Los Portales

201 Second Street
Hillsboro, Mo.

The weekend prior to this one, it had snowed. This weekend it was warmer, but windier and it had started to rain. After that snowfall, Angel had to sweep and scrape the snow and ice off of her windshield, rather aggressively. As we started into Hillsboro she turned on the wipers. The one on the passenger started making a funny noise and was soon flopping around like a snake on fire. She pulled over and shoved it back onto it's stem, got back in and drove another half mile. Then the drivers side wiper started doing the same thing. She stopped, got out and corrected it. About two miles later, just down the hill from Hillsboro, the first one started flopping again. She must have damaged them removing the snow and ice earlier in the week.
"Why don't you try your luck this time?" She urged. She pulled over, again. It took me a few moments to get out of the car, I couldn't figure out the door lock. She'd obviously called on a master mechanic to solve the wiper problem.
After comparing this wiper with the other one, I determined there was a critical piece missing. Perhaps its exhaust manifold or timing chain, or one of those other car parts I've heard about on 'Car Talk' and 'Top Gear'. I stood the bare stem upright so it wouldn't scrape the glass. The bare arm jogged back and forth. I suggested we put a glove on it so people would think we were waving. Angel was in no mood for my rapier wit. She was mumbling curses at the car. "I just paid it off, now it's just going to fall apart." and "You have one simple job you B&%$#!! wipers, one *^#$$ job."
We half-wiped and waved the last mile and found a parking spot on the street. Angel was in a mood. I dared not cross her the rest of the evening.
The Place:
Los Portales is the closest restaurant, in any direction, from our house. We were on a tight time frame, dog arrivals and departures were scheduled. We'd been often enough to know it was fast, cheap and satisfying.
The boys were with us again, Larry had never been to LP. I'm not even sure they have Mexican food in his hometown in central Tennessee. Adam, also a picky eater, had convinced him that there would be stuff he would like.
We went in and were led through the smoking area/bar to the main dining area. We took a booth, I picked one with the brightest beer neon in the window above it. I needed more than the ambient room light to take high quality photos with my magic tablet device.
We were handed menus, like we really needed them, and asked about drinks. I always forget that they make lousy tea, so I always order it. This night was no different.
Soon the drinks, chips and salsa arrived. I could sit there for nothing else but a good drink, maybe a margarita, I heard they make the best in the area, and the chips and salsa. But that would be rude.
Larry ate a bare chip. I looked at him accusingly. "I'm not a salsa person." he answered. Tennesseans, what curious fools they are. 
We ordered our meals and munched on chips. I listened to the always authentic music overhead. I asked Adam to 'Shazam' the music. Shazam is an app that listens to music, then goes out to the interwebs and finds the song and artist. I have it on my awesome tablet machine, but Los Portales has no WiFi. Adam has one of those 'smart' cellular telephones you may have heard about. These things not only make telephone calls, but they run apps as well. What will they think of next? He harrumphed at me at the thought, but like a good, decent if not completely filial son, he fired it up. It found the song and performer in mere seconds. 'El Siete Leguas' by Antonio Aguilar.  The title refers to a story about  Pancho Villa. Siete Leguas (Seven Leagues) was his horse's name, the story having to do with corruption, coercion and gunfights. A real lively number, trumpets, guitars, male crooners, the usual. I love it.
Another song started up. Shazam found it quickly as well, 'El Parrandero Enamorado' (Roughly, 'The Love Spree.'  That sounds dirty.) By the group 'Control.' Also a very upbeat and lively song.
Yeah, I could sit here, sip a fruity beverage, munch on chips and just bang my head to the great music.
The Food:

Me: #5 One chicken enchilada, one taco, beans and rice.
Angel: Enchiladas Supreme, Three enchiladas, one chesse, one bean, one beef, topped with lettuce and Ranchera sauce.
Adam: Half order of nachos and a chicken taco.
Larry: 3 beef enchiladas, a beef taco and a side of fries. Yeah, French fries. . . Tennesseans.
Food delivery is pretty quick at Los Portales. Most of the stuff is made in batches and assembled and plated to order. We hadn't even finished the chips when the meals arrived.
There's nothing fancy or dolled up on these plates, the food is simple, basic and deliberately not too spicy hot. The menu rather firmly states that ". . . all dishes are meticulously prepared with an authentic, but mild flavor. For those who like it hot we put hot sauce on the table."
I don't mind, I prefer it mild.
Lots of beans and rice on my plate, topped with that oozy, melty white cheese. A rich red sauce coated the enchilada, cheese and beef, the only ingredients in the taco, fell out the side of a crispy, thin shell.
Angel's was a real plateful. Lots of chopped lettuce and tomato and sour cream over the enchiladas, little nuggets of cheese scattered around. I didn't think she'd be able to finish it. She launched into it like a hungry sailor though, this seemed to assuage her foul mood a little.  "Always good, I like my three kinds of enchiladas."
Adam ran out of actual nacho chips well before the lettuce, etc. were used up. "It's hard to complain though." He said, pointing to the half full basket of chips in front of us. He loves the way LP prepares the chicken.
Larry was less vocal and enthusiastic. We'd all tried his fries and decided that though well fried, they were once frozen. They had that distinct one-off taste and texture you get with frozen potato products. Larry shrugged his shoulders though. Adam pointed out that this was a Mexican restaurant, not a burger chain. To complain about the fries here would be like complaining about the soup at a pizza joint. Otherwise he was more happy with the taco than the enchiladas.
I'm going to disqualify myself from the judgment round. I didn't come even close to finishing my meal. I'd made a strategic mistake earlier in the day. I had lunch. I don't usually eat lunch on Saturdays before these meals, but I broke this time. Angel had made up a big batch of Cream of Crab soup on Friday. Need I say more? I'd rather have cream of crab soup than most every other food, most sex, most good books, most years of my life. I couldn't not have some, the last creamy drop, for lunch. I had buttery crackers with it as well, since it was Saturday, so I was still carb-crammed by the time the evening meal came around. I really just wasn't hungry. When you're not really hungry, food just doesn't taste right. Well, except for pie. Pie, and by that I mean apple pie, since I am an American. Pie is good any time. If I were in charge of my life I would have coffee and pie twice or more per day, every day. Sure it would fatten me up and clog my arteries and eventually kill me, but I will have died after having plenty of pie. There are far sadder, sillier and more senseless ways to die.
Summary:
Larry was not overly impressed. Angel was delighted, Adam loves the way they prepare their chicken, I like the music. The food is probably not the best there is, but it is good, close to  home and cheap. Four full meals for thirty six bucks. The service is okay, they take care of things and check for refills and such. They kind of vanished when it was time for the ticket, but we just went up to the counter/bar and they dug it out.
It is certainly the best Mexican food in town, in fact, for several miles in any direction. I've heard from a few contacts about bad experiences there, but have never had a significant problem myself. The place is smokey, so if that is an issue for you then there might be a problem. It's a very popular get together joint and watering hole, so it has a solid, steady clientele.
Still recommended!

___________________

Epilogue: On Sunday I went to the finest auto parts store I know of in the area, Walmart, and picked out a brand new pair of wipers for her SUV, the most expensive brand in the store, since high price=high quality. I even installed them for her, in the rain. Well, she did have to show me how to get the old one off,  but after that I finished the installation all by myself. Nothing but the best for My sweetie!

Coyol

Mexican Bar and Grill

12967 State Rt 21

Desoto, Mo.
On Facebook

 Angel's choice.
If we wanted to go out for Mexican and we weren't burdened with this heavy responsibility of a fickle and demanding fan base, we'd just go to one of our favorite Mexican places, that happens to also be the nearest restaurant to our house, Los Portales in Hillsboro.
But for you, our fans, we traveled a few more miles down the road.
The Place:
We'd been here before, a while back, we think we heard that it had changed owners since then.
It's located at a busy intersection on the North side of Desoto. If you see a Walgreens and a KFC you're in the right place.
Inside, the whole place was highly painted and decorated. Even the tables have bright, colorful Mexican themed folk art. You enter through the tasteful bar, dining, the non-smoking dining is to the right. We were greeted and seated by a pair of Caucasians, which was different than the last time, as we recalled. Nothing wrong with that, just an observation. I did notice  that the kitchen was staffed Hispanic. That's where the only music I detected was emanating from. Nice, passionate corridos. 
We took a table near the back. Along came our server with menus and asking about drinks. "Unsweetened tea, no sugar." I spoke. Yeah, it confused him at first, just as I hoped. Angel said she wanted the same, Adam ordered Coke/Pepsi. They serve Coke.
We each scanned the menus, very similar to Los Portales.
The place started filling up. There seemed to be lots and lots of big green margaritas being served.



The Food:
 They had specials and combos, even hamburgers. All the stuff a decent Mexican place should serve. Our server brought us our drinks, a basket of chips and a carafe of salsa. The salsa was so thick that we had to use an extra straw to coerce it out into the small bowls.
I saw that they had a chimichanga plate, though it didn't seem to come with rice.
Angel said she wanted the Steak and shrimp plate she'd had before, but it came with stuff she didn't want, namely beans and rice. Problem solved.
We ordered, the chimichanga plate for me, Angel asked for her Steak Jalisco, named for a coastal state in Mexico, Adam asked for 'every meat' nachos, no tomato, no guac.
"I've been wanting good nachos for a while now." He told us. His mom pointed at the basket in front of him. "Those are just chips." He answered dismissively.
"Oh." She seemed to think it was a distinction without a difference. If I'd wanted a fight I would have told her that nacho chips and salsa are to Nachos what Anheuser Busch products are to good beer.*
We munched at our chips, cleaned the basket. I watched the families come in and fill the tables. The moms seemed to really, really like the margaritas.
I sipped my tea as well, it wasn't too bad.

Steak Jalisco

The food arrived shortly. Angel's steak was still sizzling. The lady sat my plate down and cautioned me that it was "potentially hot".
I needed to take a picture of it but it was pointed the wrong way. So like the idiot I am, I  turned it.
"Ouch, ooch!"
"Was it potentially hot?" Adam asked, smart-aleck-ly.   
The plate was indeed more than potentially hot, it was 'actually' hot. But the stuff on it looked good for a burrito platter. It's just too bad I didn't ask for a burrito, I asked for a

Chimichangas

chimichanga. "Two flour tortillas, deep fried. . ." was the menu description. That's what I expected, wanted, that is not what I was looking at. It appeared that there had been some attempt to fry them, but not for very long, at all. They were not crispy, they were flaccid, like a non-deep fried tortilla, you know, a burrito. I could have said something, but I didn't, this would do. So I carved it up, swirled it in to the rice, beans and . . . what's that? Rice and beans? That's right, though the menu didn't mention rice for this plate, there it was. I certainly wasn't going to complain. Then Angel's rice and refried beans arrived

'Everything' Nachos

on a separate plate from her steak and shrimp.
Adam's plate looked a bit pale.  No tomatoes to offset the pale green, brown and beige items. 
Angel generously stuck one of her shrimps on my plate. It was delicious! Grilled, topped with a cheesy sauce and having absorbed some steak juices. Mmmmm.
The chicken in my chimichanga was spiced a little, a

Spare rice and beans.

very little and by itself a bit dry and chewy. It needed lots of the cheese sauce, beans and rice to moisten it up. Fortunately I had spare rice and beans, Angel's.
The beans and rice were good, not spectacular. The soft tortilla was disappointing, It could have used some crunch.
Adam was quite content with his nachos, they went pretty quick. Angel was more than pleased with her plate. She didn't use the foil wrapped tortillas, she had the steak and shrimp commando-style. It was a pretty thin ribeye, but it was moist, tender and tasty.
Summary:
I was a little disappointed with my plate, the tortilla, the dry-ish chicken, the lack of 'punch' of any of the flavors. Angel and Adam though were quite pleased with their choices though. Mine wasn't really bad, it just wasn't anything special.
The service was quite good, attentive and quick, even though our server tended to mumble a bit, or maybe I'm just a little hard of hearing. The price was reasonable, thirty eight bucks, a little more than we might pay for similar fare at Los Portales, but not out of whack. Coyol was quite busy, so apparently pretty popular, maybe they make a killer Margarita. Overall it was a pretty good meal. I still prefer Los Portales, but the food is mostly just as good. They really should line the menu descriptions up with the actual offerings a little better though.




* I'm just kidding. I used to work at AB and have several friends/fans there still. If AB beers weren't any good, they'd not be one of the biggest beer makers in the world. . . would they?  

Los Portales

201 2nd Street, Hillsboro, MO
Hillsboro, Mo.

I was again wearing my work leash, my turn in the on-call barrel. Automatic monitoring systems woke me up three times in two hours in the wee hours of the morning. I spent the rest of the day in a diminished mental state. The engine was running, but none of the gears seemed to want to catch.
Fortunately I'd already announced the weekend choice, our favorite Mexican hole in the wall. It's close, about ten minutes from the house, fast and inexpensive.
The Place:
In Hillsboro, that's all you need to know. If you find yourself in Hillsboro, it's right there. An old, remodeled single story joint. There's a patio area, no one was in it. Too hot.
Inside was busy, busier that I'm accustomed to seeing it so early. It's quite a popular watering hole for locals, most nights it's jumping.
The man at the bar, who seemed to be in charge, handed us menus and told us to find a seat, he'd be there shortly. I trusted this man. Over his head the flat screen was showing Brazil getting trounced by the Dutch. Just not Brazil's year.
Yes, I've been keeping an eye on the World Cup. But not for sports reasons.
You see, the systems I manage are mostly for our global users. There's another team that takes care of North America. My customers are in Russia, Mexico, Ukraine, Brazil, Argentina, etc. So the World Cup matters. I have working relationships with people in nearly all the countries playing in this month-long snooze fest. On the days that Brazil, especially, played, usage of my systems dipped noticeably, dramatically, lightening the load, so to speak.
I don't think I have users in the Netherlands, but I'm friends with a guy from there that I met nearly twenty years ago. I haven't heard from him lately, but he was a really neat guy. He once told me, in perfect English, that "Dutch is not a language, it's a throat disease."
Pedro, a Brazilian native that currently lives in  New York, IM'd me at the early stages of the games.
"Dennis, you excited about the World Cup?"
Me:   "(yawn)"
Pedro: "You don't like Soccer?"
Me: "I don't even care for or follow American football, why would I care one hoot about some second rate, foreign knock-off?"
It's okay, I talk to Pedro several times per week, he knows not to take me too seriously. On the day Brazil got pummeled by Germany, I IM'd him.
"Hey Pedro, how's that big soccer thing going?"
He didn't seem to be in a very good mood that day.
So I refused to root for either side this game. I didn't want to start an international incident amongst colleagues.
We took a booth by a big window.
Like I said, it was busier than usual. No one was watching the game though, because they were all Americans.
A couple of teen-twenty-something girls came in and sat nearby, I only noticed this because one of them was quite obviously OD'ing on eye makeup. She looked like she might be attractive without the clown mask, it was kind of like touching up a perfectly good, old masterpiece with glitter.
The Food:
We sat and true to his word, the man stopped by within a couple of minutes, loaded down with chips and salsa.
We asked for our drinks, tea, Diet Coke and Coke and dived into the chips. I almost immediately recalled that I had planned to have beer with the meal, but forgot. It's a problem I have, I'm always forgetting beer.
The menu was comprehensive, and in a few places, funny."Sure I'll have the Beer Taco as long as it truly is 'friend crisp!'"
I thought about ordering something new, something different, but I didn't. I like the enchiladas too much to go out on a limb. So once again, I asked for #1. Two enchiladas with re-fried beans and rice.
Adam asked for his tacos. One each, chicken and beef. Pretty much his standard order as well. Angel did not disappoint for once, she went with her perennial favorite as well, Enchiladas Del Mar, shrimp enchiladas. She did throw in a new variant though, more on that later.
We chomped through the chips, Angel and Adam e-deviced for a while. I leaned back and took in the ambiance. Mexican music played in the background, at once both happy, upbeat and forlorn. With a distinct rhythm and meter. I like Mexican music, It makes me feel.
The next best thing about LP is that it is fast. Angel had to leave to pick up a new client dog, so we were sort of pressed for time, another reason that this choice made sense.

Enchiladas

At another table, a middle aged foursome was growing louder and happier as the nearly empty fruity drink goblets stacked up around them. One of the men was wearing a sleeveless tee shirt with a logo and enough correctly spelled words that I could make out that he was apparently a member of a gang called 'The Christian Motorcyclists Association'.  The slogan was 'Riding for the Son'. I thought this a bit odd, but, okay. Whatever it takes, I guess. I looked them up, they do charitable events, so that's not so bad.
The food came quickly. Melty, steamy, aromatic. My plate looked simply luscious.The cheese melting into the beans, the sauce kissing all the edges of the enchiladas, the rice, tanned and hot.

Poblano

I chopped it all up and shoved it all together, that's just the way I roll. Every bite a combination of savory, spicy, cheesy delight.
Angel toyed with the extra 'side' she ordered, a roasted, sauced and cheese-laden poblano pepper.
She pronounced it quite good. I gave it a shot. Not bad at all. Not as spicy hot as I had imagined. It did taste like a roasted bell pepper, only slightly hotter, and the sauce and cheese were a great match for it. Near the end of the meal though, after she'd devoured the shrimp enchiladas, she said that after a while the pepper started tasting a little green 'grassy' as she called it. All in all she liked it, but didn't think it would stand up as well as a main course. "I absolutely love the shrimp enchiladas." She said a half dozen or so times.
About his tacos, which he finished off completely and very quickly, Adam merely said "Very Good, as usual."

Tacos

Enchiladas del Mar

Summary:
We were all filled and satisfied. The bill came to a modest $34.35. Overall I was feeling a little salty by the end of mine, but not nearly as bad as many places. The tea was quite good this time, a fresher batch that I usually encounter. The waiter/manager was quite helpful as well as efficient and attentive. Angel had some questions before ordering the poblano, he didn't seem to mind at all explaining to her the difference between that and a similar dish. I noticed he did the same for other people as well, they would point at an item and he'd kindly, proudly smile and tell them about it.
He also kept the foursome liquored up. LP has quite the local reputation for some of its enormous fruity drinks.
At other tables, some extended families with small kids, all local, seemed to be enjoying themselves as well.
Alas the poor creature that laments about hunger in a most famous Mexican corrido would not be so downtrodden here.
Ya se van los carrancistas,
ya se van por el alambre,
porque dicen los villistas,
que se estarán muriendo de hambre.
No, no dying of hunger at Los Portales. the food is great, inexpensive and quick.

Los Portales

201 Main St.
Hillsboro, Mo

My choice, a last minute decision. Once again, we'd put off making the choice, then the weather got iffy, so Angel said she didn't want to risk going too far in case it started getting icy again. On Friday I had slid the car into the front yard as she happened to be outside watching. She didn't know at the time that this was, though less than ideal, a fairly well controlled situation. The car had lost traction on the glazed pavement, but I'd already slowed it down to next to zero and I sort of leaned it toward the yard where it would regain grip immediately as opposed to the various stands of oak trees that were my only other option. I've actually done this before. Adam was watching the first time. The look on their faces, priceless.
So she didn't want to go to far, which meant Hillsboro, which seriously limited our choices. I just up and answered. "Mexican." That won immediate approval.
Los Portales can be described as a margarita joint that happens to serve food. Their fruity tequila drinks are quite popular. They come in various sizes, the larger version looks like a cereal bowl on a stem. I don't care for fruity mixed drinks much, ever since I discovered the satanic 'hurricanes' that I drank way too many of in New Orleans several years back. I loved those things, really sweet and fruity and you couldn't even taste the alcohol, and then next thing I know I'm stuffing my torn shirt into my pocket and swearing at some enormous trumpet players and my knees are bleeding and I'm pretty sure I just set fire to a dumpster . . .  well, not exactly. It wasn't really that bad, but I have learned to really, really limit the drinks I consume that mask or delay the alcohol or its effects.
Nearly every occupied table at LP held a big goblet of margarita. There were signs posted about offering special ones on certain evenings.
The Place:
LP is sort of a dive. An old building that certainly used to be something else entirely, uneven floors, low ceilings, dark. It has character though and is a very popular local watering hole and they make really good 'authentic' Mexican food. The people that work there are pretty much all Hispanic, Latino, or whatever you choose to call people from Central or South America. A recent study I heard on NPR said that the preference as to what to be called varies quite a bit among that population, though they'd mostly rather be referred to as being from the country they came from, Nicaraguan, Mexican, Bolivian, Canadian, etc. But the problem for us not from there is that all those places seem a lot more alike than the vast differences that there really are, so we tend to lump them all together as if they were one people. I didn't ask the people at LP where they were from, so I really don't know for sure. I apologize to them for my blatant ignorance.
The bottom line though is they make good food. I air quoted around 'authentic' again. I don't know how authentically Mexican the food is since I've never been to Mexico, but they are certainly, if there is a God, more authentic than Taco Bell.
We sat at a booth in the second-hand-only smoking section. Hillsboro hasn't banned smoking in restaurants, so in an old, low ceiling-ed place, the acrid, stale odor is palpable throughout.
We sat beneath a red serape and sombrero, a theme on several of the walls. The booths there are well worn and kind of low to the table.
Along the front wall most of the tables were full, with families, with more often than not, Mom sipping on a big, bright green drink.
Overhead were the happy guitars, trumpets and soulful, mostly male voices of songs sung in Spanish. It fit nicely.
The Food:
The gentleman who waited on us was polite and professional. He had brought the chips and salsa, which caused me to salivate openly. We perused the menus as we downed the drenched chips. The chips were thin and crispy, the salsa spicy and rich, though not too hot. We responded to his query with Tea, sweet tea (raspberry) and Coke.
It's easy, for me at least, to overdo it at LP. A couple of times I've ordered the big special platters that they drag through a little of everything they make. I've never been able to finish one, so I decided to be more surgical about my choice.

#1 Enchiladas

Enchiladas, mmmm. There it is known as Combination #1. Two enchiladas, rice and refried beans. Perfect.
Angel asked for the Enchiladas Del Mar, which she said contained shrimp. Adam split his order between Nachos Supreme and a chicken taco.
LP serves pretty quick, most of the stuff is batch made and assembled onto a plate when ordered. So it doesn't take a long time to dine there.
The plates arrived, exactly as ordered.

Enchilada Del Mar

White, molten cheese floating in a dark, muddy river of beans. Lightly tomato-sauced rice, tender and well cooked. I didn't recall specifying I wanted beef enchiladas, but that's what I got. After I took the picture I chopped it all up and stirred it all together. A piggish thing to do, but I like the depth of flavors and textures in every bite. Pretty much the same way I eat my eggs, hash browns and bacon at Huddle House. Angel's plate looked prettier than mine, it included a small lettuce, tomato and guac salad. She dug out and devoured the small shrimp.

Taco, Nachos Supreme

Adam excavated and discarded the tomato chunks from his nacho plate. The Taco went pretty quick. For some reason I finished before everyone else, this rarely happens what with me taking time out to make copious notes for these reviews. The flavors got the best of me though. I was hungry, lusted for Mexican and was being satisfied.  It's hard to slow down under pressure like that.
 Summary:
Angel said hers was quite good, Adam nodded his head. Yeah the food was good. The service was mostly good. We ran out of chips and were never offered a refill. Which is odd since the chips serve to make the customers thirsty and this place easily makes more from their drinks than from the food. Speaking of drinks, my tea was not very good, a minus 2 on the PJTea scale, Angel said the raspbery in hers tasted like raspberry Kool-Aid, she rated it a 'fail'.
Los Portales is pretty good, at least locally good. It's consistent, inexpensive (our bill came in under $30.) and very close to home. There are a few other Mexican places a little further out and most of them are pretty good, but why bother when this one is so close?
If you find yourself in Hillsboro, for courthouse reasons or to bail your idiot friend or spouse out of jail again, you really should stop in and give the place a try. Either for a tall green tequila drink, one of the many fine Mexican beers they serve, or maybe just a sloppy pile of enchiladas. It's good food, bargain priced, and nobody cares if you dribble sauce on your shirt.

Los Portales

201 Main St.
Hillsboro, Mo.


Angel was out of town, yet again. Her and her training associate, Diana, took off for Elgin Illinois on Friday, some sort of canine professional's seminar. She told me what it was but I don't recall paying attention at the time. Elgin is Northwest of Chicago, which I have learned is also in Illinois.  I used to know someone from there, but that was a long time ago.
Adam had worked some earlier in the day but was home in time for our regular outing. Up until we left the house we still hadn't decided where to go. I mentioned maybe something Mexican, he agreed. That meant, without need for further discussion, Los Portales.
The Place:
By best possible definition, LP is a dive. The building is old, the decor is rough and simple, the floors lean, the tile on the floors is cheap, and many of the furnishing do not match. It's just the kind of place you'd expect would serve excellent Mexican food.
The food there is authentic, it says so right on the sign. We've been there fairly often, it is close to home and  right on Main street.
A lot of people go there for their drinks. On this early evening there were already three or four ladies listing to port side, clutching bright yellow, fruity looking concoctions in massive goblets at the bar.
There's a smoking section by the bar that you have to go through before you get to the second-hand smoking section. Like I said, it's a dive.
We were greeted and then seated at a booth at a window that fronted Main street. A few other tables were loaded with locals. I've lived here long enough now that I had to carefully scan the room to see if I knew anyone. It's a popular place and many of the town's movers and shakers frequent the place.
A member of the purple-shirted wait staff brought us menus and the obligatory chips and salsa. LP's chips and salsa are pretty good, the salsa is not too hot, but it will eventually open up the sinuses.
I looked around the room, soaking in the atmosphere. Overhead the music system played authentic Mexican music, soulful, pleading songs, that sucked you in even though the words were undecipherable. He may have been singing about a lost love, a dying pet, a lonely existence, or he may have just been lamenting a blown piston in his pickup truck, I couldn't tell, but I was certain that it made the poor man hurt. The passion was intense, real and personal.
Mounted on one wall was a coat rack. Stuffed in the top of it were several gaudy sombreros. I told Adam that I imagined that on more formal occasions that if a patron violated the dress code and came in without a sombrero, that these were the loaners, like that box of ugly ties fancy restaurants keep on hand.
He suggested in reply that they belonged to the staff. He laughed, he imagined them greeting each other with a boisterous "Buenos dias!" as they removed their bright serapes and big hats in preparation to begin the days work.
I told him that sort of thing might be considered racist.
The staff is, unmistakably, mostly Mexican. I see this as a huge plus. I thought about Angel in Elgin. I wondered if there were any authentic Mexican or Mexican restaurants way up there. I don't know much about Elgin, but I sincerely doubt that they are nearly as cosmopolitan as Hillsboro. Their loss.
I did read somewhere that Elgin has a large Laotian community. I'm not exactly sure what that is, but it can't be as good as authentic Mexican. I mean, when't the last time you heard anyone say "Hey let's go to that nice little Laotian restaurant!"
About the only thing I know about Laos is that we may or may not have accidentally bombed them during that messy Viet Nam thing. I don't know if they still hold that against us. I'm just glad we never bombed Mexico.
The Food:
It really doesn't matter what you order here. Everything mostly has the same ingredients. The difference lies in the way it gets served up. Enchiladas, tacos, burritos, fajitas, it's all got the same stuff available to be stuffed into them. I prefer chicken enchiladas though. I like the red sauce that tops them. I also like refried beans and rice. So that's what I ordered, otherwise known as Combo #1.
Adam asked for #11, two tacos and an enchilada. Beef in the enchilada, chicken in the tacos. There was something on the side as well, though neither of us can remember what it was called.
There's never a long wait at LP's. Since everything is just a variation on basic ingredients, it's a matter of plating it up more than anything. Five minutes, maybe, and the food arrived. Adam's two tacos took up their own plate. they didn't look at all like Taco Bell tacos, which is good since Taco Bell is basically crap.
My enchiladas swam in the same plate with the beans and the rice, just the way I like it. Generous helpings of white cheese, spicy red sauce, mmmmmm...
I chopped up the enchiladas and let chaos ensue, all the bits mixing together beautifully.
The sauce was excellent, a little, but not too spicy, the chicken still tender and moist, the beans are about the best I've had.
This isn't fancy food. This is working person food. No pretense no garnish, no exotic ingredients or fancy plating. It's hard to compare this to a great steak dinner or a complex pasta/seafood offering. But for what it is, and when it is what you are craving, Los Portales gets it all right.
Just look at those tacos, thick crispy shells, plenty of white cheese. Even the chips and salsa are amazing.
I cleaned my plate, enjoying every bite. There may be better Mexican food somewhere, but i don't know how.
Summary:
Yeah, it's good. It's also cheap. Adam and I stuffed ourselves, enjoyed every bit of it, and it only set us back eighteen dollars and eighty five cents. Oh yeah, I almost forgot, the tea. My expectations were low. The worst as I can say is that I've had better and I've certainly had worse, which means for all intents and purposes it ranks on the PJTea scale about in the middle. I'm going to give it a +.25 though since the tea came in a larger tumbler than at Pizza Junction. It's only fair.
Hillsboro is not much of a destination town, well unless you have a court date, so I don't expect a lot of out of towners to go there. Too bad, you'd probably really like it, especially if you also like fruity rum or tequila drinks.
While there, Adam and I toasted my oldest son Matthew. He couldn't join us because he lives in Tempe, Arizona. It was his birthday though and what with him living in a state that loves authentic Mexican stuff, (except for many of the authentic Mexicans) I'm sure he would have wanted to join us.

Coyol Mexican Restaurant

12967 Rt 21
DeSoto, Mo
On Facebook

 The Place:

In the location that was formerly called 'Senor Nacho'. Next to the KFC. As Senor Nacho, we didn't care for it very much. As we recall, it has changed ownership and name at least once, we think maybe more since we were last there.
Of course, we need to discuss the name. 'Coyol' is the name of a palm tree (acrocomia aculeata) common in Southern Mexico all the way down into Argentina. It produces a small coconut-like fruit which is really hard to break open and there's not much inside it when you get there. So it is not at all common to find the fruit many places other than where it falls on the ground. Why would you name a restaurant in DeSoto after a palm fruit no one around here will likely ever see or taste? Well, I'm not done yet. You see the trees are good for something else. Cut one down, drain the sap, let that sap ferment and man, you've got a potent beverage. One that not only can get you face-down wasted because of the alcohol, but bonus: the enzymes in that drink react with your body chemistry, intensifying the drunkenness considerably when you step out into sunlight for a while.
Since the restaurant's sign has on it a palm tree, I'm pretty sure the name is based on the tree, not the nut nor the sap wine derived from it, though I'm not real sure.

One of the table tops

We went in the already busy place and were led to a booth in the back. The walls were painted in a rough textured, adobe-colored paint, with faux exposed brink painted on in various places. Murals depicting simple, traditional Mexican themes were also painted in. The table tops were thickly laminated with more Mexican-style art, some quite striking.
There were several tables and booths filled, families, couples. Some of the adults were drinking a variety of adult beverages. One man across from us was drinking a Dos Equis, though oddly enough he didn't really seem all that interesting.
Our waiter brought menus and asked about drinks. He was a handsome man, tall, lean, forty-ish, with pronounced Spanish features. He was dressed in jeans and a white cotton shirt and reminded me of the type of man that could handle himself quite well in harsh dry climates as well as the rugged lands of his European ancestry. His accent was thick, and made every syllable sound important. We ordered tea, Diet Coke and Dr. Pepper.
The menus were about six pages, laminated and included labeled photos of many of the dishes. All of which looked very good. I wanted an enchilada, or a chimichanga, but I also wanted rice and beans. I picked my meal because it included all of that. Angel wanted a steak, and Adam wanted a taco.
We took a while to ultimately choose, Angel and I changing our minds several times before finally settling. In the mean time the chips and salsa arrived and quickly disappeared.
On the wall above our heads, were several sombreros. There were Polaroids  taped to the wall of the entrance of customers wearing these sombreros having a great time. I assume alcohol was involved.
The Food:
For me it was chimichangas, fried chicken burritos, which included beans, rice, guacamole, sour cream and a lettuce and tomato salad. Angel chose the Steak Jalisco, which she mispronounced but was repeated perfectly and precisely by the waiter.(Jalisco is a south western Mexican state, the capital of which is Guadalajara, and includes the popular port city of  Puerto Vallarta.)

Chimichangas

The Steak Jalisco was offered as being covered in mushroom and shrimp. Adam indeed ordered one of the many combo plates, one burrito, one taco, rice on the side.
As we waited and munched on chips I listened to the rich, passionate Mexican music, enjoying it thoroughly even though I didn't understand a word of it. True passion translates perfectly though, even without words. I mentioned to Angel and Adam that one of his co-workers at Pizza Junction had left a comment on the review I'd written a couple of weeks prior. I said she'd said some very nice things about him. This alarmed him and he demanded to know who it was. I asked his mother to dial the blog up on her smart-ass-phone and she did.

Steak Jalisco

"Adam is a great worker and a funny guy!" it said. It was written by someone named 'Dawn'. "That's my manager's wife" He said. "Awesome!" I replied. I also thought how nice it would be to get a public compliment from my manager's wife, or even my manager. Must be nice to be appreciated.
The plates arrived, luscious looking, steaming, my plate was still almost too hot to touch. Angel's steak sizzled, as hot as a summer day in Guadalajara. Adam's plate came next and the table went quiet for the next ten minutes. I ate and ate, savoring every bite. The chicken was moist, the pinnacle test for quality preparation. The lettuce was crisp, the guacamole was fresh and bright, the beans cheesy and the rice, not overly tomato-ey. they'd nailed it.

Burrito+Taco

Angel made satisfied grunting noises as she ate, carved the steak and dipped the shrimp. "Tender" She said of the steak between bites, once again quite an accomplishment for such a thin cut. Another bowl of chips arrived, drink refills were timely. The waiter maintained his professionalism even as he swept out the crumbs from underneath a table recently vacated by a family. Pride in his work was obvious.
None of us could finish our meals, we tried, but the stuff was delicious and at the same time quite filling. It didn't look like much at the start, but it took quite and effort to whittle it down. At one drink refill I turned to Angel and asked; "Do you consider the waiter to be quite handsome?" She looked at me flustered and flushed. She stammered. "I didn't know we were here to judge." Adam laughed, I did to, because judging is precisely what we do at these places.
Summary:
     We were quite impressed, to put it mildly. We didn't care for Senor Nacho, but in its present incarnation as Coyol, all the things that the previous place was lacking are fixed. The food was fresh, tasty and perfectly prepared. The service was excellent, timely and professional. Around the table there was not a single complaint. In the car Angel did admit that the cheese sauce got a little salty after a while, but not terribly so. That was all we could come up with. Otherwise the atmosphere, the food and the experience was fantastic.
The price as well was reasonable at about forty bucks. A lot of quality, a lot of food, for a very good price.

Cinco de Mayo

4587 Hunter Lane
Byrnes Mill, Mo

This was a near last-minute decision. No one in the clan had given much thought to eating out this weekend and no one wanted to make a decision. I suggested Los Portales out of lack of a better idea, Angel offered up another Mexican joint, Cinco de Mayo, a place we don’t get to very often. I thought that was better choice for the very reason that we don’t get there often.

The Place:

Alongside highway 30 in Byrnes Mill/House Springs. It’s an orange, faux-adobe structure topped with a big yellow sign. The parking lot was packed pretty tight. Inside, the place itself was nearly filled. The hostess had to think for a moment about where to seat us. She took us to the left this time to what probably used to be the smoking section. The interior walls were also orange and heavily populated with beer signs. Two big, flat TV’s mutely played ESPN, neither TV was in eyesight of our booth.

A young man rushed up and introduced himself as our waiter. He asked about drinks, and against better judgment I asked for tea. Angel went for Diet Pepsi and Adam, the regular Pepsi. Angel recalled that the last time we’d been there that the tea was horrible. I remembered that too, it was a flowery concoction that tasted a little like hand lotion. At the time the manager said that they were thinking of canceling the tea vendor’s contract. Apparently they had, the tea I was given didn’t taste like hand lotion anymore, it tasted like nothing at all.

There were large parrots painted on the windows and several faux-parrots hanging from the ceiling, enough immobile parrots that I kind of expected a Monty Python sketch to break out at any moment.

The Food:

The chips arrived shortly, a big basket, along with a beaker of salsa. Adam poured the lumpy stuff into the provided bowl and the crunching began in earnest as we scanned the menus.

 Burritos, tacos, fajitas, enchiladas, various combinations of beef, pork, chicken and shrimp. Oddly, ‘parrot’ was not listed anywhere.

I finally decided on a chicken chimichanga which included rice and refried beans. Angel, a fan of most things seafood, decided on shrimp pollo which sounded exciting to me until I found out that it was not a sport involving smacking a little ball around with a mallet whilst riding saddled shrimp, I’d pay to see that. No, it simply meant a dish of shrimp and chicken. She said later that she’d actually wanted the fajitas, served sizzling on a blazing hot iron platter, but with her still-recovering left arm she thought it might simply be too dangerous. A wise plan being as merely shampooing her hair has proven almost lethal.

Nachos Supreme

Adam went simple, the Nachos Supreme (chicken). No one was really pushing the edge, pretty basic stuff. So we sat and munched on the thin, some might say too thin chips. Many of them broke off scooping up the moderately thick, spicy salsa. Nearly half the chips in the basket were barely more than crumbs, we’d been served from the bottom of the bag.

The people kept flowing in, it was nearly stacked to the rafters with people, a bustling, busy place amped up in energy by the classic rock radio station playing ‘Walkin’ on Sunshine’ and other upbeat anthems overhead.  No mariachi, corridos, ranchera, or even creepy narco-corridos*, it was all-American rock, which clashed with the parrot and palm on adobe theme of the restaurant. About as Mexican in overall ambiance as Taco Bell.

Call me old fashioned, call me a traditionalist call me a romantic, call  me a hapless idiot, but when I go to a place-themed restaurant I like music from that area. Chinese, Italian, Greek, Mexican, even Kentucky Fried Chicken, I want music from the place. Is that too much to ask?

Chimichanga

Another basket of chips arrived, the very busy place was keeping the young, pale, all-American staff on their toes. There used to be Mexicans working there, none could be seen this evening. Not necessarily a problem, but all my favorite Mexican joints are owned or at least operated by Latinos. I’m not meaning to be racist, but I really believe the best Mexican food is made by Mexicans.

The wait grew longer. I was almost full from the addictive chips and salsa. Our waiter, not named Pedro, Jose or Miguel, but rather ‘Kyle’ came out and apologized, saying that the ‘party of twenty one’ was almost done being served and our order would follow that one shortly.

About one third or less of the way into the second basket of chips, a young lady brought a third basket, saying “your server said you wanted more.”

Okay, the place was busy, but not beyond advertised capacity. In all, three people stopped by to check on us. None offered drink refills.

The food finally did arrive; Adam and I got our plates a full several minutes ahead of Angel’s. Awkward waiting ensued.

Chimichanga: A deep-fried burrito.

So what I expected was a crunchy tortilla wrap. No, it wasn’t. It didn’t look as though it had been anywhere near cooking oil. The tortilla cut like a fresh one, even doughy on the ends. There was no crunch to it at all. The taste wasn’t bad, but it was a burrito, not a chimichanga. In the middle of the plate was a pile of green avocado puree, guacamole, which at best I am not a huge fan of, but in this case it had absolutely no flavor at all. Something that green should have a stronger taste. There was also a smattering of shredded lettuce and tiny pieces of tomato topped by a dollop of sour cream. I cut the chimichanga/burrito and swirled everything together. It would have been better with a crunchy element, but it wasn’t bad, though it lacked any ‘zing’.

Shrimp Pollo

Angel enjoyed hers thoroughly. She said that the chicken was moist, almost buttery and the onions, peppers, shrimp and mushrooms were all very good. Adam didn’t say a lot about his nachos but he did eat more than half and didn’t complain other than ‘The chips were too thin.’ They used the same fragile, wafer-thin (yet another Monty Python reference) chips in the nachos as were in the baskets.

Summary:

We had our fill and the food was pretty good to excellent. The crowd may have led to the several service slips, the unsolicited chip glut, the complete lack of drink refills and the delays. These are typical anywhere when staff is stretched thin. They worked hard to be sure, but you could almost see on their faces the overwhelming pressure to just get through the busy night. It’s chief among reasons I don’t care for really busy places.

The bill came to only thirty three dollars and change, a good bargain for the amount of food. I didn’t tip very much, too many service mistakes. I’ve seen servers thrive in such chaos, this gets tipped well. There were no catastrophic errors here, just no one rising to the occasion and too many small errors.

I was hoping for something a little more fresh and bright. My food was certainly okay, but it lacked punch, zing, sparkle. The rice, beans and chicken all pretty much tasted alike. Angel even said that as good as hers was, it didn’t seem Mexican at all, more like Mexican-lite.

I’d like to go back, but only if the crowd was smaller, to give them a chance to shine. The place is certainly popular, which says a lot.

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*Narco corridos: Ballads about drug trafficking and related violence, I’m not making this up, they’re quite common.