The proximity of El Mirador to the King William neighborhood, along with its passable coffee and reliably top-notch food made the restaurant an easy meeting place. That's what any good restaurant can do, but in this case, that was just the start.
In the morning, the breakfast coffee klatch at El Mirador was called to order by an early rising regular who scanned the paper while listening in on the real news, the neighborhood gossip. "Who shot whose dog?!!" The klatch was a tableau of longtime friends and new ones readily welcomed, chowing down breakfast tacos. Politicos rubbed shoulders with preservationists, journalists listened closely. "Time to go!"
At noon, tables were crowded by clumps of people curing hang-overs, downtown business owner in suits cooking up the next deal, and artists/writers/creative types musing over crispy tacos or Sopa Azteca.
At the end of the day, enchiladas, other TexMex comfort foods, (and pitchers of margaritas) healed the wounds of the worker warriors of all the classes.
Behind the scenes were the Treviño family's long-time cook staff, presided over by Mary (pictured above in early years), Julian and Diana's mother and front-door neighbor, who had learned to cook in Mexico. Mary and her husband ran the restaurant for decades while educating a family. Son Julian, who was a school administrator and later school board member, and his wife Diana, bought a large King William home of their own to restore. That was the kind of magic made at El Mirador. In one generation, hard work and education created prospering families. All from countless homemade tortillas.
From the parking lot, you entered the spell of El Mirador under a cooling bougainvillea arbor. Banana trees lined the portico. Wooden double doors led you into the Saltillo-tiled low-ceilinged building. Deep red, yellow and gold walls comforted your sun-blinded eyes.
Waiters in white guayaberas, waitresses in peasant blouses and black skirts, each friendly and prompt, took your order. They were delightfully empowered to bring their own personality's uniqueness to the job. One waiter greeted you like an accomplice to an adventure. One waitress told you about her children's progress in school. Another's twinkling eyes told you this job was a side-gig to her full-time job of making merry over any of La Vida‘s daily deliveries. Bring it on, she seemed to say.
Like any human undertaking, El Mirador wasn't perfect. Unlike its name would suggest, El Mirador didn't have a fabulous vista. My sister slipped and hurt her back on the sloping tile floors. Yet, a dear friend's mother hosted a birthday party for her there. Mary celebrated her 100th birthday surrounded by long-time customers.
It was an adjunct home for many of us. I looked forward each week to the bean soup on Friday served with handmade corn or flour. There are memories of cheery exchanges, glances, warm embraces, surrounded by giant prints of Botero and Rivera. Two private dining rooms (one so hidden few knew of it) hosted parties, political organizing and funeral wakes.
I drove by last night and saw El Mirador had been razed to make room for a new Rosario‘s restaurant, (which has its own amazing story).
In the Mexican food Cielito Lindo heaven I hope to occupy one far-away day, I’ll expect to walk beneath Bougainvilleas and banana trees to see Mary Treviño beyond the kitchen counter, poised on a stool, over-seeing the day's production with her exacting standards for salsas and sofritos.
I’ll pull up a chair with the coffee klatch bunch and chew the fat over the newspaper, comforted by the hum of people talking and the predictable calling out by the waitstaff, 'hot plate!'
