Way back in 2013, I submitted my first-ever restaurant review for The Lost Ogle.
It was a long, almost endless piece that paid glorious tribute to the Pancho's Mexican Buffet on I-240 and Penn, and its endless supply of cheese enchiladas, chile rellenos, flautas, and all the other Tex-Mex standards that were all only one flag raise away.
Although I thought my writing would pack the place like a basket of fresh chips, leaving hungry readers waiting in lines and out the door, it apparently had the opposite effect, and the location closed only about a year or two later, leaving me with only fond memories and novelty restaurant glassware…which sadly broke when I got married.
Boo-hoo, right?
But last week, while I was in Fort Worth gassing up to head home, I looked up and saw something truly miraculous!
Shining up on a hill in one of the more rundown parts of town, sat Pancho’s— 2434 Jacksboro Hwy—shimmering among the small-time bingo parlors, discount computer part retailers, and family funeral homes.
As I stood there taking in the glow and the gas fumes, memories came rushing back like a flautas-filled freight train.
Four-year-old me in Houston, raising the flag for the very first time, staring wide-eyed at endless trays of enchiladas and chile rellenos. Saturday nights in Oklahoma City, my family piling into the car after church, engines humming with anticipation for that warm tortilla embrace. My first date with a girl named Sarah B., late-night drives home, random solo pilgrimages...the memories all came rushing back.
Topping off the tank, and returning from my reverie, I immediately pulled into the parking lot, where my past and present collided in a cheesy cloud of nostalgia. It was a splotch of salsa passed 11 a.m., and, of course, we were the first in line.
From beyond all the remarkably reproduced paintings of Mexican noblemen, sculptures of Franciscan friars, and the long line of Japanese claw machines filled with non-sanctioned Beanie Babies and knock-off iPods, I smelled Pancho’s trademarked scent of melted cheese, toasting tortillas, and pure Fabuloso... and I fell to my knees in wooden prayer.
“Thank you, God!” I exclaimed.
Making our way around the barriers and through the line, I grabbed my oversized tray for the all-you-can-eat buffet. Both our meals together were $25.00, which was made even cheaper by my $2.60 disability discount. What a stroke of luck!
As I scooted down the lines, I was presented with the buffet of dishes I grew up with, from the three varieties of enchiladas to those weirdly self-contained chile rellenos to the loose-leaf crunchy tacos that get their own plate.
And be careful…it is hot!
Looking over the line, I noticed they had a few items I don't recall Pancho's ever having, staples like deep-fried burritos, crunchy tostadas, and dollops of guacamole.
They also had some new buffet sections that didn't exist in my day, like a salad and a dessert bar, complete with a working soft-serve ice cream machine!
All of my favorites were here and, even better, everything still tasted the same. While the refried beans and rice had always been pretty mediocre, the flautas, the crunchy tacos, and especially the rellenos were just as I remembered them…although my wife later told me she didn’t particularly like the rellenos.
Blasphemy!
In the end, though, my favorite Pancho’s dish is and always will be the cheese enchiladas. Forever part of my entire being, sure, they’re just fresh tortillas and melted cheese topped with even more cheese, but somehow Pancho's has conquered the recipe and kept it to themselves, and nothing else will ever compare.
In my teens and some of my twenties, I could raise the flag and eat three or four plates more of food and drink, thinking nothing about it. But, in my mid-forties, I could barely finish this plate.
I willingly put my fork down and refused a belly-busting meal and, instead, had a good taste of fateful reminiscing. You see, after all my years as a food critic, I had to eventually realize that eating isn’t an endurance challenge to be broken or a record to compete with.
That’s why I don’t eat at buffets since Pancho’s. Full stop.
That being said, I had only one item left to eat. Channeling my younger brother, as it was our teenage rite of passage, I drizzled my remaining cheese sauce on an unsweetened and unadorned sopapilla and, without fail, slowly and methodically ate the last remaining morsel on our glutted table.
It felt good to be back at Pancho’s Mexican Buffet, but I’m fine leaving it in the rearview—a nostalgic relic from a lifetime of memories. Maybe I will come back to Pancho's in 10 or 20 years to give it a fresh pass, but, until then, there are many new restaurants in OKC to try that won't give me a gut-busting stomachache.
Adios Panchos, adios...
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Follow Louis Fowler on Instagram at @louisfowler78.
