Almost everyone has been to Mr. Salsa’s. If you have not yet visited, you have definitely eaten at an identical establishment. There is absolutely nothing unique about Mr. Salsa’s, and this is what I love about it.
Mr. Salsa’s is, without a doubt, the most regulation-grade, quasi-Mexican restaurant in the area. It is replete with free chips, plastic bottles of salsa, and 25 cent candy machines. The menu is about a thousand items long. The booths and tables are always slightly greasy, and some old couple is probably in the corner, downing bucket-sized margaritas. Also, there is a weird chili pepper drawing near the cash register. The pepper kind of creeps me out, but I guess it adds to the atmosphere.
In the few weeks that I have been back at Furman, I have realized the intrinsic value of this boring restaurant. It is a rock in the midst of my hectic schedule. A lighthouse in the storm. A religious edifice. On bad days, I dream of Salsa’s.
Allow me to explain.
The experience of Mr. Salsa’s is a completely predictable one, and it goes exactly like this: my friends and I walk in. We sit. A disillusioned waiter brings hot chips and watery salsa. We order. The food arrives. It probably takes too long to arrive, but it arrives. The food is not fantastic, nor is it horrible. It does not blow my mind, but it also does not disappoint.
Sound mediocre? Of course it does – which I have come to love and respect. Mr. Salsa’s touts a boring harmony that no other restaurant has. Real life is messy and unpredictable, and I am too fragile for hit-or-miss experiences. Besides, if I am spending a whole $7.50 on an entree, I want a solid return. I need consistency. I would rather enjoy the exact level of mediocrity I have come to expect than risk disappointment at another establishment. Such is the magic of Mr. Salsa’s.
I am surely not the only one who realizes the genius of this place. In a way, it has a perfect business model. Expectations are kept fairly low, so customer satisfaction is always high. There is no law of diminishing returns because the food itself was never a full ten in the first place. The waiters are politely disinterested in me and my life. Mr. Salsa’s is a neutral force in a polarized world.
Anyway, you all know where to find me this weekend. (And if anyone’s feeling generous: I like the Number 19 with all-bean everything.)
