re: TulaneLSU's 2023 Top 10 items at Pancho's Mexican Buffet

The downtown location began to struggle, as businessman shied away from the glutinous, legume-laden hotplates that may have made after lunch deals a bit gaseous. The suburban locations, however, were booming. A third location, this time in Chalmette, opened in in April of 1986. It was located at 3027 Jean Lafitte, just off Judge Perez. It suffered catastrophic flooding in Katrina and was torn down. I remember once eating here with Mother. If my memory serves me correctly, you could look out the window and see the playing fields at the old Andrew Jackson High School. I also remember that this Pancho's tasted no where near as wonderfully as the one in Metairie, nor did its decor approach the Metairie flagship's intricate design.

The artwork in the Metairie Pancho's was dark, detailed and almost entirely oil based. The figures depicted macho military men and matadors. The women were shown in maternal or seductive ways. Once when I was examining the magnificent frame of one painting, Mother thought I was ogling the female figure’s cleavage. She corrected me and told me never to look at that painting again. She also talked to the manager to have that painting removed, which I do not think ever happened. I say I do not think because I made sure never again to look in the direction of where that painting was located.

Speaking of the frames, I have vivid memories of those painting frames. They were intricately carved wood, almost black in color, perhaps made of Katalox. Seldom if ever cleaned, I can remember thinking as a child, "These paintings and their frames are filthy. I wish someone would dust them." If memory serves me correctly, there was also a fountain near the middle of the restaurant with real running water, but that memory is hazy. I do know there was a soft serve ice cream machine in a center island of the restaurant. It was accompanied by a toppings bar filled with gummy bears, sprinkles, chocolate chips and other sweets. I hardly ever ate the ice cream because the sopaipillas were so good.

In the front, not far from the cash register, was a disgusting bar, which I assume sold alcoholic beverages, but gratefully I was never with an adult who drank alcohol. To its western side was a game room with a crane and claw game. It was owned by Lucky Coin Co. if I recall correctly, and I never once inserted a dime. They were and are after me, you know. There also were electronic video games in that game nook. At one time, it hosted Metal Gear. Mother would not let me play because it was a game of violence and she knew where that money was going. Cousin let me play once, though, and I lasted only about 45 seconds. Very early in my life I vaguely recall there was also a cigarette machine in that corner. How disgusting.

At one of cousin’s birthday parties, we went on a Friday night. And boy was it crowded. I remember we joined the line, perhaps 30 people out the door. The line was so long it wrapped nearly to the takeout counter on the southeastern corner of the building, which I never had the pleasure of trying. After all, you went to Pancho’s to eat all you could, not to get a premade dish of five items.

Waiting in that line felt like an eternity. The menu was located at the end of that long line, just where you turned right, only feet before the buffet began. That was the hardest part of the wait -- those few feet right after you made the right turn. You could smell those fatty, earthy smells. You could hear the metal heated trays hitting the metal tongs the first server used to grip the trays, because they were that hot. The steam rose from those hot water bins. And then finally, you made it. Kids plates were cheaper and you had the dishonor of getting a red plastic nest for your metal tray. Adults got the real deal, a black plastic nest. Perhaps the greatest gift of puberty was making that rite of passage where the red nests were traded for black ones.

Often the workers behind the glass sneeze guard, and this was in pre-Covid19 world, pretended they did not speak English well enough to take your order. So I then, to their surprise, ordered in Spanish. The chili rellenos, tamales, and flautas were first. I loaded up on these. Next were the enchiladas. They always had the cream cheese and cheese varieties, but there would normally be a third type, often just labeled green or red. Moving down the line were the rice and beans. I firmly believe that the workers were instructed to put an order of each on every plate. If they got your plate before you arrived to their territory -- and often that was the case as the workers were radically efficient in sliding your plate down the stainless steel line, just like a barkeep might slide a drink down the bar in the Old West -- you could be assured that rice and beans would be plopped unceremoniously on your plate as though you were in a Depression era soup line. I knew this tactic, so I always readied my lips with, “No arroz. No frijoles, por favor!” It almost always worked.

It was actually Pancho's that inspired me to learn Spanish. As an eight year old, I remember reading the signs over the door. "Bienvenidos, Amigos. Mi Casa Es Su Casa" greeted your entrance. "Gracias, Amigos. Vaya Con Dios" was written overhead the exit. Mother also did not know what it meant, so I asked her to buy me a Spanish dictionary and that summer, I spent many days memorizing the entire dictionary. Years later I learned the language's grammar. And those doors -- who can forget those heavy wooden doors clad in cast iron adornments and handles fitting for a Medieval knight?

By the time I made it to the end of the line, my plate was always full. But the tacos and chalupas were waiting! No problem, of course. The chef knew to grab one of those tan plastic plates and start serving. Usually the tacos were waiting, made just minutes before by the ever-efficient taco man. I enjoyed watching the craftsman at work, so I would often order two chalupas, just so I could watch him or her, as it was normally a woman at that position, make my chalupas, which I got with beans, meat, cheese, lettuce, and tomatoes. They were superb, and quite the novelty, as no where else I had ever eaten served tacos on a flat shell.

The drink section was next. I without exception got a tap water in those cheap, yellow plastic cups that had a comforting ridged texture. Although Jefferson Parish’s tap water is not as good as N.O. Sewage & Water Board water, it is still excellent. Often times, especially when it was crowded, you had to stand at the drink line to wait for the usher to bring you to an open table. Once there, everyone knows what came next. An absolute festival of extravagant eating. Without realizing it, a basket of chips arrived, but did chips ever deserve to hold a spot in your belly when enchiladas and tamales were ready and able claimstakers?

Soon it would be time to raise the flag, a term so endearing to so many New Orleanians. It was for many, not only their first experience with Mexican food but also with all-you-can-eat style. The flag was your one way ticket on this wonderful trip to obesity, diabetes, and heart disease. And did it ever feel so wonderful when you raised it! The service was always exceptional. I can hardly remember an episode where the flag flew for more than a minute. I figured the manager threatened staff with banishment if he saw that our flag was still there.

Friends, as in Chalmette, Pancho’s in Metairie did not recover from the floods. I was told that Broussard’s pumping station fiasco caused about a foot of rainwater to fill that Pancho’s. Pancho’s national was already undergoing cuts and consolidation. Profits at this store were already being marginalized by people eating Mexican food elsewhere.