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article by arman tamzarian
Lately I’ve had a whole host of reasons to be doing a shitload of drinking. I lost out on a job in NYC that would’ve paid me literally a million dollars, the guitar amp that I just spent all my savings to repair crapped out again after only a few weeks, and I’m pretty sure my best gay friend is trying to seduce my younger brother. Oh, and I also just lost my long-term girlfriend. And I mean that literally. One second she was there and then poof, now she’s lost. I put up a bunch of flyers and reported her disappearance to the police, but she’s Mexican, so the cops keep assuring me that it’s more than likely that she just snuck across the border to say whut up to her family and that she’ll come back to our side of the fence sometime soon. The cops also keep telling me to forget about her because she’s “one of them”, and then they show me all these pictures of their ugly daughters that they keep in their wallets while they hold their pistols to my head and ask if I would like those hideous girls’ phone numbers. Fucking police. Anyway, my point was that I’ve been drinking like an unfuckable Russian hooker lately, and as such, I’ve been in dire need of life-saving breakfasts these past few weeks.
Which brings me to Janitzio, a semi-friendly Mexican restaurant on MLK. Janitzio has the misfortune of being directly across from Taco Cabana, which I believe is officially recognized as Austin’s premier eatery for shitfaced kids and hungover divorcees. As such, Janitzio is typically empty, as the taco-hungry among us opt for Cabana instead of the authentic succulence of Janitzio’s culinary marvels.
All told, that isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Yeah, it means that I live in constant fear that each time I enter Janitzio will be my last, but it also keeps its atmosphere perfectly pitched for those of us who downed nineteen shots of Jameson the night before and don’t want to listen to the inane prattling of a bunch of sorority sluts first thing in the morning at 1:30pm. I walked into Janitzio the other day with my rum-soaked friend, and other than the waitresses and the cooks, the only people in there were a couple day-laborers and a bald older man who I am quite certain engages in ritualistic sex acts with tubes of Activon. Yeah, that dude was creepy, but at least he shut the fuck up and kept to himself.
Janitzio’s numerous empty tables ensure that you’ll have a pile of chips and loads of killer salsa at your table before you’ve even had the chance to get comfortable in one of the booths that have an always interesting view of MLK’s street traffic. And hey, hungoverees, they also refill your water glass every time it gets anywhere near half-empty. That’s a major plus, but it’s one that the waitresses themselves easily up. The waitresses all speak broken English, which can make ordering sometimes awkward and circular, but their glances are always comforting because that have kind eyes. When you mutter incomprehensibly, they assume that it’s their own failures at our language that are keeping them from understanding you, and so they’ll bring you extra guacamole for free as an apology. You just don’t get that same misappropriated TLC at any ole Mexican haunt. Some of them waitresses are even young and kinda cute, and falling in love is the best way to get over a hangover that I know of, so Janitzio has that going for it as well.
The Janitzio menu has its eccentricities, and I suggest you indulge in them all. For instance, there’s a three-taco combo that has three different tacos that aren’t anywhere else on the menu. If you try to order these tacos individual, the waitress will look at you like you’re fucking crazy. Also, their specials make no sense, as sometimes they are just menu items that are served without the usual side of rice and beans but for some reason cost a dollar more. Don’t get me wrong, the specials list often holds some treasures, but consult your menu first and make sure you check that list twice before ordering.
If you can get there before 11am, I highly suggest the breakfast taco special. That’s three tacos with any two toppings, and it goes for under two bucks. If you get the bacon/egg/cheese combo, it’ll run you anywhere between $2.03 and $2.76. There doesn’t seem to be any reason for this differential, but does it really fucking matter? Cabana breakfast tacos are running $1.09 these days, which puts three of them at $3.27 + tax. At Janitzio you get tacos that are 1,000 times more delicious than Taco C’s for cheaper than you’d pay there. And the cut-off time is the exact same.
That said, on my hangover days I always miss the breakfast tacos, and so the menu is my mainstay. The burritos are fucking stellar, but the large one is almost too much, and it’s only for people who like their burritos covered in queso to the extent that you have to eat it with a fork. However, the best thing I’ve ever had at Janitzio came when I ordered the regular chicken burrito. Somehow the order got fucked up, and they brought me a chicken quesadilla. I’m not a dude who sends perfectly good food back, so I said fuck it and dove in. And holy fuck, I’m glad I did, ‘cause that shit slammed so hard that my tastebuds nearly danced themselves off my tongue. The quesadilla is more than enough to set still your quivering belly, and the combination of its flavors will confuse your hangover right out of its existence. It’s spicy and sweet and crunchy and smooth and all other sorts of adjectives that make no sense when coupled together. Also, it’s cheap as fuck. Don’t quote me on it, but I’m pretty sure it sells for $3.50. It’s definitely under 5 bucks. I’m sure of that.
Janitzio has dried up plenty of rainy days of the soul for me, and if you come to appreciate its ample charms, it will do the same for you as well. You can get it to-go, but your best bet is to take a table at the window while you feast. That way you can watch all the UT dumbasses shuffle into Cabana in their flip flops with their vapid girlfriends at their sides to order lesser food for a higher price, and you can laugh to yourself and your buddies about how glad you are that you aren’t as fucking corny as those shitstains are.