The Haute Enchilada
I blame the economy for the following events:
When I named this section, I didn’t realize the definition of doggone. Used to describe feelings of annoyance, surprise, or pleasure.
I think that is fairly apropos for traveling with dogs.
Even though I have been spending a lot of time lately researching places to go with dogs by actually going places with dogs, I try not to be obnoxious about it. Or at least I thought I wasn’t being obnoxious.
We were in Moss Landing geocaching and exploring.
It was getting close to dinnertime and I didn’t feel like cooking.
For heaven sakes I wasn’t staying in a five star resort, I might as well get a little reward and I didn’t feel bad about spending money on dinner since we were saving so much on accommodations.
We walked by this restaurant, Phil’s Fish Market & Eatery.
Phil’s claim to fame was that he once appeared on Bobby Flay’s TV “Throw Down.” It was supposed to be a fairly decent restaurant and I had already eaten at the Haute Enchilada (or that would have been my first choice) besides we weren’t standing in front of the Haute Enchilada.
I asked my husband to see if we could bring our dog to dinner. My husband, (who loves to talk to people he doesn’t know) walked right up to the hostess while I hung back with my dog and asked her if we could indeed bring Moondoggie.
He returned to tell me that the hostess said yes, as long as we ate on the covered patio and not inside the restaurant.
I asked if we should make reservations. He said, "Naaaaaaa, this place is huge.” There was a lady listening in on our conversation. She sat on a bench in front of Phil’s, while she held her yapping Papillion’s mouth closed. She said that of course they would let our dog on the patio and of course we wouldn’t need a reservation.
I found out later that they don’t take reservations anyway.
We went back to the RV. I fed Moondoggie and freshened up a little, which meant putting on my least dirty pair of jeans, least dirty pair of shoes, and least dirty jacket.
When we arrived back at Phil’s, it was packed and there was a band playing. My husband and two kids disappeared into the crowd. I stood there with my dog and a foreboding feeling.
I couldn’t see a single empty table. I did see however, two tables with dogs tucked under them while their masters ate dinner. That gave me some sort of comfort.
My husband was now running toward me with an excited look on his face. “I found a table in the very back behind the band.” He turned and moved quickly in the other direction toward the band.
I was still standing at the front of the restaurant with the sinking feeling that I now was going to have to follow my husband and walk with my dog down the center of the aisle between many, many family style tables filled with patrons who were almost certainly not all dog lovers.
I don’t even know why I did it. If I’d had my wits about me, I would have walked out the entrance and around the patio to the back door and snuck into the table behind the band but as it turned out it didn’t matter.
I paraded my dog through the center of Phil’s, feeling all eyes burning holes through what was left of my confidence and took a seat at the last table behind the band.
Before I had a chance to glance at the menu one of the guys sitting at the table diagonally from me marched over to me, stuck his big face in mine and said, “Did they say you could bring THAT dog in here?”
I turn to him in a matter of fact voice and say, “We asked ahead of time if we could bring our dog. The hostess said yes, if we sat out here on the patio.” I went on to say that there were two other dogs seated at the tables in the front. The guy looked at me like he wanted to gnaw the skin off my face and shoot my dog and said, “There is a state law against it!”
I think Robert Frost wrote once—“Ah, I know just how it feels to think of the right thing to say too late,”
If I had been thinking, I would have said something like “Oh, this dog? This dog here is an appropriate behavior sensing companion dog. She is my husband’s dog. He must have her with him at all times. She also senses inappropriate behaviors from other people and she is getting very agitated right now as you stick your big ugly face in my face.
Whatever—state law, shmate law.
Get off my back mean person.
I felt assured in the fact that the hostess had told us that it was O.K. to be on the covered patio with our dog. I looked down to the end of my leash hoping to find calm and happy dog, but in reality she was so freaked out by the loud music that she was trying to commit suicide by strangulation.
If she was trying to kill herself the least she could have done for me was take the mean guy with her, although he probably wasn’t going the same direction.
So I’m sitting there trying to keep my dog from killing herself, the music is blaring and the mean guy is glaring. I look up to see our waitress’s face about three inches from me.
As soon as our eyes meet, she screams over the music. “You’re going to have to leave because you have a dog!” My only ally had just defected to the dark side. I didn’t want to look over at the mean guy. I didn’t want to see that look of satisfaction on his mean face.
At first I was defiant, as my dog, whom was much more intuitive than me, slowly choked to death on the other end of the leash. I looked the waitress in the eyes and said, “We were told we could sit in this part of the restaurant with our dog.” She answered, “You are going to have to leave.”
I responded, “There are two other dogs at the front of the restaurant patio. Why do they get to stay while we have to leave?” She just stared at me with big deer-in-the-headlight eyes and mouthed the words, “Because that man is complaining.”
I didn’t even respond to the scaredy-pants waitress.
I just got up and walked out the back door. When that ocean breeze hit Moondoggie in the face she stopped the suicidal behavior and bolted for the front of the restaurant with me in tow. I felt like the tail of a kite as I was carried by the window where the mean guy sat.
At last he was just a mean blur. My kids followed me out.
We waited in the parking lot at the front of Phil’s for my husband who had just located a table closer to the front. He was stubbornly occupying it. I sent my youngest in to tell him that his dream of eating at Phil’s had just been dashed.
My husband finally emerged grumpy and weak from hunger. We walked towards the Haute Enchilada.
On the way, Moondoggie saw and approached her first sea lion. Darn, I wished I had my camera. Arrrrrrgggggg. She really wanted to get close and check them out, but she is smarter than the average canine and she stayed far away from the cantankerous pinnipeds.
We approached the Haute Enchilada and again I stayed back with Moondoggie while my husband asked if they would allow dogs on the patio.
Not only did they say yes—they also welcomed us warmly and set up a spot for us on the patio surrounding us with patio heaters.
The waitress said that they always allow dogs on the patio and if someone complains, the complainer is told that they are welcome to move into the restaurant.
At that moment, The Haute Enchilada became my favorite restaurant.
The garden at the Haute Enchilada surrounding the patio area where dogs are welcome
OMG!!! What a mean person!!! What a wimpy waitress!! I will have to try out the Haute Enchilada place with the comfort of knowing Bruno is welcome!! MIss you girl!!!
Posted by: Gina B. | 08/21/2010 at 06:44 PM
The Haute Enchilada is good place. It has really cool ambiance also.
Posted by: Chigiy Binell | 08/21/2010 at 08:12 PM