Lauriol Plaza (DC - DuPont)

Hi. My name is Kevin and I am addicted to Lauriol Plaza.

This Mexican restaurant has been pleasing crowds since long before it moved to its "new" location on the corner of 18th and T Streets. The new digs are three cavernous, post-modern levels that include outdoor dining (patio and rooftop), two bars (downstairs and rooftop) and everything from private two-tops to booths that easily seat parties of ten.

Lauriol Plaza (also known to junkies by its street name, "L.P.") doesn't take reservations and manages its seating on a first come, first served basis. Once you arrive, check in with the hostess and if you are lucky, the wait will only be thirty minutes. If you are unlucky, the wait will be 45 minutes or more before you can even get a pager (you know, those little flashing, vibrating plastic coasters that people tend to stare at with talismanic awe in fear that if they look away, they will somehow miss it going off) and then another 30 or so minutes to get a table.

In the meantime, head to the bar for a pitcher of their tasty (but lethal) frozen margaritas. They also have a fine selection of tequilas, Mexican beers, wine, etc. but it is the pitchers of frozen margaritas that find me waking up at three o'clock in the morning, fully dressed, face down on my dog's bed, still clutching my house keys.

[As a public service announcement to un-itiated girls who are just in town for the summer while interning for a Congressman from a Midwestern state: Those neat looking pitchers with red and green layers are called "Swirl" margaritas. Say it with me, S-W-I-R-L. Now you know and you don't have to keep stopping me to ask, while my pitcher melts on the way back to the rest of my party]

On a typical summer evening, the crowd erupts from the front doors and becomes a full rolling, tequila fueled, street party. Everyone from yuppies just getting off work, to couples out on a date (bad call - really bad call) to summer interns that have been there for hours and the occasional bachelor and bachelorette parties, crowds around 18th Street, alternating between drink in hand and basket of tortilla chips. Gay and straight, black, white and brown, business suits and torn chinos, three inch stiletto heels and flip flops, super models and average joes, all combine in a come-as-you-are patchwork quilt that would puzzle most red state residents.

Traffic on 18th Street grinds to a halt as one lane is used for parked cars, the next lane winds around the block to the free valet service (an added bonus for the Bridges & Parkways crowd) and a third lane of taxis deposits passengers. The din of the masses can be heard from blocks away, as can the occasional punctuated cheers of joy when someone's pager finally goes off.

I am convinced that this scene is the very essence of why people keep coming back to LP. The food is good - some of it is very good, some of it less so - but the wait staff is barely competent, the hostess-by-committee approach is dreadful, the hostesses themselves are at best indifferent and at worst, downright rude. Add to that an estimated average wait of 45 minutes to get a table, and the massive lines at the bar and by any conventional metric, this place should have closed its doors long ago.

No, it is definitely the scene that keeps packing them in. Location doesn't hurt either. Many people use this as a jumping off point for a night out in Adams Morgan. If your party is larger than four people, you can get in two hours of drinking before you finally get a table, knock back a few pitchers with dinner and then head straight up 18th street with the pump fully primed, so to speak.

Anyway, I am at LP nearly once a week, but am finally getting around to writing it up here.

We stopped in last Sunday with a friend from out of town. We put our name in, got the standard "30 minutes" warning, took our pager and headed for the bar. We had just about finished our first round when the pager went off. We got to our table and promptly ordered a bowl of chili con queso while we perused our menus.

[This is my second piece of advice for the un-ititiated. Whatever you do, order some chili con queso - and do so as soon as you sit down - don't wait to order it with everything else, or it will all arrive at your table at the same time.]

This is a little slice of heaven on Earth. It is a bowl (or cup for those of you not currently on statins and living, "a better life through pharmacology") of creamy, spicy, melted cheese. Think of it as a white tablecloth version of tossing a brick of velveta and a jar of spicy salsa in the microwave during halftime of the big football game.

For bonus points, request that your server bring you a pile of freshly made soft flour tortillas to use as a conduit for the cheese.

[NOTE - when ordering your tortillas, it is imperative that you make the universal sign for tortillas. Begin by placing both hands in front of you with palms facing each other and thumbs extended (like you are lifting a gallon of ice cream), then, leave your left hand as is and begin to draw counter-clockwise circles with the first two fingers on your right hand as though you are stirring the aforementioned gallon of ice cream with your two fingers. This sounds silly, but the one time I didn't perform this charade, I never got my tortillas.]

The menu is a strange pan-Latin mix of old and new world dishes. The fajitas and enchiladas appear on the same menu as El Salvadorian ropa vieja, authentic Spanish bistec al pobre, and some Caribbean inspired dishes with fried plantains and fruit chutney. The only glaring gap in the menu is a good mole. Then again, a good mole is a glaring gap in every menu in DC.

For entrees, we ordered a shrimp quesadilla and Monterey salads. Generally speaking, the appetizer portions of the quesadilla are large enough to make a meal of, especially when combined with several margaritas, chips and queso. Be sure to check the specials list for seasonal quesadillas - the crab quesadilla, in particular, is outstanding - with big chunks of blue crab smothered in cheese and sandwiched between layers of fresh tortilla.

On this evening, the shrimp quesadilla was very good. The cheese was evenly melted, the shrimp warm and the tortilla was slightly crispy on the outside, but not burned - just crisp enough that it never got soggy on the plate.

Now, before you think I've gone soft, the Monterey salad is really a salad only in presentation. It is a Fred Flintstone sized platter of romaine lettuce, black beans, corn, roasted peanuts, tomatoes, cucumbers, tortilla strips and grated cheese topped with a grilled chicken breast. As I said, this is, "the salad that eats like a meal." The dressing is a thick mix of peanut and red chili peppers that is both sweet and spicy. You may want to ask for it on the side, as they tend to be a little heavy-handed with the dressing. I'm sure this salad packs the same stratospheric calorie count as a Big Mac, but you feel better about yourself afterwards.

See you next week - same place, same time. Who's ready for another round?