Wednesday, June 5, 2019

Hey Zap, Where Have You Been?

This Chi-Chi's is abandoned, but my blog isn't.
It has been a while since I posted, hasn’t it? My free time and motivation to write have been sapped by some drama in my personal life, the details of which I’ll spare you. As a result, I failed to keep up with my self-imposed five post per month quota during the month of May 2019. I’m also going to refrain from posting for the remainder of the month of June, but I plan on resuming a normal post schedule starting in July.

In the meantime, here are a few ways to pass the time and satisfy your Broken Chains craving:

There’s over a year's worth of old Broken Chains posts to read and re-read, especially if you’ve discovered this blog recently. You'll find an archive of all posts in the sidebar to you're right. (To view the sidebar on a mobile device, scroll to the bottom of the page, and select "view web version.") Here are a few links to a few of my favorites:

You can also read the guest post I wrote for Tedium a while back.

The podcast, 99% Invisible recently put out a great episode about Horn and Hardart, the completely defunct chain of Automat restaurants. Give that a listen, maybe?

The Mid-South Retail Blog recently posted a Broken Chains-inspired article about a Bonanza in Tupelo, Mississippi. It was a fun read with lots of information about the south’s last Bonanza.

Thanks for reading Broken Chains, everybody, and thanks for bearing with me while I put my own metaphorical house back in order. I’ll be back in a few weeks with more tales from my visits to broken chains.

Monday, May 13, 2019

Pretend You've Got No Money

My grandparents’ and great grandparents’ generations lived through a series of world-altering hard times. A depression and a couple of world wars made life in much of the first half of the previous century difficult to live through, but their perseverance made the world a much more comfortable place for their children. Once hardship is overcome, and time is allowed to pass nostalgia for the era of one’s earlier, more difficult life often ensues, and that nostalgia inspired not only a solid seven decades of movies about World War Two, but Whisperin’ Bill Anderson’s 1961 hit single, “Po’ Folks,” whose lyrics describe a his supposed upbringing in a loving family while enduring abject poverty.

If one were to open a themed restaurant today, “Poverty” would likely be at the bottom of the list of potential themes, but in 1975 in Anderson, South Carolina, restaurateur Malcolm Hare had different ideas, when he opened the first Po’ Folks restaurant, whose name was inspired by Whisperin’ Bill’s song of the same name. The single restaurant grew to a 102 unit chain, thanks in part to a 1982 acquisition by longtime White Castle imitator, Krystal. Whisperin’ Bill Anderson was persuaded to act as a spokesperson for the chain, after somehow being talked out of a lawsuit, as the Po’ Folks name was initially used without his permission. 

The Po’ Folks brand would end up paying a karmic debt for its socioeconomic cultural appropriation in 1988 when a distinct lack of funds forced them into bankruptcy, simultaneously forcing the closure of the majority of their locations and making the poverty theme feel more authentic, thanks to actual poverty.
I bought a couple of these to go boxes for two bucks each for my collection and for my friend Carl's. 
I’m lucky enough to have a single vague childhood memory of eating at Po’ Folks kicking around in my brain. It was around 1990, and I was preschool-aged and on a trip with my mother to visit her parents, my grandparents in eastern Ohio. My grandparents, in turn, took us to visit my grandfather’s mother, my great grandmother, Cordelia, about whom I remember little, aside from her apartment at a retirement home which was furnished with her uncomfortable antique furniture. My memories of lunch on the way back to my grandparents’ house was more vivid. 

Somewhere along the way, we stopped at a Po’ Folks location that had managed to survive at least a couple years past bankruptcy. Perhaps my grandparents were nostalgic for their childhoods in the Depression, though more likely, it was the only decent place to eat around. I recall the building having white siding and a tall red roof, and I recall being amused by the drinks served in mason jars. My young mind was blown by the fried fish my mother had ordered, because it still had all of its bones. The fact that a real life fish’s skeleton looked just like fish skeletons from the Top Cat and Heathcliff cartoons I was partial to made for a lasting memory. That lunch on the way back to Steubenville from Great Grandma Cordelia’s would be my only Po’ Folks memory until almost 30 years later. 

Strip Mall Po' Folks in Pensacola

Following an early lunch at the last operating Morrison’s Cafeteria, Esmeralda Fitzmonster and I continued east on Interstate 10 until we had just crossed into Florida and entered Pensacola, home of one of just seven surviving Po’ Folks locations. It was mid afternoon on a weekday when we stopped in for second lunch. The Pensacola Po' Folks is tucked into a slot of a nondescript strip mall, a far cry from the visually striking freestanding Po' Folks I remember all those years ago in Ohio. We headed inside, and were shown to a table in the mostly empty dining room. The spacious dining area's walls were sparsely adorned with antique architectural remnants and other random junk. They were the kinds of things you'd see on the walls at Cracker Barrel, but they were spread much thinner. There was plenty of wall space in between. Signage was unique, as well, as all of the signs directing customers to the hostess station and restrooms and away from employee areas were designed to look hand painted, and written in an intentionally misspelled hillbilly patois. The table cloths were printed with ads from old Sears or Montgomery Ward catalogs, just like the tables that used to be at most Wendy's locations. 

I have the strangest craving for a Frosty right now. 

Junk on the walls is spread thin here. 

Our waitress showed up, took our drink orders, and handed us menus. I had every intention of ordering bone-in fish for the sake of my own personal nostalgia, but found only boneless fillets on the menu. Shortly after I had noticed the lack of cartoon alley cat fish on the menu, our waitress returned with our drinks not in mason jars, but in regular glasses. Slightly disappointed, I ordered up chicken and dumplings, and Esmeralda ordered fried shrimp. When our orders showed up, the food looked oddly familiar. Perhaps the decor should have tipped me off, but Esmeralda's shrimp and steak fries looked just like what you'd be served at a Cracker Barrel as did my chicken and dumplings and fried apples. Had Po' Folks been a Cracker Barrel knockoff all along? I'm inclined to think so. Cracker Barrel predates Po' Folks by six years. Both chains originated in the south, Cracker Barrel in Tennessee and Po' Folks in South Carolina. Both chains offered southern cooking in a rural themed setting. Cracker Barrel menus even are written in the same folksy hillbilly dialect, though they've been toned down in the past few years. Given that Malcolm Hare stole the name of his restaurant chain from a hit country song, it doesn't seem terribly unlikely that he'd also borrow menu and decor from an existing chain as well, but in its heyday, Po' Folks at least had unique touches. Now without mason jars or fish skeletons, Po' Folks feels like Cracker Barrel stripped of its decor, country store, and breakfast menu. It's Cracker Barrel lunch and dinner, served out of a strip mall slot, at least it is in Pensacola. 

If you've ever wondered what Cracker Barrel food looks like on an old Wendy's table, then check out Po' Folks
Could you theoretically tip your server well enough that they wouldn't be allowed through this door? 

In researching this piece, I became curious about the other six surviving Po' Folks locations, and did a little Google Street View snooping to see what they had to offer architecturally. What I found was the most interesting and diverse set of buildings comprising a restaurant chain since my exploration of the hodgepodge of structures that compose Fricker's. The Pensacola Po' Folks is arguably the most boring of all the seven surviving location. I'll leave you with photos of the other six. They're a rag tag bunch of structures that reflect the actual poverty of the chain rather than the implied poverty. If you're part of the statistically insignificant group of nonagenarians who read blogs, they may just remind you of the Depression.

2001 34th Street North, St. Petersburg, FL, the last remaining purpose-built Po' Folks. This is what I remember the one in Ohio looking like, minus the palm tree. It's survival is truly a miracle on 34th Street North. I really want to stop in here if I ever find myself deep in the Sunshine State. 

2193 Florida Highway 71, Marianna FL, Shoney's has closed quite a few locations over the years, and they often get repurposed, including this one that's now a Po' Folks. 
650 Boll Weevil Circle, Enterprise, AL, Not to be confused with Western Sizzlin, or Lucky Steer, Western Steer is a mostly defunct steakhouse chain that had locaitons  all over the south. There are a couple still open today that I need to go check out, but this one closed and is now home to a Po' Folks. 

1170 East John Simms Parkway, Niceville, Florida, pretty clearly a former Long John Silvers. It's odd to see a full service restaurant in the shell of a fast food restaurant, but not unheard of.
339 North Tyndall Parkway, Panama City, Florida, Seen here with apparent hurricane damage, the Panama Cty Po' Folks is an odd little prefabricated building.

400 Ohio Avenue, Lynn Haven, Florida, Weirdest of all is this Po' Folks in what looks to be a converted residential house with a haphazard addition. 

Saturday, May 4, 2019

Tray Chic

If there’s a genre of restaurant that’s barely hanging on, it’s got to be the cafeteria. Seemingly for my entire life, cafeteria dining outside of the context of a public school or hospital basement has been popular with an overwhelmingly elderly crowd, and as the clientele has slowly started dying off, the cafeteria chains have faded away with them, slowly going the way of the automat as their patrons gradually shuffle off this mortal coil.

I grew up in an extended family where people over 60 outnumbered those under 18 more than two to one, and boy, did my living ancestors ever love going to cafeterias. I remember one particular extended family outing where I was dragged to the Lexington, Kentucky location of the now defunct Blue Boar Cafeteria chain in the also now defunct Turfland Mall. I was no older than seven, and had a particularly bad case of the flu, but that wasn’t enough for my geriatric relatives to resist the siren song of standing in line for food served from steam trays. On the way into the building, I ended up barfing what I recall to have been a superhuman amount onto the floor of the main mall entryway in not so silent protest of the excursion, but rather than taking their obviously sick child home, my parents opted instead to continue into the cafeteria, likely cajoled onwards by whatever overbearing elders were with us, locked into the tractor beam Blue Boar seemingly employed to attract old people and their long-suffering families. In retrospect, I’m not even sure that my parents got a chance let a mall employee know about my puke puddle.

Not long after that, perhaps partially due to my vomit incident, the Blue Boar closed, and the Morrison’s Cafeteria a few miles away at the distinctively green-roofed Lexington Green* shopping center became my family’s cafeteria of choice. By that time, I was nine or ten, a couple years closer to my own (presumably) eventual old age, and could at least appreciate the unique experience of standing in line in the long wood-paneled corridor, picking up a tray, selecting a salad and dessert, and requesting hot sides and entrees from ladle wielding employees who were posted along the serving line.
An actual photo of J.A. Morrison, probably

Morrison’s Cafeteria’s first location was opened by J.A. Morrison in Mobile Alabama in 1920. The single location became popular and grew into a regional chain thanks to its wide variety of made from scratch foods. The chain peaked with 151 locations in 13 mostly southeastern U.S. states. The company went through several side ventures over the years, the most successful of which was the Ruby Tuesday restaurant chain, which they acquired in 1982. Ruby Tuesday would soon become the company’s main focus in the face of declining popularity of cafeterias, and the Morrison’s brand would be sold to the competing Piccadilly Cafeterias chain in 1998.

It was around that time that our local Morrison’s Cafeteria at Lexington Green became a Piccadilly, as nearly all surviving Morrison’s locations did. I recall having precisely one family meal after the Piccadilly conversion, during which, we noticed a significant decline in quality, and never returned. This must have happened a lot, because that Piccadilly location didn’t last more than a couple of years before closing completely.

These days, Piccadilly still exists, operating 42 locations, mostly in the Deep South, including 41 Piccadillys and a single Morrison’s located in Mobile, Alabama, the birthplace of the brand. Presumably, they operate the single Morrison's location to prevent the loss of the rights to use the Morrison’s name. When Esmeralda Fitzmonster, my romantic and domestic partner, suggested we vacation in New Orleans, I quickly agreed, mainly because it was a short two hour drive from New Orleans to Morrison’s in Mobile, a fact which I was reminded her of early and often in the weeks and months leading up to our trip.

The last Morrison's Cafeteria in the world

This is the closest thing you'll find to a menu at Morrison's...
We rolled into Mobile a few minutes before 11 AM, planning on an early lunch when we reached Morrison’s. I was concerned when we arrived that there would be little to remind me of my childhood Morrison’s experiences. The only two Morrison’s I recall visiting were the aforementioned location in Lexington Green, and another on the ground floor of a multistory building in Savannah, Georgia. The Mobile location, unlike these two, was a freestanding building, an outparcel of a nearby shopping mall. The architectural disparities continued inside as well. Instead of a long corridor leading to the serving line, the line itself was in the corridor, which was wide enough to accommodate a line of diners that makes a U turn, doubling onto itself, like the queue at a bank or airport security line. The ordering instructions on the wall were basic, telling patrons to pick an entree, two sides, and bread with the option to add a drink or dessert. I remember Morrison’s having a few different meal package options, including one known as “The Works” that I recall every member of my family ordering while I was forced to get a kids’ meal. I was beginning to become concerned that this lone Morrison’s was a Piccadilly in all but name. My fears escalated when I noted a distinct absence of the tall goblets of Jell-O cubes I remember always picking up from the dessert bar during my childhood meals at Morrison’s.

...but why print menus...

...when your customers...

...can see all the food...


Still, Esmeralda and I worked our way down the line. I accumulated a plate of roast beef with some Waldorf salad and macaroni and cheese, while Esmeralda selected chicken tenders. We each chose a dessert and a drink, were handed a bill to pay as we exited, not unlike at Western Sizzlin. We then were free to select a table, which we did. Once we were seated and situated, our waitress was quick to introduce herself and ask if we needed any condiments. She was equally speedy in return with the requested horseradish and honey. My fears that this Morrison’s was merely a Piccadilly in drag were mostly assuaged when I had a closer look at, and taste of my macaroni and cheese, and found that the large elbow noodles were in a flavorful pale yellow cheese sauce and topped with a layer of melted, shredded cheddar. It was the same Morrison’s macaroni that was one of my go-to selections back in the Lexington Green days. The roast beef was equally tasty, as was the Waldorf and jalapeno cornbread I had selected. I was further comforted by a surprising amount of Morrison’s branded signage including an advertisement for online ordering at our table that sported the Morrison’s logo below the URL to the Piccadilly website. I was impressed that they had gone to the extra expense to have these printed for every table at their only Morrison’s location. 

Piccadilly marketing, complete with a Morrison's logo

Our meal selections

Macaroni of my childhood

Esmeralda is something of a picky eater, and chicken tenders or an analog thereof tend to be her default order whenever she visits a broken chain with me. I occasionally direct some good-natured teasing her way over her decision to eschew the illusive and wonderful Endless Salad Bar in favor of ordering chicken tenders on our visit to the Joliet, Illinois Rax, where they were merely frozen and breaded bits of fowl dumped from right from a Tyson bag into the fryer. Morrison’s chicken tenders were different, however. Each of the three tenders on her plate was seemingly made from scratch, and consisted of easily half a chicken breast each, clearly chicken tenders done right. 

Surprise sweet potato pecan pie 

The dessert course was similarly impressive, not so much because of the chocolate cake I had selected, which while more than adequate, paled in comparison to the slice of pie Esmeralda lucked into. What she thought to be pecan pie turned out to be a pecan-topped pie with a filling made of an orange-colored, nutmeg tinged filling of either pumpkin or sweet potato. My guess is the latter given the fact that it was springtime in the south. Either way, the few bites she shared with me made me wish I had a slice of my own. 

This branded rug was in the bathroom for some reason. 

Admittedly, this isn't the nicest catering van, but it's still decidedly less sketchy than the one I saw at Grandy's. 

Thanks to lovingly-prepared food and a courteous staff, including a manager who seemed genuinely pleasantly surprised to learn that we had driven there from New Orleans just to have lunch, we had a great meal at Morrison’s in Mobile, but I had a nagging feeling that we had really just eaten at a Piccadilly with a different sign. For better or worse, I had to find out how different a Piccadilly meal was from the one we had enjoyed at the last Morrison’s. Besides, since a Chapter 11 bankruptcy in 2012 had forced Piccadilly to close many locations, they were probably in broken chain territory themselves. A few nights later, we made the short drive from our New Orleans Airbnb to the Piccadilly Cafeteria in Gretna, Louisiana, and I had never been so glad to have a mediocre meal. 

One of 41 surviving Piccadilly Cafeterias

The building housing the Gretna Piccadilly was similar in appearance and layout to that of the Mobile Morrison’s, and made me wonder if it was a former Morrison’s itself. There were plenty of little differences in the ordering process, though. At Piccadilly, cold side dishes were already in individual containers, and you were expected to serve yourself, unlike at Morrison’s where a staff member would portion out your cold side dish in a bowl and hand it to you. Additionally, while Morrison’s had a separate counter for takeout orders, all orders at Piccadilly were fulfilled in the main serving line, a fact which we became aware of when a woman in line in front of us was placing a to-go order for her entire extended family, and oversharing to the employees information about the eating habits, shoe sizes, and sex lives of each family member for whom she was ordering. The infuriating ordeal of being stuck in line behind this woman became all the more annoying when I noticed the third difference. At Piccadilly, you pay at the end of the serving line, meaning that this incredibly chatty woman had to pay her bill, make a big production of getting cash back on her credit card transaction so she could tip the cashier, whom, it turns out, wasn’t allowed to accept tips. Once we finally reached our table we found our food was lukewarm at best, thanks to the inferior ordering and payment process of Piccadilly compared to Morrison’s. To add insult to injury, our waitress was just as chatty as the woman in front of us in line, and was weirdly quick to volunteer extensive information about how and when she went about dying her hair when we asked for no more than a refill. 

Piccadilly macaroni is similar to Morrison's, but worse, just like Piccadilly in general.

I was simultaneously pleased and disappointed to find that the macaroni and cheese at Piccadilly was also different than its counterpart at Morrison’s. The Piccadilly version while similar in appearance and constituent ingredients, was topped with paprika, which gave the whole thing an unpleasant, almost woody taste, but its inferiority to its counterpart at Morrison's meant that Morrison's identity had been preserved in Mobile. In fact, the differences in the macaroni and cheese really sum up the difference between the one surviving Morrison’s and the locations of its sister brand, Piccadilly. While there are indisputable similarities between the two brands, Mephistopheles resides in the minutiae, and the little things Morrison's gets right, Piccadilly gets very wrong. Piccadilly is today, as it was in Lexington in the late ‘90s, noticeably worse than Morrisons. To their credit, however, the Piccadilly overlords have preserved a single Morrison’s location, allowing it to retain just enough of that Morrison’s magic that it shines brighter than it’s Piccadilly relatives. If every Piccadilly were run as well as the Morrison’s in Mobile, it could mark the beginning of a renaissance for the cafeteria.

Despite the fact that I’m still the better part of two decades too young to qualify for an AARP membership, I loved every minute of my meal at the last Morrison’s, and in an age where even the low-end fast food chains are emphasizing quality ingredients and made from scratch food, a brand like Morrison’s that has marketed itself that way from the beginning has the potential to attract a new generation of customers. Since they long occupied the space between fast food and full service restaurants, cafeterias, perhaps were the first fast casual restaurants, and in the near-absence of cafeteria chains today the cafeteria format could be marketed as a unique and memorable dining experience. It certainly always was for me growing up, even when I didn’t barf on the floor.

*Some unrelated fun facts about Lexington Green: 
-Lexington Green was home to a Cinemark theater that had the classic 1980s dayglow interior decor until well into this century. 
-In a surreal coincidence, a fatal shooting once occurred in Lexington Green’s parking lot while William Shatner happened to be shopping there.

Monday, April 29, 2019

The Definitive Taco Tico

Last fall, I was enjoying a Sancho (a burrito shell full of taco fixins) and some Cinnamon Crustos (Fried tortillas coated in cinnamon sugar) at Lexington Kentucky’s sole remaining Taco Tico. It occurred to me that despite my lifelong love for the Taco Tico brand and the unique blend of fatty ground beef, fillers, and spices that is at the heart of most of their menu items, that my entire Taco Tico experience had been only at locations in Kentucky. Since Kentucky has only had two Taco Ticos for more than a decade, that worldview was a little too narrow for my taste.

This has been my go-to Taco Tico for more than 15 years

Dan Foley opened the first Taco Tico in Wichita, Kansas in 1962, and there were once 120 locations all over the Midwestern and Southeastern United States. In 2013, following decades of slow decline and shrinking location count, ten company-owned, Wichita area Taco Tico locations were forced to close by the Kansas department of revenue due to their failure to remit sales tax revenue back to the state, leaving only a handful of franchised locations, including the two in Kentucky, open for business. This marked the low point in Taco Tico history, and while things aren’t much better today, there is a faint glow of a bright future for Taco Tico.

Most of the Wichita area Ticos that were forced to close by the state have since re opened, and today, a total of 17 Taco Tico locations are open for business, nine in Kansas, plus two each in Oklahoma, Iowa, and Kentucky, one in Louisiana, and one in Texas. The restaurants are loosely associated today with each owner running a separate website, many of which show nonstandard menu items supplementing the classic tacos and burritos. 

 Like Seymour Skinner, I'm an odd fellow, but I steam a good ham
In the early days of this blog, I set out to replicate Taco Tico’s signature meat using a copycat recipe shared by YouTuber, AverageIowaGuy. I found his recipe to be bland, and lacking in the garlicky pungency of the Taco Tico meat I grew up eating in Kentucky. To paraphrase Seymour Skinner, I came close to madness trying to recreate it here in Michigan, but I just couldn’t get the spices right! That experience caused me to wonder how much regional variation there was in the flavor of Taco Tico meat, and if there was a recipe that could be considered the definitive Taco Tico. 

Mason City's Taco Tico is ridiculously photogenic at night.

My investigation began last December in Iowa, specifically in Mason City, home to one of the state’s two Taco Tico locations. It was the winter solstice, and night had fallen early as it often does on the shortest day of the year. I had been eating all day, storing up fat for winter like the large hairy woodland creature that I am, and Taco Tico was my last stop in a single-day broken chain marathon that included meals at Zantigo, Bonanza, and Happy Chef

But it's pretty standard inside. 

 Come to think of it, it's also weird that they had Pepsi. Every other Taco Tico I can remember has had Coke products. 

As one might imagine, I wasn’t terribly hungry, and tried, in vain, to work up an appetite by taking pictures of the exterior of the building, which featured the unique zigzag stripes that many Lexington-area Taco Ticos had during my childhood. (The surviving Lexington Taco Tico appears to have had few updates since the 1970s does not sport the ‘80s vintage zigzags, but functions as a time capsule from an earlier era.)  

Inside, the time warp feeling was milder. While the building still had its original built-in booths and tables, the menu board had been updated with a non-standard unit, and the freestanding tables and chairs were modern. I ordered up three tacos, two crispy, and one Choco after the cashier caught me taking a picture of the menu and asked if I had come to take pictures or order food. I paid, and she handed me a curious little ticket with the Taco Tico logo and my order number on it. I had never seen this before, and I still carry it in my wallet. (I’m a weirdo.) Oddly, it was the the only Taco Tico branded piece of ephemera I received on that visit.

My order came up a few minutes later, and I was greeted by a tray containing two tacos in plain white wrappers and a white Styrofoam drink cup. Despite their relative isolation from the Taco Tico homeland in Kansas, the Lexington and Louisville Taco Ticos have used custom printed cups and wrappers for years, with only a brief interruption around the time the state shut down the company owned Ticos in Wichita. 

Generic wrappers and an odd little order ticket.

A smear of meat up one side of the shell
The construction of the tacos themselves was curious. Firstly, the meat was smeared on one side of the shell rather than along the bottom, but I seemed to recall Louisville’s Taco Tico doing something similar. Secondly, a single tomato slice was in top rather than the diced tomatoes I’d eaten on Taco Tico tacos in Kentucky my whole life. The biggest shock came with my first bite though. The flavor of the meat bore little to no resemblance to what I had become accustomed to in Kentucky. Simultaneously, it tasted nearly identical to AverageIowaGuy’s copycat recipe. Kudos to him for perfectly replicating his local Taco Tico meat formulation, but it didn’t taste like the Taco Tico I know and love. 

Taco Tico’s Wikipedia page states there was a change in the meat recipe implemented following Dan Foley’s sale of the brand to a former KFC executive 1988. The change proved unpopular, and was quickly reverted to the original. Were the Iowa Taco Ticos still using the 1988 vintage recipe, the Taco Tico equivalent of New Coke, or was I raised on the supposedly inferior meat recipe in Kentucky? My parents would have started taking me to the Lexington area Taco Ticos right around 1988. Had my exposure at an early age caused me to develop Stockholm Syndrome for the Taco meat everyone else hated?

For better or worse, the next major event in Taco Tico’s history is set to happen in Lexington Kentucky. Longtime Cheddar’s franchisee, The Greer Companies, purchased the Lexington Taco Tico earlier this year along with a 10% stake in the entire Taco Tico brand. They’re planning widespread expansion starting with a second Lexington location across town in a building that was originally a G.D. Ritzy’s. I visited that very building last spring on my trip to every operating Ritzy’s. Taco Tico setting up shop a former G.D. Ritzy’s is a combination of my two favorite fast food brands that had only occurred in my wildest fantasies. The news that it’s set to become a reality had me acting more weirdly obsessive about both Taco Tico and G.D. Ritzy’s than usual for at least a solid week.  

Once a Ritzy's, later an Arby's, soon to be a Taco Tico

Still, the suspicion that the Kentucky Taco Ticos were using the wrong meat recipe was getting to me, even if it was the recipe I preferred. Relief for my foil hat-level paranoia regarding a taco meat recipe came when Esmeralda Fitzmonster suggested we take a trip to New Orleans in the spring, and since  Louisiana’s only surviving Taco Tico is just around the corner from the New Orleans airport, I emphatically agreed with her suggestion. Naturally, Taco Tico was our first stop after we landed and picked up our rental car. For the first time ever, I had flown to a broken chain. 

If you ever visit New Orleans for the food, you can't pass up the Taco Tico by the airport. 

The Kenner, Louisiana Taco Tico is housed in a purpose built Adobe with a near identical layout to its counterpart in Lexington. The main differences being that the Kenner location wears ‘80s vintage zigzag stripes similar to those at the Mason City, Iowa Taco Tico, and that one of the front corners of the dining room is walled off and houses a few slot machines, no doubt the owner taking advantage of local gambling laws to create a second non-taco related revenue stream. The walls inside were decorated with murals that evoke a 1980s southwestern aesthetic. While no such murals are present at either surviving Kentucky Taco Tico, I have vague memories of them being present at other Lexington locations that closed in the mid ‘90s. 

I want this exact mural in my kitchen at home. 

This location is a near perfect 1980s time capsule
I placed my normal order, a #2 combo, two tacos and a Sancho, with cautious optimism, comforted by a decades old menu board identical to the one at the Taco Tico in Lexington. Esmeralda ordered the same. I was delighted to see branded cups and wrappers on the tray when our order was ready, and the first bite of my Sancho took me right back to every Taco Tico meal of my childhood. 

I've never been here before, yet it feels like home. 
Behold the bounty of Taco Tico

Louisiana’s only Taco Tico was using the meat recipe I grew up with. The very same flavor that fueled my lifelong obsession with Taco Tico was here, 750 miles from Lexington. With the Louisville, Lexington, and Kenner Taco Ticos serving my preferred garlicky taco meat, Mason City, Iowa was the outlier, the weirdo selling the bland garlic-less tacos in plain white wrappers.

The tiny Taco Tico casino is behind the partition.
Sadly, though, the nagging taco paranoia continues. I’ve only eaten at four of the 17 total operating Taco Ticos, and in only three of the six states that house them. I’ve never eaten at a Taco Tico in Wichita, home of Taco Tico Enterprises and birthplace of the brand. That’s where the truly definitive Taco Tico flavor is, tax evasion and all. I’d like to make it to every Taco Tico eventually, but regardless of what and where the definitive Taco Tico is and was, it’s likely to be the Lexington flavor in the future. 

Greer Companies’ president, Lee Greer is a longtime Taco Tico fan, and his long term plan includes acquiring a majority stake in the Taco Tico brand and moving headquarters to Lexingon, Kentucky, much to my delight. Lexington, one of the few cities that has been home to a continuously-operating Taco Tico for the past four decades may soon be home to the Taco Tico brand itself. For me that makes Lexington Taco Tico the definitive Taco Tico, regardless of how the Sanchos taste in Mason City or Wichita, but if you're a midwesterner and/or vampire who grew up without garlic in your Taco Tico tacos, YouTube user, AverageIowaGuy has you covered. He even figured out the bean recipe.