Scholastic Warehouse

If you ask a child what they think they will find in Heaven, you might hear answers like "Disneyland", "cotton candy", or "puppies."

Aside from the obvious spiritual aspects of Eternal Life, I hope that Heaven has copious chocolate and books.

I fulfilled my chocolate dreams by having lived for several years near Hershey, Pennsylvania, where the air smells of cocoa and the streetlamps are kiss-shaped.

However, it is in San Antonio that my book dreams have been answered.

The Scholastic Warehouse on Perrin Creek is Book Heaven.

Think back to when you were in school, and the teacher would pass out those newspaper-like flyers with book lists. My mom would let me pick two each time, and I had such a hard time narrowing down my choices. I was the kid that chose to go the library at recess. (Sister Charles Marie was concerned that I might have a life of crime in my future, merely because I tore through the entire Nancy Drew collection in record time. Why didn't she think I was destined to become a detective?)

I'll never forget the first time I walked into the Scholastic Warehouse. It is literally a working warehouse, complete with concrete floors, cinder-block walls, with exposed pipes and industrial lights in the ceiling. If it has central air or heating, you wouldn't know it, because it is cold in the winter, and hot in the summer, especially as the loading dock garage doors are usually open.

But who needs ambiance when before your eyes are countless rows of books, nearly floor to ceiling, and overflowing into carts and bins?

There must be a secret system known only to employees because a book about Spiderman can be found next to a cookbook, which is next to a pop-up book about Tutankhamun, which is next to a Clifford-the-Big-Red-Dog paperback. It almost confuses my German sense of order, but instead I love the necessity of walking down each aisle, looking at every single book to find what I want.

And, oh, do I want them all! I don't believe in being materialistic, but I do make an exception in regards to books. After all, books are the gateway to new life, new civilization, allow you to boldly go where no man has gone before.

I'm confusing that with an old "Star Trek" episode I watched last night. But, the point is the same. Books, in my opinion, are an experience, not a collection of items.

The catch to the Scholastic Warehouse is that it is only open to the public several times a year, and even then, they have restrictions. The sales are open to teachers, homeschoolers, and other people directly involved in the education of children. Admittedly, they have a fairly loose definition of this, but if you are interested in going, and cannot claim one of the catagories, you can sign up as a volunteer, and thus have access to the sale.

The sales are fantastic. Every book is at least 50% off, and sometimes much more. There is usually a clearance section where the prices are even better. One time, the had a sale where you could load up an HEB-sized plastic bag with as many books as possible, and only pay a dollar.

Although the majority of books relate to children, there are definitely selections for an older crowd. Cookbooks, self-help books, novels, history books, etc. can be found on many shelves if you have the time and patience to walk through the hallowed halls slowly and methodically.

I never walk out of there without several boxes taking up room in the cart, and a sudden lightness to my wallet.

I'm looking around my house, trying to figure out where we can add more bookshelves.

Scholastic Warehouse
4646 Perrin Creek
San Antonio, TX
800-633-4270
Visit the Scholastic Bookfair Website!
(Register for a Fast Pass, which expidites your payment on-site, and give you a $10 coupon off of purchases of $50 or more.)

Goliad

You might argue that Goliad, being at least two hours from the Alamo City, does not belong in a blog called "My Hidden San Antonio". However, as I told several people where we were going today, only to be met by blank stares, I think we can safely consider it "hidden". And, considering its historic relationship to the battle at the Alamo, we can certainly see the link to San Antonio.

I was reminded today of our many childhood roadtrips when my parents called us this morning to see if we'd like to go to Goliad. This is Texas History in real life, rather than a textbook, and we jumped at the chance to take our daughters.

The road to Goliad is uneventful - the land is flat, and a dull, wintry brown. My daughters brought books to read, and my parents tried to convince me of the marvels of Global Positioning technology. I'm proficient on my compter, could program my VCR back when they existed, set up our home's surround sound system, and love my iPod immensely. I just haven't made the jump to a GPS from the tactile satisfaction of a good map as my traveling companion. However, as I was the guest and a passenger, I tolerated "Sophie" (their nickname for it, meaning "wisdom") for the duration. I will admit that she got us there without error, monitored our speed, calculated our estimated arrival time, washed the dishes, served us coffee.....oh, not those last few.

Like many small towns in both Texas and elsewhere, the entrance to Goliad is quiet and somewhat non-descript. Then, a large, proud sign appears, pointing the way to the historic district.

The historic district in Goliad is charming. In the middle of the square towers a breathtaking county courthouse made of stone and trimmed in red and green. Multiple turrets make it visible from far away. To its side stands an impressive tree, famous for hanging the county's criminals once upon a time. In fact, the tree is the square's claim to fame, being the namesake of several businesses around it.....The Hanging Tree Antiques, the Hanging Tree Restaurant, etc.

We opted for a later lunch and drove around the corner to the historic state park. The entrance hints of what lies ahead, as the stone pillars, ornamented with Texas stars, welcome you. To your right is a gleaming white mission church, Espiritu Santo. This is where, in 1749, Spanish missionaries lived and worked among the native people, evangelizing as they went along.

A little further down the road is a another white structure, this one much smaller, much more humble. It is the birthplace of Ignacio Zaragosa, a general in the Mexican Army, and the leader of the battle for which "Cinco De Mayo" is celebrated. (I just had to backspace while spelling that - at first, I typed "Di Maio", which is our last name, prounced the same. Habit, I suppose. People have suggested that we name a dog "Cinco", but our children have named our two canine companions Kate and Sugar. Alas, no historical significance there.)

Just across from that is the structure that most people drive to Goliad for - The Presidio La Bahia. The name means "The Fort of the Bay", and one look around will make you question where the water is. A video inside will inform you that Spanish originally established the fort in 1721 at Lavaca Bay, but moved inland when it didn't meet their needs.

The first site is a chapel, resplendent with a floor-to-ceiling mural of the Annunciation of the Angel Gabriel to Mary. But this is most definitely a fort, not a mission. The perimeter is marked by a vast stone wall, the corners rounded by watchtowers and canon holes. There are also smaller holes interspersed throughout the walls, presumably for rifles. Our daughters made a game of finding all of the rifle holes. My husband, the Marine, was just happy that they were taking interest in something other than dolls and stuffed animals.

There were some rooms, many with beautiful wooden beams. Heavy wooden doors were decorated with copper accents, green from the touch of time. On the walls are two flags - one with a canon, meant to taunt the enemy, saying "Come and get it." The other has a red arm, used by the Texans to indicate that they would rather give up their right arm than live under the dictatorship of Santa Anna any longer.

Many events occured at the presido between the Spanish settlement, and the Texas occupation of the fort. In the 1770s, the Spanish sent their army from the fort to the Gulf to fight the British and assist the colonists in the American Revolution.

The name of the town was changed in 1829 from "La Bahia" to "Goliad", as an attempt at an anagram of a Father Hidalgo in the Mexican Revolution, as the Mexicans now claimed the area.

In 1835, the Texans stormed the fort and took it as their own. In the chapel, 92 citizens signed the first Texas Declaration of Independence, and flew the Lone Star flag for the first time.

Perhaps now, it is most well known for the day of March 27, 1836 when Col. James Walker Fannin and 341 of his men were captured and subsequently massacred by General Santa Anna. "Remember Goliad" joined the cry of "Remember the Alamo", and the United States took notice.

Today, the Presidio is run by the Catholic Diocese of Victoria, and Mass is celebrated in the chapel every Sunday evening. It is recognized as the only completely restored Spanish fort in the Western Hemisphere.

History may overwhelm the mind, but the stomach can't be fed on musings of the past. Hungry, we drove the short distance back to the historic square, and chose between the two restaurants available. We selected The Hanging Tree (surprise, surprise). Open for only a month, this eatery was a real find. The building had most recently housed a Dollar Store, but now was made elegant by white triple dental mouldings, cranberry-colored walls, and white beadboard all around. The decor was equaled only by the service. Our waitress could not have been more helpful. The meal was very affordable - the kids menu was only $2.99, which is much less than what I have seen elsewhere.

We all wavered over the daily special - beef stew in a bread bowl, or blackened catfish, but the stew won out with 3 of us ordering it, and 1 ordering the catfish. The girls ordered chicken fingers (a childhood staple), and grilled cheese. This grilled cheese was open-faced on French bread - mighty gourmet for a little mouth. Surprised that our 7-year-old was actually torn between the proposed sides of salad, green beans, or French fries, the waitress brought ALL of them out to her, thus giving us more to sample.

It was all wonderful. The beef stew was perfect, the meat just falling apart at your touch. The broth saturated the bread bowl, and reminded me of what we used to order at Boudin's when we lived in San Francisco. We agreed that this was actually better than the Bay Area's famous menu item.

We left after meeting the owner, complimenting the cook, and taking a look at the old pictures of the town, hung on the walls. We wished that The Hanging Tree had a branch (no pun intended) in San Antonio. We would be frequent patrons.

We drove back, feeling a "good tired", content with full bellies, and entertained by the belated Christmas songs that our 3 year old was singing. "Sophie" led the way, accomodated our detours around traffic, and almost won me over. Almost.

Visit the Goliad Chamber of Commerce Website!

Rudy's Barbecue (Leon Springs)

As I am married to a man that never says no to a pile of brisket, I have tried my share of barbecue joints over the years. I'm convinced that the wrong place to eat this Texas favorite is in a restaurant that serves it up on a plate, with a fork and knife close by.

If good barbecue can be judged by atmophere and lack of place settings, Rudy's barbecue in Leon Springs must be the best.

Rudy's is the first barbecue place that I remember visiting. We drove from Denver once a year to visit our San Antonio relatives, and no trip was complete without visiting Rudy's. This was when anything north of 1604 and I10 was considered "the country", and you certainly didn't find Ducati dealerships and Sonic fast food along the way. There was nothing convenient about going, so the journey up the interstate was for the sole purpose of visiting this Brisket Mecca.

Driving up to the glorified shack that Rudy's is, you pass several fuel pumps, and become a believer that the smell of gasoline and meat is an essential component to authentic barbecue. You are a little concerned by their sign, claiming that they are "The Worst BBQ in Texas." However, your eyes tell a different story as you see a line far out of the building, even hours after lunchtime.

You join the line, inhaling the smoky, spicy air. All around you are people of every class and every race sharing an insatiable hunger for meat. Who knew that Leon Springs, Texas, could be a mini United Nations? I think it is safe to say that the small town will not host any PETA conventions anytime soon, though.

A map is hung atop the doorway, with pins showcasing where all their visitors are from. There is not a state in this great country that is not represented by a barbecue-eating visitor. To the right, you see plastic cups with plastic forks and knives. Only when you look up do you realize that there are no napkins here. That would be too dainty. No, at Rudy's, you must clean up with solid, sturdy paper towels, being distributed by the same kind of metal dispensers that you have only seen in restrooms. Being December, the dispenser is covered in snowman wrapping paper.

You've studied every detail, observed every ravenous diner, and finally enter The Room - this is where all the magic happens. Once inside, you are hit with the intensity of heat and smoke and noise as workers cook and cut and serve. It is chaotic, but exciting. You have a bit more time in line to deliberate over creamed corn, corn slaw, potatoes, etc. And that's just the sides. The meat line offers brisket, turkey, ribs, sausage, and more.

You pick a drink from the icy tubs, and make your selection. You order is thrown into a plastic box and lined with pages of shiny, waxy paper sheets. Later, when you are looking for plates, you realize that these ARE your plates. The Chinet salesman may want to consider a housecall.

Slices of white bread are pulled out of a bag, and placed with your food as you move along the assembly line to the registers. A military ID card will get you an extra 10% off, and a sincere "thank you" for your service.

Your next decision is where to eat. It is tempting to sit outside and enjoy the weather, but flies are trying to be diners, too, and you choose the indoors.

Deja vu hits as you look at the tables inside and remember your school cafeteria days. You will not be sitting privately with your party here - no, this is one big happy family. Pull up a metal folding chair, and make some friends.

Everyone digs in, putting meat and sides on their paper, adding sauce, swigging root beer. Conversation is temporarily stunted, as everyone is occupied with the tender and savory food in front of them. The only words you might speak or hear are, "Does anyone have more napkins?"

The walls are worth looking at. They proudly point out water stains, and indicate the years and the floods that created each mark. A sign reminds you to mind your manners, saying, "You're mother isn't here, so clean up after yourself."

(Today, in fact, my mother was with me, but I ended up clearing away my own trash, anyway. I guess she didn't read the sign.)

If you're not full, a near impossibility, you are tempted with Bluebell ice cream desserts and locally made peanut brittle.

When you're finished, you exit Rudy's with a smile on your face, a lump in your belly, and the echo of a friendly "Good-bye" from the cashier in your head. The screen door of this humble 78-year-old building slams behind you, and you see the million dollar mansions of the Dominion on the hill in front of you.

This is the glory of Texas, and the glory of Rudy's - the intersection of the spectrum of people, as they speak together the common language of barbecue.

Visit Rudy's Website!
210-698-2141

NOTE: If you are facing Rudy's, look to your right. You will see a small, white-stone building with an Alamo-arch facade. This was once the home of the original Macaroni Grill. Now with locations nation-wide, this little building started it all. I used to come here with my family to enjoy the delicious pasta and the opera-singing waitstaff. A major flood just a few years ago sealed its fate, and now you can only enjoy Macaroni's in one of their many chains. Rudy's is now a chain, too, with branches in Texas and the Southwest. The Rudy's at Leon Springs is the original, and still the best.

Brindle's Gelato

I've decided that the best thing about having children is the food.

How else, as an adult, can you indulge in the comfort of Kraft macaroni and cheese without looking over your shoulder to see if anyone's watching? At least if the kids have been eating it, you can finish off what's left in the pot and claim that you had to finish it because it would be wrong to waste it.

Kids are a good excuse to have Oreos in my pantry, or to get a candy at the bank.

Having children is very convenient when you go out for ice cream. There are so many flavors to choose from. I would like to ask the person behind the counter for a zillon samples, but I might start an angry riot with the people behind me. However, when you have children, everyone orders something different, and you get to try a bit of them all. The more children, the better - all the more flavors to sample.

I've never met a carton of Baskin Robbins Rocky Road that I didn't like, but I have to say that Brindle's, an independent gelato shop located at Huebner and I10, has turned my head. A favorite of our family for several years now, Brindle's has over two hundred tempting choices. Only about forty are available at any given time, but I asked them once for the list of all the flavors, and it was quite impressive.

Have you ever tasted avocado ice cream? Cucumber sorbet? Habenero gelato? I didn't think so.

Ok, neither have I. For being the adventurous eater that I generally am, I have not yet brought myself to go into such uncharted territory, but I feel oh-so-sophisticated for even entering such a progressive establishment.

I have, however, enjoyed cake batter ice cream, and amaretto gelato, along with many more traditional offerings. I've sampled the bright blue lollipop flavor that my daughters love. I suspect they really like this one because it comes with lollipop chunks nestled in the ice cream, and they must think that this is somehow a loophole to my ONE DESSERT policy. That, or they like the unnatural colors that their tongues turn in to.

If two hundred flavors were not enough to make a non-committal person shake in their boots, Brindle's offers sugar cones, waffle cones, waffle bowls, chocolate cones, chocolate-dipped cones, chocolate-dipped-AND-sprinkled cones, and an array of toppings that I won't even begin to get in to. Whew!

The atmosphere at Brindle's evokes a local coffee shop hangout. It is colorful and quirky, and attracts people of all ages to sit and visit, and make new friends. I once met an old man there, sitting alone with his book and his ice cream. He complimented my girls, and we engaged in an hour-long conversation where I learned about his life and his history. Talking with him became the cherry on the top of the outing. Good thing, because I hadn't ordered a cherry on top of my gelato.

When the weather is nice, especially in the evenings, the outside tables become coveted as a post-movie theater crowd wanders over and blends with the artsy types coming from the bookstore next door.

As I write this, my husband is getting ready to wrap our pipes, as we might hit freezing tonight, and yet the thought of a cup of Brindle's gelato still sounds good.

I am being kept warm, next to my frosty window, by my youngest daughter, who just crawled into my lap and fell asleep. This was just after she told me that I am "sparkly", which I can only attribute to the eyeshadow that I have not yet washed off.

As she slumbers here, so cozy, so peaceful, so beautiful, I think that after all, THIS is the best thing about having children. But the food is still a close second.

Brindle's: 11255 Huebner Road 210-641-5222.

HINT: Ask for the frequent-user card. You will get a punch for each cone that you purchase, except for the children's portions. After 12, you will get a free one.

The Majestic Majestic

In today's world of non-stop entertainment, hi-tech prowess, and up-the-ante graphics, we are hard pressed to discover anything that stops us in our tracks and takes our breath away.

Look no further. The Majestic Theater in San Antonio lives up to its name, and all of the synonyms that my thesaurus can handle - lofty, stately, exalted, regal, illustrious, sublime, extraordinary, towering, overwhelming, awe-inspiring.

Anticipation builds as you turn on to Houston Street. Unless you are seeing a matinee, it is dark outside. Tonight, the mist makes the globe lights of the marquis bewitching.

The brick sidewalk leading to the theater bears the names of the many patrons that ponied up a total of $8 million dollars for the restoration and expansion of the 78-year-old theater. Later, you will want to look them up, and kiss their feet in thanks.

As you walk into the threshold, brick gives way to mosaic, and the tiny, colorful stones invite you into the enchantment that will grow with each step.

The Majestic reveals herself slowly, knowing that you won't be able to take the full impact all at once.

The wonder of the lobby would be enough, but theatergoers are streaming in through the intricately-carved, chocolate-colored doors, and your curiousity carries you through.

The mosaic floor has now transitioned into a tapestry floor, but by this time, your eyes are no longer with your feet.

The room buzzes as some people wander, some take their seats, some order a drink, and others pour over the evening's program. The air is thick with excitement.

Around you swirls elaborate scrollwork with shades of turquoise and burnt orange framed by gold. A glance at the low ceiling shows you that not one inch has been neglected. Stained glass and silver mini-domes adorn what you later learn is the bottom of the mezzanine section. As your eyes follow the lines of the ceiling, they lead you through the aisle, where you are suddenly struck with the beauty of the stage. Bordered by towering teal-and gold pillars on the side, and ornate carvings on the top, pulled together by a coat of arms in the center, you are now being lured deeper by the Majestic's beckoning finger.

"Come further," she says. "You have not seen all that I have to show you."

You follow, unable to resist the possibility that there is more.

You continue down the aisle, and are soon freed from the box that the mezzanine holds you in.

Suddenly, all of your sensory powers leave you to give strength to your eyes. You freeze for a moment, unable to move, unable to feel, unable to hear. Every bit of energy must be given to your vision, or else you will be unable to contain what is before you.

You are no longer in a theater. You are in an opulent Spanish palace courtyard. You turn a full 360 degrees, with a few pauses along the way. In front of you, you see in even more detail the splendor of the stage and proscenium. To your left and right, magnificent palace walls look down on you and strut their beauty. Nothing is humble. Each detail you take in flaunts its offerings to you, and each one is more spectacular than the last. Carvings, scrollwork, gilded surfaces, statues, doves, angels, Moorish arches, spindled balconies, and even a rare white peacock say, "Look at me! I am better than all the rest!" The presence of a peacock is fitting, for that is the proud animal that is most like the Majestic.

You glance towards the ceiling, looking for a little relief from all that there is to see. Oh, but the Majestic has saved the best for last.

"Ceiling" is such a common and repugnant name for such a wonder. It is colored shades of blue that are not found in any Crayola box, and it attempts to compete with God in the creation of an evening sky. Embedded lights twinkle for a starry effect and even clouds roll across hauntingly.

The mother-of-the-bride is not supposed to outshine her daughter. The Majestic, the body of the mother, takes none of this to heart as she boldly tells you that she is more splendid than the fruit of her womb, the stage.

The headliners, the shows, the symphonies that are born on her stage are temporarily exhilarating, but are no match for the commanding dowager. They fade and become distant and pleasant memories, but the Majestic captivates you, stays with you, and leaves you wanting more.

Did I mention that I saw a show last night? My apologies for making this an afterthought. Handel's "Messiah" was lovely, as good as the many shows that I've enjoyed in their Broadway offerings.

But come February 28, if anyone should ask me what my plans are for that afternoon, I won't be telling them that I'm going to go see "The Phantom of the Opera". I'll tell them, "I'm going to The Majestic."

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For a virtual tour and history of the theater, Visit the Majestic's Website!


Side note: If my descriptions seem over the top, it is because the Majestic IS over the top. I have been fortunate to see many theater productions in my life. As a past performer, I try to always get seats in the orchestra. I love seeing the actors' faces without binoculars, and to even see the sweat trickle down their faces. The acting and vocal abillity are everything to me. The Majestic is truly the only theater I've ever been in where I struggle with whether I should buy in the orchestra or mezzanine. The splendor of the theater is so great that it does indeed outshine whatever is on the stage. The best of both worlds is to sit in the mezzanine, and absorb the theater and stage all at once. Also - photos were taken from the Majestic website.

Toy Zone (NW Military)

I love old movies. I have Ginger Rogers, Cary Grant, and Doris Day Tivo-ed. My dream evening would be a frosty snow outside the window, a hearty fire keeping me warm, fluffy fleece pajamas, decadent hot chocolate in my mug, and a black-and-white movie on my television.

One of my favorites is "The Shop Around the Corner" with the unmatchable Jimmy Stewart. Years later, it was remade into "You've Got Mail" with Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks. For once, a remake was at least as good as the original.

In the movie, Meg Ryan plays a small bookstore owner that is in danger of being put out of business by a behemoth Borders/Barnes and Noble megastore progeny. She is counting on the depth of her knowledge of children's books and her passion for literature to triumph over the glitz and prices offered elsewhere.

Her charming shop is the stuff that dreams are made of. But here in San Antonio, we have a toy store with all of the same enchanting features.

The store is a small wonderland packed with plastic animals, metal trains, colorful art supplies, and much more. They carry popular brands and unknown joys.

The owner of Toy Zone has been selling delights to children of all ages since 1985. You will not find a disinterested part-timer punching the clock here. Instead, expect to have a conversation with the owner as he helps you find just the right item for the person on your gift list.

Last year, an aunt bought my youngest a primary-colored button set that had pre-designed pictures for you to match your buttons to. I had never seen anything like it. She told me that she found it at Toy Zone, and that the gentleman had selected the Italian toy when she said that she wanted something for her 2 year old niece. My daughter has been enjoying it ever since.

A few days ago, we decided to buy a tricycle for that same daughter, now 3. She will surely grow out of it before too long, as she idolizes her big sisters and already wants to ride the two-wheeled bikes that they do. So, we wanted something that would last for a little while, but not break the bank. The shopkeeper showed us his wide selection of trikes, and helped us find a perfect model.

As we shopped, I noticed that he knew several of the customers by name, and remembered items that they had purchased in the past. He conspired with me as I hid a few items under a bag so that my children would not see the Christmas presents that I had chosen.

This level of customer service is a rare find in a day where the bottom line and hurried pace are Almighty. This is what you get when you come to someone who treats their job like a vocation.

And what vocation could be a more happy one than one where you make children and parents smile every day?

Perhaps the greatest proof to me that Toy Zone is a special little place, is that my daughters all cry "Toy Zone!" if we drive down NW Military, but I don't hear a peep when we pass Toys R Us.

Or maybe, it is just because their Webkinz rack is easier to find.

Toy Zone: 1003 NW Military, 78231 210-366-1300

Navarro Mexican Grill

I love Mexican food. Every time I try a new Mexican restaurant, I order the cheese enchiladas. I'll diversify on a second visit, but somehow those red-colored tortillas and yellow cheddar cheese are my benchmark.

The reality is, however, that many Mexican restaurants are created equal. There might be a variation in atmosphere or a menu change here and there, but overall you can expect to find many of the same selections, all served with rice and refried beans on the side.

A few stand out in my mind for one reason or another - I like Karem's on Zarzamora, Mexican Manhattan downtown, La Fonda on New Braunfels, and Alamo Cafe on 281.

This past year, though, we have been frequent visitors to Navarro Mexican Grill, and it is head and shoulders above the rest.

Actually, it's an unfair competition. This would be like Lance Armstrong racing next to members of a tricycle derby.

Navarro's is located in a shopping center at the corner of Lockhill-Selma and West in Castle Hills. There have been a number of restaurants at this location over the years, but Navarro's has been here for awhile now, and I hope they're here to stay.

You walk up to the typical strip mall facade, but your first impressions are immediately changed when you step inside. The salsa music makes your feet start dancing even though you're trying just to walk. That's ok - the phenomenon is happening to everyone else, too.

You're welcomed as if you're family. The staff seems genuinely happy to see you. The general manager, Jose, comes out and visits with you, making sure that you feel at home. Although you order from a menu, one with lots of color pictures, I might add, you get the feeling as if you're in someone's home, and they are ready to whip up whatever you'd like to eat.

I suppose you're not truly just a guest when you have to pay at the end of the meal, but the prices make this easy on you. Most breakfast entrees are only $6. Breakfast here includes eggs benedict, a guacamole omelet, or traditional American fare of pancakes and eggs.

Lunch is fabulous, too. My favorite is a stuffed avocado with a choice of meat, and served with black beans and a Caesar salad. A Caesar salad in a Mexican restaurant? My husband must have been wishing on the right star.

Paella, innovative enchiladas, and stuffed poblano peppers entice you on the dinner menu, but what I mostly look forward to are the banana chingalingas - fried and sliced bananas served with vanilla ice cream. I really could just make a whole meal of this.

Stuffed, happy, and still with a lot of weight in your wallet, you leave Navarro's. Your feet are still dancing, and your heart is warmed by the new friends you've made in the waitstaff and the manager.

You're already thinking about what you're going to order next time.

Navarro Mexican Grill - 8055 West Ave, 210-366-0416

(Update: Sadly, Jose's father in California is very ill. Jose has closed Navarro's to move back to California to take care of him. We will miss the restaurant terribly, but we are keeping Jose and his father in our prayers.)