The Dapper Man and the Roberto's Can

The Dapper Man With No Name
Every day I drive in to work on North Main, heading toward downtown. Once every three weeks or so, I see a guy I dubbed the Dapper Man. He's always walking north, away from downtown, on the west side of the street. He's the Dapper Man because he's always dressed up. Usually with a suit and tie, though the suits look as if they were last stylish in 1979. OK, by me, since I'm sort of stuck in the 1970s myself. The Dapper Man has a nice beard and always wears a cool hat, kind of a flat top hat with a wide brim that appears to be of leather. The beard is more gray than dark, and I'd guess he's probably close to 60. But he walks swiftly, his movements unencumbered by age. One day I was listening to Q-101, and they were playing War's classic "All Day Music" as the Dapper Man was walking by. I felt briefly transported to 1973.

But here's the coolest part. When it's chilly outside, he wears a poncho. Not just any poncho. It's a wool poncho with a Southwestern pattern. I swear it's the same one Clint Eastwood wore as the Man with No Name in the Good, the Bad and the Ugly trilogy. I don't know where Dapper Man is headed on these days, but he always looks and moves like he knows exactly where he's going.

Roberto's Can Full of Fame
I went through the Roberto's restaurant drive-through the other day to get a chicken taco plate. You can't go wrong with Roberto's. Roberto is most famous for making the giant enchilada at the Whole Enchilada Fiesta. 

But in my book, his crowning achievement is the Roberto's red chile tamale. Growing up in Oklahoma, my experience with tamales were nasty things that came in a can, or something bad chain Mexican restaurants made with a flimsy, soggy, corn tortilla. When I finally had a real, New Mexican tamale, it was an epiphany. And when I finally had a Roberto's red chile tamale, it went beyond that. I swear one time it cured me of a cold. 

Anyway, I placed my order at the sign into the talking speaker with the Charlie Brown teacher filter. The only local drive-through speaker that's more difficult to understand is the one at Jack in the Box on El Paseo.  No biggie though; if you know you're in for a Roberto's meal, you don't fret over slight imperfections. Besides, if they somehow screwed up your order and you got a chile relleno plate, or a red enchilada plate instead of the chicken taco plate, you're still in for a big treat.

Anyway, after I told the speaker that was it for my order (at least I think that's the question I answered), I rolled around the corner to the pickup window. And it was gone! The window wasn't gone — in fact, a brand new window was there.  What was gone was the big aluminum can in the wall. Roberto's fans know exactly what I'm talking about. If you're not familiar with Roberto's, up until recently their drive-though window featured a big aluminum cylinder that worked kind of like a revolving door. When you drove up, you saw the closed side. On the other side of the wall, they'd put your order in and spin the cylinder.  One-hundred-and-eighty degrees later, you'd have the open side and there would be your order. It was like a magic trick. To me though, it was beyond magic and closer to divine. The cylinder somewhat resembled the tabernacle that holds the eucharistic communion wafers at a Catholic church. I don't mean to be sacrilegious — I'm Catholic myself. But if your order happened to be a Roberto's red chile tamale, well, that truly is like tasting a slice of heaven.

The new window is clearly more functional and practical. The old cylinder wouldn't hold big orders very well.  But as you have guessed by now, I'll miss the beautiful old icon.