April 5, 2014
A Few More Words About: Lucky Otter, Asheville, NC

"The Neglected Friend"

As the misses and I toss names at each other like a culinary version of charades, shooting each of them down with a brief rebut, the one name that never seems to be called out is Lucky Otter. I dont know why. It fits the usual criteria; cheap, tasty and a stones throw from our abode. When the name does come up we both give each other a look of dumbfoundment. Each of us with little bubble captions above our heads that read “Why didnt I think of that before?” Then we toss on some sandals and make the trek.


I have two favorites; the Thai Me Up and the Don’t Be a Jerk. I could tell you whats in them, but Id prefer for the suspense to get to you. Of course, if it becomes too much you could always take a peek at their online menu. Anyhow, it doesnt even matter to me which one I get, they are equally bombastic. The wife always goes for the Zorba The Greek because thats just what tickles her fancy. Of course, if I dont have to change into work clothes on that particular day, I tack on a margarita. Everyone in Westville knows about the margaritas at Lucky Otter. They are cheap, they make their own sour mix and they have enough booze in them to get the pumps primed. After you order from one of the nice girls at the counter, you take your plastic toy (your “number”) and beverages out to the patio where the sunshine is. You talk about the time you got the nachos and how not wonderful they were, feeling superior because you now know better. After a bit the gal brings you your basket and you attack the house made tortilla chips, scooping salsa from atop your burrito. Because you are a creature of habit, you forget to ask for one of their (also) house made hot sauces. Perhaps its time to order another margarita, or perhaps its time to ravish your burrito. So a little juice spills from it, down your arm as you get to work on the thing, no big deal. The guy whos at the table across from you has a dog that is watching you eat and is slobbering all over the ground due to no burrito to call his own. This gives you a newfound sense of confidence and makes you smile and you realize that your glass is empty again. So you go inside and, once more; forget to ask for hot sauce but return with another glass of old Mexico. You might slop a little on the copy of Mountain Xpress thats on the table, but its free and has already served its purpose, so what me worry? You scoop up chunks of fallen chicken chops with those chips and think about how great life is. You eye your wifes margarita and wonder if she might get up to go wash her hands anytime soon. You finish the burrito and exclaim some sort of complimentary profanity and then, lean back in your chair, wondering why the hell you dont come here more often. When the wife goes inside to get a to-go box you extinguish the remains of her cocktail and put your sunglasses on, ready for whatever the day has left in its repertoire. Fearing nothing, knowing all is well that ends well. I think this qualifies…

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