PG&E is awful—just awful.  And in all their awful awfulness, they cut off power to the Tim “Let Time Smoke” Lincecum-endorsed Valencia Street taco purveyor Tacolicious, forcing the business to close down operations for the day.  And to make the situation worse, the business is now forcing their staff of servers and bartenders to perform “manual labor,” which, like, you know, is totally beneath them.  So please don't tap the glass and frighten their fragile sensibilities.

[Photo by Mission Local, via SFist]

Against my better judgement, I went to Valencia's bougie taco and margarita upstart Tacolicious/Mosto the other night. Mistake!

My friends and I arrived at 7pm and were informed it would be about a 35 to 45 minute wait for a table, which seemed a little high for a slow weekday night.  But they have a bar/holding cell attached to the restaurant, so we figured we'd guzzle some drinks and stand out like a group of broke hipsters in a room full of beautiful people in sports coats.

The initial conversation at the bar went something like this:

“How much for a house margarita?”

“Eleven bucks.”

”Uhhhhhhhhhhhhh do you have something for a guy who clearly can't afford a haircut?”

“Tecates are three.”

“Sick brah.”

Then a Tecate in a wine glass was put in front of my face.  Took one sip.  It was skunked.

Now, I think I've only had Tecate from anything besides an aluminum can once, so I assumed that was how cheap beer in a wine glass was supposed to taste.  But it was awful.  I could feel the muscles in my face wrenching with every sip.  So after conferring on the taste of this atrocity in a glass with my Mission compatriots, I did the unthinkable: I sent the drink back to the bar.

The bartender was apologetic and poured a new Tecate in a pint glass, and the manager even came over to make make reparations in the form of a complimentary margarita.  The margarita sure was tasty, but the new Tecate was just as shitty as the first one.  But not being one for spit in my food, I foraged for a handful of limes at the bar and drank it anyway.

Now, after a couple more drinks, we realized it was already eight fucking thirty.  For those of you who aren't good at math, that means our 35 to 45 minute wait had been crawling along for 90 minutes.  As we were heading out the door to go to Cancun to drink fresh Budweiser and eat tacos like normal people, the hostess grabbed us and let us know our table was ready.

I won't bore you with the details of my admittedly tasty food, but let it suffice to say that I paid $13 for two tacos and complimentary chips and salsa.