Quality on a sober scale, it rates no higher than your average Chevy’s. To all of you out there who haven’t had chain Mexican before, this is hardly a compliment. It’s not to say that places like these don’t have their place on the culinary scale somewhere with Tequillaville and Burritoville and other mass-produced Mexican grub, but when a sole proprietorship tastes the same as a corporate entity, you know that ain’t good. Unlike these chains, though, Festival Mexicano has all of the sloppiness of a family-owned joint (the chains tend to at least present their meals in an orderly way), with the watery beans and thrown together plate, but none of the flavor and richness that you’d hope to get with authentic Mexican food. Everything just tasted like it had been sitting for too long in a steam bath. Well, at least the surroundings felt authentic-ish in a sad kind of way. Regardless, I was three sheets to the wind and doing fine, but if even my destroyed taste buds could discern that my meal wasn’t passing the taste test, you’d wonder what the hell a normal citizen would think. I did, of course, clean my plate like a good drunk anyway. [MF]
