La Fogata

Throughout my adult life, I have often wondered why some memories of my travels stay with me and others vanish quickly.  For instance, I can tell you exactly what was on the radio (Sixth Avenue Heartache) and how the sky and rocks looked when I was stopped at an intersection in the middle of nowhere Oregon on my way to see Crater Lake.  Or feel the hot sun on my back and dry air in my face as I climbed the thousand steps to my hostel in Finale Ligure. And  I can still see the old factories and quiet surface of Lake Erie as I went for a quiet run along the shoreline in Lorraine, Ohio, on a long-ago business trip. 

Why do these things stick with me and not the names of the masters of fine art or the great architecture and historic monuments I've seen?   Why do these little snippets of seeming nothingness flicker through my head from time to time like a favorite, old silent movie?

Another place that brings back fond memories is La Fogata restaurant. I remember vividly walking into this little oasis in the middle of an offbeat neighborhood in San Antonio.  I can still hear the Mexican music and see the vine-covered trellises and white wrought iron tables on that cool Texas night.  I remember lots of laughter and being happily full of rice, beans and margaritas when I walked out. 

What brought me here?  I was about one month into a new job. Even though I didn't really know the new team that well, I had a good feeling when they said we were going to go to San Antonio a few days ahead of a major conference to prepare for the event, buy cowboy boots and visit a friend of the team, Pat. On our first day there, Pat chauffeured us around town in great style looking for appropriate western wear.  A native of San Antonio, Pat knows everybody in town and if there's a great place to be, he'll take you there.  He took us to La Fogata for dinner after a long day of work and shopping.  That day and night have stuck in my memory ever since because I realized that day that I not only taken the right step with my career, but I was also going to make some great friends in the process.

Since that time, I've gotten to know Pat much better and now I consider him a friend as well.  He's funny, generous and a true southern gentleman.  He's a good golfer and even better business man, although he's not perfect - he is a Republican and a Cowboys fan, after all.  So we agree to disagree - violently at times - on certain things.  Even still, he's fun to talk with and I really admire his passion for life and for his family and friends. 

So when another friend and colleague, Sam, recently said that I should come to San Antonio for another work project (and to celebrate his birthday), I jumped at the chance because I knew it would be a great time and we could see Pat.  Little did I know that Pat would take us back to La Fogata for dinner for Sam's birthday.  But that's exactly where I found myself this past Wednesday night.  Sitting at a table with Pat, Sam, Sam's brother and another friend, drinking margaritas, eating amazing guacamole made right at the table, and laughing - a lot. 

On this second visit to La Fogata, I was struck with just how accurate my original memories about the place had been.  When we drove down the street approaching the restaurant, I knew we were close because I saw the run-down bodega we had stopped at the last time to buy lottery tickets.  Then, when we turned onto the street and saw La Fogata with its busy outdoor dining garden, all of my other memories came right back.  I couldn't have been happier - only wished the whole original team could have been there too.  Not that I needed to worry, but now I know La Fogata is permanently etched into my mental movie reel.