The Family Formula

It's just another Tuesday night at Lopez Mexican Restaurant

Ask any restaurateur, and they'll tell you that Tuesday is a painfully slow night. Carefree weekend celebrations are either forgotten or as yet unplanned. Tuesday lacks Wednesday's midweek relief or Thursday's sense of pre-party anticipation. It's on this second night of the work week that restaurant owners know who their real friends are: the loyal customers who tide them over until business picks up a bit on hump day.

Of course, you could try to ask the folks at Lopez Mexican Restaurant about skeleton-shift Tuesdays, but they'd be too busy to answer. Hostesses are tracking incoming groups and rearranging four-tops into makeshift banquet tables. Waiters zip around the cavernous dining room with trays of steaming nachos and sizzling fajitas hoisted shoulder high. Bartenders are rimming dozens of half-size pilsner glasses with margarita salt. And the tableside musicians are halfway into their seventh birthday sing-along of the night.

Located alongside a strip mall in southwest Houston, Lopez Mexican Restaurant epitomizes the old-school Tex-Mex family restaurant. Clean, fast and loud, it's not a homey, family-run cocina but a family-friendly fallback built for high volume and informal charm.

Tuesday, the most dismal night of the week at most restaurants, is hopping at Lopez.
Troy Fields
Tuesday, the most dismal night of the week at most restaurants, is hopping at Lopez.

Location Info


Lopez Mexican Restaurant

11606 S. Wilcrest
Houston, TX 77099

Category: Restaurant > Tex-Mex

Region: Outer Loop - SW


281-495-2436. Hours: Monday through Saturday, 11 a.m. to 9:45 p.m.

Fajitas (half-pound): $7.95
Lopez dinner: $8.50
Tacos ranchero: $6.95
Nachos compuestas: $5.45
Pork chops ranchero: $8.95
Plata de carnitas: $6.95

11606 South Wilcrest

It's also the kind of place that makes you ponder the wide range of Tex-Mex options in the Lone Star State. Okay, maybe it doesn't inspire you to think about the taco-based pecking order, but then you're living safely inside the Tortilla Zone, where "office breakfast" means foil-wrapped chorizo tacos and Christmas tamales come a dollar a dozen.

For the better part of ten years, I maintained dual citizenship between South/ Central Texas and my Louisiana motherland, but last year I consolidated my residence in New Orleans. So now, between bites of drippy poor boys and deep fried everything, I pine for a good gooey plate of enchiladas.

This kind of "guac is always greener" thinking is pretty common to culinary emigrants. Take, for example, the New York native who scours Scottsdale for serviceable bagels or thin-crust pizza. And if you ask a transplanted Cajun where to get Louisiana food in Sacramento, the answer will always be the same: "My kitchen."

My return to Louisiana meant a complete change in everyday eating habits. Ramshackle taquerias that provided spicy sustenance on hangover mornings were a four-hour drive away. The Wednesday special -- beef enchiladas with lard-laced refritos -- at my favorite lunch joint required a full day on the road or two trips through an airport metal detector. Even grocery-store tortillas squashed by local presses were but a fond memory.

So I was glad to be back in the Zone, where high-quality, no-fuss Tex-Mex comes in so many shapes, flavors and restaurant formats -- from the gas-station breakfast joints to the sprawling family emporiums that inspire crowds on a random Tuesday night.

I was already pondering the different species of Tex-Mex as I nursed one of Lopez's frozen margaritas and checked out the menu -- a mix of tried-and-true numbered dinners, combination platters and "especialidades mexicanas." Within the numbered dinners, you could find any permutation of standard components (enchilada, crispy taco, queso, guacamole salad) with obligatory sides of rice and beans. The "specials" list included the new standards of latter-day Tex-Mex: fajitas, flautas, taco salads and other dishes previously described in this space as "less traditional and more citified" Tex-Mex. The only real surprise came when I did a quick survey of the prices; the most expensive single-dinner plate (a T-bone steak) weighed in at just $10.45.

Almost instantly, I saw Lopez through a harried parent's eyes: Ten points for economy.

Our waiter swooped in, took our order and reappeared almost instantly with our first course, a plate of nachos compuestas. Nothing fancy here, just crunchy chips topped with refried beans, cheese and bright guacamole. The most notable thing about the dish was its velocity -- four minutes tops from order to first mouthful. Our waiter managed to be focused and to the point without seeming rushed and impatient. Another two minutes, and a second round of margaritas -- well- balanced coolers with good lime flavor but not too much tequila -- hit the table. After a couple of these exchanges, I started to notice another Lopez hallmark: quick-turning tables.

Running parental tally: Ten points each for efficiency and adult beverages.

I checked out the crowd as I worked my way through the nachos. This particular Tuesday night throng comprised a mix of large parties (birthday celebrations, post-practice soccer teams, extended families on the town) and smaller groups out for a quick bite. The larger groups dictated the atmosphere -- high ambient noise with lots of bellowing laughs. I watched the floor staff create instant tables for 12 without any noticeable drop in serving speed, and the patrons responded by calling the musicians (Spanish guitar and nylon-string harp) over for a tune.

Another ten for adaptability.

By the time our entrées arrived, I could almost see the Lopez system that inspired such off-peak loyalty. Everything about the experience caters to the old-fashioned "family night out." Amid the echoes and din, every parent in the place looked relaxed and happy.

The logical place to start was with the house über-combo, the Lopez dinner. Several plates of Tex-Mex building blocks -- guacamole salad, beef taco, chile con queso, cheese enchiladas and chile relleno -- contribute to the insurmountable mountain of food. Most of the fare conformed to the canon: The enchiladas were gooey and smothered in a pool of cumin-spiked chile gravy; the picadillo for the taco was spicy without excessive pepper.

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