Yesterday's happy hour was perfect patio weather, no? Sadly, I did not get to Laredo's in time to actually score a coveted outdoor seat. Truthfully, I was just happy to have a seat, a margarita, some guacamole, and an hour in which to forget about everything else.
First of all, I am not a guacamole snob. I embrace the fresh green goodness in many forms. I just hate golden cows. They promised me their guac was "the best," that they made it tableside and that it was one of their most popular items and "really fresh." They describe it as Hand Hacked for good golly. Sign me up!
My cute little server came to the table balancing a tray laden with a salt and pepper shaker, a small bowl filled with diced tomato and onion, and a molcajete with slices of avocado. She proceeded to mash the avocados with the fork, dump in the tomato mix, and grind over a little S & P. That was it; that was the big production. It's not that I wanted flames jumping about or a small song to be sung or even a flurry of knives chopping up ingredients; it's just that it wasn't that much of a show.
Worse yet, and here is one of the four horsemen, the molcajete wasn't made of stone like it's supposed to be—it was a plastic food-service version. A plastic stone bowl for grinding. That's like driving a Prius with a Hemi; what's the point? Yada, yada, I know about supply cost and storage issues and breakage, and I'm sure the real stone bowls are ungodly heavy, but fake is fake.
And the guac just wasn't that great. There was no zip and zing of freshly squeezed lime, no trace of bright cilantro, no heat what-so-ever. I don't know if those elements were supposed to be part of the tomato mix, but they certainly didn't assert themselves. The guac basically just lay there in its sad plastic stone bowl.
I remember the first time I had tableside guacamole was at Bar Abilene, which I haven't visited since I left the neighborhood. Is it worth a quest? I do have a few happy hours open this month . . .