Adventures in the Midwest Part I: Casa Viva

It was near dinner time when we arrived at the Tulsa airport only to learn that our plane suffered mechanical problems and our flight would be delayed upwards of 1.5 hours. Not wanting to lurk about an airport or prepare a dinner of vending machine goodies, we left to seek out other, more appetizing options. I wonder now if a meal of Cool Ranch Doritos and Mountain Dew might have done us better.

East Tulsa, near the airport, isn’t the most attractive area of town. We pulled off the highway and onto a lonesome and dilapidated block littered with two Rent-a-Centers, four Payday Loan joints, a handful of Pawn Shops and all the fast food dives a grease-loving junkie could ever need.

The menus at Arby’s, Brahm’s, Burger King, McDonalds and KFC certainly didn’t whet my appetite, besides our little dude has been fast food free his entire life and I wasn’t about to change that now. That vending machine meal at the airport was seeming more and more appetizing.

We turned onto another street, venturing past a few more Payday Loan places and several Gentlemen’s Clubs. There was another McDonalds and a sketchy looking restaurant that shared a parking lot with said Gentlemen’s Clubs.

Yet, behind the McDonald’s I glimpsed it: a nice building, a giant Las Vegas-esque blinking sign that proclaimed, “Casa Viva: Tulsa’s Favorite Mexican Restaurant”. It appeared, at the time, that we had indeed found a decent place to have dinner. After all, it wasn’t fast food and it wasn’t lodged next to a strip club and that was probably the best we could hope for in East Tulsa.

We parked, pulled the little dude from his car seat and opened the doors to Casa Viva. A quick glance at the occupancy sign indicated the restaurant could hold 900 people. Perhaps that should have clued me in to what was in store for us.

We weaved our way through a maze-like corridor like those you see at amusement parks before the big ride, only this wasn’t a ride, it was a restaurant, right? The decor was curious amalgam of EpCot: Mexico, The Pirates of the Caribbean Ride and Taco Bell and left us with a recollection of South Park’s Casa Bonita episode.

At the end of the maze there stood a lonely cashier. We ordered from a visual menu, paid our due and moved on where we grabbed trays and our food met us immediately on a conveyor belt. Yes, you read that right, a conveyor belt.

A hostess grabbed our trays and asked us where we’d like to sit. Green Daddy and I couldn’t help but eye each other knowingly, thinking, “Another restaurant.” Yet, given the option between a cave and a waterfall we chose the waterfall.

We sat down to our meal, and a harried and sweating waiter greeted us and offered to bring chips and drinks as he complained about how the restaurant had been previously packed with rotten kids and their equally rotten parents. Poor guy. I worked my fork into the enchiladas and took a bite of something that can only be compared to a corn tortilla with microwaved Cheez Whiz. While Green Daddy tried some Spanish rice enhanced by the subtle flavor of ashtray. At least the chips were palatable.

The little dude announced his need to head to the potty, so I picked him up and we ventured through the curious restaurant. Though the restaurant boasted a maximum capacity of 900, I counted only three other tables in the enormous space. The little dude enjoyed spotting fake birds, fake flowers and fake fire among the odd decor.

The bathroom was curiously spotless and well-decorated, though the fluorescent lights flickered and hissed. Creepy. Creepy.

On our way back from the bathroom, we were sidetracked by the arcade. Though 80% of the games weren’t working, our little dude had fun running around and grabbing arcade tickets though there was nothing to redeem them for and no one to redeem them.

Later, we picked up our things and started to leave. Bussers were cleaning the table and our waiter hollered to the men, “Thanks Senoritas!” leaving us to chuckle a little bit more.

We hopped into the car, started the engine and pulled out of the parking lot. Green Daddy and I were still wondering if what we had experienced was real or if someone had slipped LSD into our drinks and we were promising never to suffer such an encounter like this one again when we heard a little coo from the back seat.

The little dude softly said, “I love a Casa Viva.”

November 14th, 2007