Nothing fogs up the windscreen of the critical faculties like having within arm’s reach an eight-foot-tall tree (fake, but made of real wood) jutting up from the center of your table, decorated all over with small plastic bottles of Patron tequila.
Even less conducive to forming a clear-eyed appraisal of a restaurant’s pluses and minuses is having a stream of un-aged agave spirit etch a path down your esophagus vis-à-vis a burnished steel luge wielded by a giggling waitress.
Amidst a constant barrage of comically gratuitous pleasures such as these - and taking place in an atmosphere of visually arresting opulence which is itself a constant, if pleasurable distraction — weighing a restaurant’s worthiness seems a bit supercilious. This writer hesitates to look gift horses in a mouth, especially when they reek of mid-shelf tequila. However, now that the review is underway, there’s no turning back.
Lest you think the aforementioned extravagances await everyone who comes to dines within the pedals of the strange and dazzling hot house flower that is Tlaquepaque restaurant Casa Luna, we hasten to inform that the writer enjoyed these boozy gimmicks by virtue of being an invitee to a lunch on the dime of the Patron Tequila company; were it the restaurant’s modus operandi to regularly dispense such luxuries, they’d have quickly gone bankrupt.
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