’clock and neither of us have eaten yet so we’re getting kinda hungry. We decided that we’d rather not eat at the mall so we’re looking for a place to stop at on the way. By now I’m getting so hungry that I don’t care where we go. At this point I’d go for anything between "Water-burger," (which my co-workers snicker at me for pronouncing it as such) and a little hole in the wall Cajun seafood place that we’ve been before that wasn’t too bad. Now we’re driving up Highway 6 and things are looking a little hopeless on finding anything decent to eat, when there.. out of the clouds with a golden ray of sunshine behind peers the Casa Ole’ sign. So familiar, so inviting, it conjured up a lot of emotions all at once that the exact mixture of which could only be described as Casaoleisism(sp?).
A few seconds go by and while I’m gazing at the sign and Kelly brings me back to reality and says, "Hey, let’s go there. You like that place don’t you? I like it there. they have good green-sauce, " as we pass it. I swerve back into my lane and shake off the daydream I was having. Immediately my foot muscles reacted before I could really think about it. I hit the brakes and pulled into the turn lane and made a U-Turn.
I haven’t eaten at a Casa Ole’ in a while, but it was just like I remember it. Bright Orange and green with little sombreros and various other Mexican-y trinkets. They didn’t have the sculpture in the middle like ours had of the metal frogs, but they had the same high-chairs and margarita specials. They even had the basket by the register, with the Andes mints, Casa Ole’ brand 5-pack of Certs, and that Mexican praline candy stuff. If Casa Ole’s are one thing they are fucking consistent.
We wait a few more minutes because they are very busy on a Sunday at 1:30 (that must also be because of the highchairs, kids menus, and margaritas). Then in waddles a great big lady in a pink "jogging suit." This lady was big, and I doubt that outfit ever "jogged." This lady was also very ugly. She had a face that was a cross between Hilary Clinton and Jabba the Hut.
Kelly nudged me and whispered, "EEEuughghnn. That lady over there is uuuuugly." She’s not relevant to the story except to add ambiance; later while we we’re still sitting at our table the big pink lady passed by the window we were sitting next to. I couldn’t help but say, "there she goes, the worlds ugliest person."
We waited another few minutes and happened to witness the manager sexually harass one of the young (almost too young) hostesses. He smacked her on the butt with a menu. I didn’t have a problem with it, because after all this IS Casa Ole’. I mean, what does she expect? A guy doesn’t make it to be manager of a Casa Ole’ without smacking his fair share of hot teenage hostess cupcakes, right?
Kelly said, "didja see that?"
Then I thought, well she might not feel the same way about it. She didn’t giggle or nothing like a hostess should when she doesn’t mind the advances of a 42 year old, short, bald guy with glasses.
I said, "yeah, technically that’s sexual harassment."
He’s wearing his favorite yellow Casa Ole’ -logo embroidered polo. Walking past us hurriedly he takes the time to greet us, "how you folks doing tonight?" I say, "Good." Kelly smiles and says, "fine, thanks." He barely gets out-- "We’ll that’s good, enjoy your dinner," before quickly walking away. Detecting a slight lisp when he said, "that’s," Kelly says, "oh never mind, he’s gay." Case closed.
We’re seated and meet our server. I don’t remember his name, but let’s call him Jorge (that’s pronounced "hor’-hey" for you non-Spanish speakers). By the service we received, it was obvious that Jorge was in training. And let’s be honest really, ... aren’t they all. It seemed like that evening was Jorge’s first time as a server ever. I think the gay manager had just been promoted him from dishwasher to server right before we got there on account of how busy they were. I overlook his ineptitude, because I’m so close to getting something to eat.
Two teas, a basket of chips, and red and green sauce finally arrive at the table.
Let me stop right here by saying that Casa Ole’ green-sauce is the absolute hands-down best anywhere. One of the things I love the most about Casa Ole’ is that you don’t have to ask for it. They bring it out right with the red sauce. Not like some places where when you ask for green-sauce (because I do every time hoping it will be as good as Casa Ole’s) they look at you funny and end up bringing you tomatillo or whatever that runny shit that they put on some enchiladas is called. Casa Ole green sauce was the first thing that went though my mind when I say the Casa Ole’ sign and the last thing I thought about that night before I went to sleep. The only other place who’s green sauce is up to the challenge is Chuy’s. The first bowl quickly vanishes. I wonder why they serve it in such shallow dishes? They know how good it is. Has anyone EVER only had one little dish of green sauce?
Kelly remembered she liked their green sauce. But since she’d only had it once many years ago, she’d forgot how much until she had that first scoop. Her reaction was so powerful... I’ve seen less impressive orgasms.
Jorge returns to take our order. Wanting to relive my taste-memories I ordered the most average value meal, the Ambassador. For those of you who don’t know, everything you could ever want from Casa Ole’ comes on the Ambassador. It consists of:
- 1 queso tostada
- 1 bean chalupa
- 2 scoops of guacamole
- 1 cheese enchilada
- 1 beef enchilada
- refried beans
- Spanish rice
It’s like a seven course tour d’ Mexico. Kelly orders something I would never order, the Chicken Pablano Stuffed Pepper. I don’t like peppers. Both meals are reasonably priced although a couple of dollars higher than I remember.
It takes a while for our food to come, so the second dish of green sauce disappears. It takes so long in fact, and the service is so poor that the gay manager is bringing out food and people are walking up to the waiter’s station themselves to get more tea, and straws, and napkins and stuff. If they’d’ve had the jug of green sauce at the waiter’s station, I’d’ve probably asked Kelly to see if it would fit in her purse.
Its at this point I notice a co-worker sitting with about 6 other adults on the other side of our section. It didn’t look like his family, they were all about the same age and dressed slightly nicer than some. I figured they were a church group so I avoided eye contact so I wouldn’t accidently have them notice me and possibly get an ear-load of Jesus. What are the odds that I would see someone I know at Casa Ole’? Before walking in, I’d’ve placed the number at somewhere in the neighborhood of 7-12% due to the location, but evidence now suggests that the odds of my seeing someone I know at Casa Ole’ over all time is 100%.
My cold plate and Kelly’s tortilla soup come at the same time. Kelly’s soup is so hot that’s its too hot to eat for another 5 minutes. I chow down on the cold plate marveling in the freshness, reliving old memories by stabbing the queso chip with a fork to break it into manageable pieces, vainly attempting to keep the queso off my fingers because its spread so far to the edge and over parts of the tostada and guacamole. As we’re sharing guacamole while the soup cools, I realize my second favorite thing at Casa Ole’. The guacamole is near perfection. The tortilla soups (once cooled) get’s honorable mention.
Our main dishes arrive and Jorge speaks the only two words of English he may ever know... "Hot plate."
They are indeed hot. Most places you go they tell you, "hot plate," you ignore them and cautiously touch it as if to say, "Its my plate I’ll touch it if I want to." To those people, I caution you. When Jorge says, "hot plate" you better fucking listen to him because he speaks the truth. The plates we so hot that I was surprise they didn’t burn right through Jorge’s mit, hand, and tray. They must have asbestos-lined mits.
When Jorge brought my hot plate something magical happened.
Let me start by saying that I like to mix my Spanish rice into my refried beans. If beans and rice are in the same meal they are to be mixed. That’s the way I’ve always done it and that’s the way I’ll always do it. Its something my grandfather taught me, its good, if you think there’s something wrong with that then fuck you. To each his own.
The problem with this is every Mexican restaurant that serves anything with beans and rice is the entree is always between the beans and rice, usually laying across the width of the plate. I always have to eat a few bites of enchilada so I can scrape the rice around the end over to the beans. But I also like equal amounts of what I’m eating al throughout the meal. I like my first bite to be the same as the last. So after I’ve eaten a few bites of enchilada to make the rice road to bean town, I’ve fucked up the rotation. I used to ask waiters to have the cook put the beans and rice on one end and the entree on the other. I got so many weird looks when I asked for my meal like that, that I quit requesting it. Back to the magic...
As if by some mystical Mexican telepathy, Jorge brought my enchiladas exactly right.... without even asking for them.
I was so amazed by this paranormal event that I hardly noticed Kelly’s dish. I was in the middle of mixing my beans and rice getting ready for the first bite when Kelly said, "Wow this is good, wanna try a bite?" I declined because I was in the middle of freely mixing the beans and rice. A bite or two later I was enjoying all that the Ambassador has to offer when Kelly said, "No really, try this. Its awesome." I tried it, and it was. Although probably around 4000 calories per bite this cheesy, creamy, dish is nothing short of a culinary masterpiece. I couldn’t believe it -- I got out-ordered on my home turf. And on a dish that I would’ve never tried. I love my wife. She later called her mom to tell her how good the Chicken Stuffed Pablano Pepper was and that she needed to try it at her earliest convenience. And later upon reflecting on the events of the day described it as, "one of the best mexican dishes she’d ever eaten."
The meal was excellent. People cleared out a bit and the service picked up. I ate too much to attempt the yummy sopapillas or the ice-cream-topped Apple Chimichanga that’s sometimes filled with ground beef instead of apples (another story).
We got out check and went up to the front to pay. Behind the register there is a big Casa Ole’ logo fresco on the stucco. Under is scrawled, "SINCE 1973." They’ve been creating a memorable dining experience since before I was born and will continue to do it exactly the same for many years to come.
Just then my co-worker rather creepily snuck up behind me as I was picking out a praline from the basket and said, "what’s up man?" Seeing him earlier, and knowing that this question might arise, I think I surprised him with my prepared answer, "Nothing. Just eating at one of our favorite restaurants EVER."
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