I invited a few friends to celebrate Mrs. C's birthday here. They all asked me "Didn't you go to the DineHere first?" I did, but I ignored the warnings. For that I am ashamed.
The place was dark and dirty and was dominated by a giant TV pouring out loud, toneless Latin rap videos featuring hoochi girls sprawling at the feet of some nasty no-talent. To my horror, I was seated in a sticky chair between the giant barrio blaster TV and a speaker the size of a Buick. Poor Mrs. C was looking for the car keys at that point, but we had friends there and decided to tough it out.
The server seemed to be on drugs, which was handy for him given the number of obvious dealers in the room yakking on their cell phones. Our food took an eternity to arrive and came before the appetizers. I had a pinã colada which was as bad as it is possible to make without putting poison in it.
The nachos were stale and grungy, but the worst was the main course. I had what they claimed were enchiladas. They appeared to be tiny greasy little cabbage rolls with squeeze bottle mayo spritzed on them. There was a little spoonful of rice and something that had the texture and flavour of burnt gravy on the side. I think that was the refried beans. My friends had the lamb and pork among other things, and they were fatty, tough and likely carved from the same canine. Mrs. C had the chicken which was dry, tasteless and awful.
To top off the experience, it was DJ night at the Rancho. Suddenly, some 12 year-old Snoop Dog wannabe did a mix of the Eagles' Hotel California and something by Bob Marley's cousin, all at ear shattering volume. I was hoping for a gang shootout to break out so my misery would end. Sadly, I live to tell the tale.
We finally got out of there, and I spent several minutes apologizing and enduring the disapproval of my friends and one angry birthday girl. The only good food I had that night was the cake I brought from T&T.
Highly NOT recommended.