The following is a review of Tommy’s Mexican Restaurant in San Francisco, where our presence was requested by someone Dominic knows from the intarwebs. Sacramento is only about an hour and some change from SF, longer in traffic. I didn’t mind making the drive initially, but if I’d known the night was going to suck so hard, I’d say a walk up the street would have been too far out of my way.
As written on Yelp: This place wasn’t worth the 30 minutes my man and I spent cruising the block for parking, let alone the $80 it cost to have an appetizer, two entrees, and two top-shelf margaritas.
When we arrived, it was so crowded, we could barely find standing room, let alone a seat at the bar. They didn’t want to seat us when our name came up on the list because the two other people in our party were late. This would be understandable if we hadn’t watched them seat three couples in front of us at four-top tables.
Since no one else was behind us, they reluctantly seated us at one of the many four-top tables. A few minutes later we received chips that tasted like scraps of discarded shoe-boxes. The two salsa choices were burning hot but not flavorful.
We ordered a tiny quesadilla appetizer for an entree price and the third person in our party showed up. A self-proclaimed native to the area, she said she chose this restaurant because she’d had drinks there before, but not food. Then she spent most of the rest of the time on her cell phone because our fourth person was having trouble getting there and she’s a vapid moron.
Even though I ordered two chimichangas ($16.50), they did me a favor and served me just one small overpriced chimichanga ($11.50) accompanied by mediocre beans and plain white rice. I left more than half my food on my plate and refused a to-go box, it was such a disappointment.
My man reported that his carne asada was flavorless and the onions had given him a stomach ache. The top-shelf margaritas were good, but you’d have to be a moron to screw that up.
We were having a really awful time, so we asked for the check. When it was brought to us, it was immediately taken back because they didn’t want to do separate checks. They could have said that before dashing off.
The owner stopped by and made a big production of clearing the table and grabbed our third wheel’s phone while he was at it. He said it was a joke, and it would have actually been funny if he’d dumped it in the nearly full water pitcher that they were kind enough to bring us long after we had finished eating.
While he was at our table, we told him that the onions made my friend feel sick and the owner didn’t care at all. I guess that was no surprise, since the staff was rude in general.
The lateness of our self-involved third party and her friend coupled with the slow, rude service could have made the hellish evening last forever. Lucky for me, my man was all over it and had faked his illness to get us out of there with some of the evening left to salvage.
All in all, this dark, cramped restaurant has nothing going for it but tequila, and they’re obviously not the only game in town. But if you’re into lousy food and fat, pasty white chicks or you yourself are a fat, pasty white chick, this place might be for you.
Addendum: Since this was written for a public audience, I kept the colorful language about our dining companion to a minimum. Despite my best efforts to make friendly conversation about things we had in common (traveling, music, employment, fitness, etc.), the whole night ended up being about hearing this person’s boring life story and us not getting a word in edgewise. At one point, she asked Dominic, “Do you have any questions about other people from Fark that I’ve met?” IOW “Let’s talk about people who aren’t here… and how they pertain to ME!” She’s 39 years old. Then she asked Dominic about his work and interrupted him when he tried to answer.
But I’d say the one-sided conversation really hit its stride when she went on about how she was driving to LA the following day to meet this guy. Yes, Miss Interrupter Jones is buddies with Long Beach Guy, which some of you may remember as The-Dude-Who-Threw-a-Shit-Fit-in-a-Wine-Bar-Because-I-Interrupted-Him.
Well, I’m sure fun was had by everyone… who matters. That horrible restaurant and obnoxious talking head brought my man and I closer together, along with a short trip to Walmart for liquor and bad horror flicks.