Ah Riccardo and my dear sweet Lupe Taqueria. Situated right on Juniper Street in Midtown, I wanted so badly to enjoy your company, to appreciate your culinary statement, and your bubbling atmosphere. Alas, it was not to be. What you gave me was a failure of Titanic proportions. In the blink of an eye you went from a place with so much promise to a dark sea struggling to provide me with the life jacket I so desperately needed. The waters were murky, and that’s being more than generous.
Before I head on down this path of destruction, let us take a quick detour to clarify something for those of you who are not familiar with this blog. First impressions should be considered for what they are. It is absolutely impossible to consider a single meal, and particularly one that takes place inside of a restaurant’s IPO week, and proclaim the establishment a failure with any degree of certainty. However, certain elements of the meal can hint at what is to come.
I am often called to task for my propensity to hold an establishment’s feet to the fire no matter how long they are open. I’m particularly less forgiving in instances where the owner is an established restaurateur.
In that spirit, if people are willing to proclaim Antico as God’s gift to Atlanta’s pizza scene inside of one slice, then we have to be willing to consider all establishments against some reasonably similar criteria. Put it this way, for every Matt Ryan, there are many more Ryan Leafs. Unless some serious soul searching takes place, Lupe Taqueria will be headed to the dead pool faster than you can say “guacamole.”
