Dear Moe: I'm Afraid We're Through
Hi, Moe. We've been seeing each other once a month or so for a couple of years now. Gosh, even when I was pregnant with Baby A, I'd stop by and see you pretty often, since you had that one place near my office.
Today you seem to be all over, in nearly every shopping center or mall we visit. No one can say you aren't there for me; matter of fact, you've got 345 locations in 36 states
But, Moe, we need to take a break for a while.
It wasn't one single experience that brought me to this point. No, it was a bunch of small things over the past year or so. For starters, I feel stressed and strung-out by the time I leave your place. It starts at the door; I don't like being accosted with a chorus of "Welcome to Moe's!" when I step in. I know, I know. It's not just for me—you and your crew do it for everyone. I know you're just trying to show me some love. But, most of the time, it's obvious the employees don't want to do it, and I don't like feeling put on the spot. [My fault, I know.]
Then we get in line, my family and I, and the ordering process is rocky. The menu—what to say about the menu? It has a nice variety, and I love that you offer vegatarian options like tofu and beans. That's cool. But the names for the dishes are silly and annoying, and they serve only to confuse the process. Now I see that you've posted a survey to rename a bunch of the dishes. But are you enlisting customers to help choose more sensical names? No, in fact, the new options are only more annoying than the originals and less rooted in anything remotely descriptive.
I often order the John Coctostan. Do you know how dumb I feel saying that?
The other day, in fact, that silly name caused a bunch of undue stress. We were in line for lunch on Sunday, and Baby A was on the verge of a low blood sugar meltdown. Tell the truth, TWH and I probably were, too....
I decided on a John Coctostan (see? doesn't it just sound silly?) and moved on up. It was busy, and the line piled up behind us and blocked my view of the menu.
Moe's Crew, empty tortilla in hand: "What would you like?"
Me: "The John Coctostan with steak, please."
"What do you want on that?"
"Just whatever it said on the menu, please."
"Like what?"
"I'll just take everything."
"Can you name what's on the menu?"
No, I can't, in fact, because you have a nice crowd today and people are blocking my way. Besides, YOU should know what's in one and quiz me appropriately. I'm easy: steak, black beans. The salsa and cheese promised on the menu. Then I'll ask for fresh jalapenos. But I need you to help me at least get the basics on the tortilla with no fuss.
As it was, all the dumbfounded questioning caused quite a fuss, because as I tried to move backwards to get the menu in view again, I pushed a little too hard on TWH, who was holding the nigh insane Baby A, and both of them went low-blood-sugar ballistic on me. I got evil eyes and muttered words—really, Moe, "for better or for worse" shouldn't have to include restaurant lines.
So there I had an annoyed employee, a pi$$ed-off husband, and a long line of people all staring at me, all because your menu names are, to put it charitably, meaningless. I feel sorry for them. John Coctostan doesn't connote any Americanized Mexican foods to me, either. But there we were, having to deal with it, knowing full well it could be just as straightforward as Chipotle's beautifully simple menu. (Warning: There's sound at that link.)
So we muddled through and got our food and sat down to eat. And I realized I just wasn't really enjoying it. Sure, some of your salsas on the salsa bar are really good, especially the verde, which is brilliantly green and full of flavor.
On top of it all, I had an epiphany about your guacamole. We are guacamole conoisseurs—TWH is from New Mexico, and, me, I just like to eat it, often from the bowl with a spoon—so I admit we're picky. But lately yours is all cheaper fillers, like chopped onion and tomato, with very little avocado. It breaks the chips and tastes sharp and bitter, not creamy like it's supposed to.
Should I mention that Chipotle's guacamole is perfectly creamy, and simple like it's supposed to be, to let that one-of-a-kind fresh avocado flavor shine? No, I won't say it. That would be too harsh. But I guess the truth is there's another player in town now, and I like him better.
So, Moe, this is it for a while. I just heard that you're under new ownership, and I'll wait and see how those new leaders tweak your concept. Change is good, Moe, and I think you need some.
Until next time, then.
[Image thanks to Brand Fuel.]
