Lame En Fuego:

What's lame is when something you've never second-guessed puffs up in flames. What I mean is that I never ever even entertained the thought that El Sombrero wouldn't exist. For instance, it's like thinking about gravity just all of a sudden not being around anymore. You don't think about that. You accept the fates of our heliocentric world. You say to yourself, there is gravity, there has always been gravity, we will never be free of its horrendous shackles. Ball up, ball down. Now until eternity.

So too with El Som. Number five, light on the lechuga, all rice, no beans por favor. Chicken Sombrero Burrito. Root beer. And yes, more salsa. Always more salsa.

But now it has gone up in flames. Now sixty firefighters have come and doused it with water. Now there is no more roof and there is no more mural and there is no more lollipop dish.

Which, I guess, isn't entirely true. There is El Sombrero Number Two over on Artesia. And, surely, El Som will soon be back with the same food and the same cooks and Jose will still work there with his big thick moustache. This will come to pass. In fact, being so far away for so many months, I'll probably not even notice that it's gone. I'll notice new paint. A new stucco, flame-retardant building. I'll notice those but won't much mind.

But:

There is something frustrating about the booths being gone. About the tables being different. About my children never getting to experience El Som like I did. Beacuse it isn't just about food, somehow. It's also about the fact that that building held many moments of my life. Dinners with my sister and mother, me pouring salt on to a wetted napkin upon which I'd rub my chips. Eating cheese quesadillas or McDonald's because I hated Mexican food. Or then getting it, realizing Mexican food really is the only food you need, and ordering in Spanish because Ms. Galvin gave us extra credit. Or those group dates there. The salty smell of that tiny bathroom.

What's lame is having the husk swapped out for something I never wanted or desired. I was fine with the old husk. The husk that burned last night for five hours. That husk, that sturdy restaurant shell, it served me well and housed my growing up nicely. I think it would have housed many more growing ups with great success. But it will never get the chance.

Sentimental, but, well, lame.
Lame lame lame.
Etceteras.
Scooters razed.
Now this.

Shitty,
Al