Chili's Bar and Grill is an Oracle

As a millennial I am supposed to have a distaste for Chili's Bar and Grill, but George and I have eaten dinner there every Thursday for the past three years. Chili's has it all. Consistent casual dining service. I know my server will speak to me within a few minutes of settling into a booth. I know the menu offers Chicken Crispers with a variety of tangy sauces including honey-chipotle, buffalo, and honey mustard in addition to the ranch that comes with it. I know there will be burgers and smokehouse combos as well as fajitas. I typically “jack-up” the fajitas with white queso draped over the sizzling chicken and peppers. The food will arrive at my table at a reasonable time, and when I am done shoveling queso fajitas into my mouth, the server will ask me for dessert. I will say yes to the chocolate molten lava cake served hot with ice cream on top. In the past, George and I used to risk it all for the cookie skillet but that was only perfect at our Chili's location for the first year, and then a member of the kitchen staff probably quit, and it could never be made perfect again. I know I will go home with a happy belly full of microwavable food made by someone else. This consistent promise of satisfactory dining Chili's provides is why George and I returned Thursday after Thursday. We know we are rarely let down. In this experience, this ritual, we gain control over our lives.

We live in a strange town as I've stated. We are at 7500 feet elevation. We travel through a mountain pass to go north east or west. The only food service truck that serves this area is Shamrock Farms. To buy a nice grocery store item like pepper jelly, burrata or Kewpie Mayo, I must order it online, or buy it in Santa Fe. Restaurant owners have a monopoly. A pedophile has the only New York style pizza in town. There's only one BBQ spot and sometimes they run out of all meats by 6:00 PM on a Friday. There are four Thai restaurants within a five-mile radius but they have inconsistent hours, or at times leave a handwritten sign on their door saying they're closed for the weekend. Those unsavory handwritten signs are common for every business in town and are a major disappointment for me. I wish I could boycott businesses or restaurants for having poor management practices, shitty politics, or for being perves, but the town is too small and I'm too hungry.

Without delicious breakfast sandwiches in town, I've taught myself how to bake milk bread and soft scrambled eggs. I've taught myself to make pasta from scratch when we didn't have an Italian restaurant. But there is something comforting about surrendering to Chili's.

I let my hair down for the mozzarella bricks, or as my friend Berto calls them “cheese pillows.” I can rest my worries on a Chili's cheese pillow, dip them in marinara and chew them until they disappear down my throat. I don't have to be punctual, efficient or strong. The flour tortilla that comes with fajitas does the heavy lifting, holding up peppers, chicken, onion, guacamole, queso and Pico de Gallo. By the end, my body relaxes into a puddle of chocolate goo as I slurp up the molten lava cake.

Chili's isn't just about consistency and reliability. I've lived in this town for three years. George and I have wanted to leave this town for three years. Have actively tried leaving for the last two years. We tried rituals. Leaving letters for the frog spirits. Sending out good vibes on full and new moons. Writing lists and leaving them in the freezer. Burying letters in the ground. Opportunities appeared and then slipped from our fingers.

Until April, when George found out he was getting a new job at Texas A&M. This was exciting but we didn't know how to feel about Texas. Perhaps all our letters to the universe had been answered, or maybe the subconscious Chili's ritual brought us to Texas. I mean, we ate at a Tex-Mex restaurant every Thursday for three years. We walked inside to a sign that says “don't mess with Texas.” I got ranchero chicken tacos every week until they foolishly got rid of them and then I switched to fajitas. Did we, amidst all this manifesting, manifest Texas?

Chili's has been such a true and constant friend these last three years. And maybe also a High Priestess? An Oracle? I've taken the friends I've made in this town to Chili's and I've dreamt about taking my friends scattered all over the world to this Chili's. I wish they could speak to the Chili's Oracle and learn something about themselves through $6 Margarita specials and free chips and salsa (George is a rewards member). However, it's been a solo journey, or a duo journey with George. I can't bring friends from faraway places to experience the Chili's magic because it may not carry the same weight for the visitor as it does the resident. As I ache for and miss my far-away family and friends, as I wish for connection, Chili's dresses these wounds. Chili's is the friend.