I love the food at this place. Breakfast, lunch or dinner. It's all, and I mean all, good.
Lately though, it's become obvious that the Oracle Road location has become little more than a shrine to the restaurant's owner.
First, we have the truck and taco stand outside, complete with informative signs, arranged like retired airplanes out at the Air Force Boneyard.
Inside, lately, the place is eerily devoid of conversation. Why? Well, first, like any modern church, there ain't anybody in there that doesn't work there. Second, the TVs are on at an absolutely absurd volume. And what are they currently playing? Scenes from the life of the prophet. Here's some footage of some guy at the grill, bashing away at a giant pile of meat. And then, for no particular reason, here's our founder, shouting furiously in Spanish.
I have no idea what he's talking about. Largely because of the echo in the place. I'm assuming its some sort of sermon involving the sacrament of grilled skirt steak. Or hot dogs maybe.
There are other signs of an ego completely out of control. The giant baby pictures. Et cetera. The most telling sign, however, might be the utter absence of customers at eight am on a Monday morning. Like church, most people ain't coming to pray unless they need something. And rare indeed, at least in this town, are the moments I need a Guero Canelo burrito when the Chapel of All Things BK's is one street over.
Take note my friend.
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