Rick B.
Google
Lolita’s Restaurante – Where the Migas Redeem the Mood
You walk into Lolita’s and it’s like stepping into an old movie set where everyone already knows their lines—except you. The tables are open, the room’s got that lived-in charm—roosters on the wall, neon reflections in the window, a traffic light glowing for no reason but nostalgia—and yet, there’s no clear script for what you’re supposed to do. No “please seat yourself,” no greeter, no welcome. Just a quiet crowd hovering near the counter, like regulars at a bingo hall who already know the system.
Eventually, by deduction and survival instinct, you figure it out: place your order at the counter. The guy back there has the look of someone who’s been making breakfast since the Reagan administration. No smile, no “What can I get you this morning?” Just… wait your turn, state your order, and hope for the best.
I ordered the Migas plate and a Barbacoa taco. Coffee, too—eventually. There’s no mention of it being self-serve, but if you look around long enough and spot the carafe and the styrofoam cups, you’ll figure it out. It’s there in the corner with powdered creamer and a few weary stir sticks. The coffee? It gets the job done, but it’s not trying to win any awards. Think gas station energy without the nostalgia.
Then comes the wait. You’re given a number, but there’s nowhere to put it—no table stand, no instructions. Just a small piece of paper you sort of toss next to the napkin holder and hope it makes sense to someone.
Eventually a woman walks out from the back, calls out “Migas,” drops the plate on the table, and disappears like a ninja. No “How’s everything looking?” No “Can I get you anything else?” Just… Migas. Boom. Gone.
But here’s the twist.
The Migas were excellent. Eggs fluffy, tortilla chips still crisp, loaded with green peppers, onions, tomatoes. Bacon on the side. Refried beans. Potatoes. The whole thing was packed with flavor—comfort food with just enough of a kick to remind you why you came. It’s a big plate. Too big for one person, really—especially with only two tortillas. You’ll end up crafting two monster tacos and still have a pile of filling leftover. I wanted one more tortilla, but I knew if I walked up to that counter again, I might not return with my dignity intact.
The Barbacoa taco? Let’s not talk about it. Greasy, chewy, and bland. Felt like filler—something they keep on the menu because they have to, not because they care to.
The salsa was an afterthought. Lifeless. Like it gave up halfway through the recipe and just showed up for attendance.
As for the vibe—well, it’s a place that doesn’t pretend to be anything it’s not. No customer service theater. No curated experience. Lolita’s has been around long enough to stop caring about Yelp stars or trendy ambiance. It’s a “we make the food, you figure out the rest” type of joint. And apparently, that’s good enough to keep people coming in every day.
So here’s my verdict:
• Service: 1 out of 5 (but not hostile, just indifferent)
• Coffee: 2 out of 5 (bonus point for being hot)
• Barbacoa taco: 1 out of 5 (wouldn’t recommend)
• Salsa: 1 out of 5 (a shrug in sauce form)
• Migas plate: 4.5 out of 5 (would return just for this)
Overall: 3.5 stars
A gruff, no-frills joint that survives on the strength of one dish—and maybe a loyal crowd that doesn’t mind being ignored. If you’re a first-timer, bring patience, humility, and maybe a spare tortilla. And don’t expect anyone to ask how your day’s going.
But hey—if you’re hungry, and you’re willing to earn your breakfast the hard way—those migas are worth it.