So the other morning that sweet and demure Pisces calls me up, “Are you open either Tuesday or Thursday?” Sure. She called Tuesday evening, after walking the dog and whatever, we got all our plans in order. Her and Cranky swept by to grab me, and we were going to try some “pho” because that food is a sure fire winner on a cold winter’s night. Cool. Well, cool enough to require shoes and shirt, anyway. Not like we’ve had more snow or anything, at least, not last night.
After two requisite stops for cigs and money, we were tooling down Oltorf, headed toward a “pho” destination, when, just east of Congress, Texicalli glittered in the night. Like a beacon, beckoning unto us, “Real South Austin chow. Dine here. Air conditioned.” It didn’t say all that, the sign is almost eclipsed by the trendy little restaurant next door.
Texicall is a weird one. I’ve eaten there a few times, but I’ve forgotten how good it is. Nothing fancy. I asked the good – but harried – waitress what her birthday was. Virgo. Crank Amy and Devota just howled in laughter.
“You got a bathroom?” I asked, getting up from the booth.
“Out back. Against the back wall,” the waitress replied.
More laughter.
“No, really, see this used to be a Taco Bell, and that’s where the bathrooms were,” she was trying to explain.
I rather fancied the idea of taking leak against the back wall, myself, and it seems like that was expected behavior, based on the laughter quotient.
The appetizer was waffle fries slathered with onions, jalapenos and cheese. The main meal varies, but I wound up with a chicken sandwich liberally marinated in Tabasco, with a side of excellent yam fries. Sweet Potato Home Fries, as it were.
Kind of a perfect night, the unusual food, and at one point, a mandolin picking in the background.
Up on the wall, among the all the posters, there was a particular poster that caught my eye. I figure its significance is lost on many: Austin Aqua Fest, 1982.
Damn good food.
