Eat it and beat it” was our mantra at Casa del Sol, especially on New Year’s Eve. Sequined or flannel-clad patrons came early and bolted by 9:30 to catch the fireworks — except one night in 1993.

It was a charged atmosphere. Two hour wait by 5:30. The only thing moving faster than Tina Hammaker mixing margos was her mouth; her ability to entertain, counsel and redirect staff while plying the entire restaurant was unparalleled. She didn’t miss a trick.

Casa Fun Fact #16: If you’ve never worked in food service, you think a restaurant is where you can have an intimate rendezvous. I will shatter this illusion: your server reads your energy like a dime-store novel. The thrum of voices, clatter of plates, ring of the bell, laughter and mariachi music conveyed a false sense of seclusion. We didn’t acknowledge blind dates, whisper arguments, engagements, full-on breakups and love-affair spoilers — but we saw it all.

I had plans. By 9:45 my tables were gone, and I was already dancing around. The kitchen turned up Shom, and we were all singing Journey, “Don’t Stop Believing,” when four headlights pulled into the empty parking lot.

Two couples slipped up to the door, clutching arms and giggling. Petite Brunette. Blonde Pixie. Tall Skinny Guy. Expo Hat. I prayed they wanted a drink. No such luck.

This quad requested table 10 in the corner. I feigned deafness and sat them at table three, in full view of the door, kitchen and bar — fishbowl dining kept them aware we had lives.

Things looked optimistic. Coats on, they ordered three Cadillac margos and a club soda, and four chicken chimichangas (yes, I remember). I delivered drinks and brought out their sizzling meals 11 minutes later. The laughing stopped.

“Actually,” said Expo Hat, spooning red salsa on four neatly arranged flour chips, “we’ve got nothing until 11:30, so can we just hold those?” He pointed to the chimichangas. “Let’s slow this down. What’s the soup?”

My plans and my stomach dropped in a tandem freefall.

“Sopa de lima,” I replied.

“What does sopa mean?”

Casa Fun Fact #37: Crossing into a restaurant causes temporary cognitive failure. Symptoms include asking what’s in a chicken burrito and whether dark beer is darker.

“What’s in the Sopa de Lima?” his partner asked, ‘covertly’ rubbing her inner thigh under the tiled table.

“It’s citrus and chicken soup,” I said, noticing her sparkling nails, “with shredded chicken, onions, tortilla strips and jack cheese.”

He nodded. “Four soups, and a Mexican Roulette — but we don’t want it all at once — and” he rubbed his belly, “I need me some cow! Steak?” he asked his friends. Cheers from the table, licking salt and slurping margos.

I repeated their order: “Three carne asada — one rare, one medium, one well done — and huevos rancheros, eggs over easy?”

“Yes, and another round,” said Petite Brunette. The leg rubbing continued north as I walked sloth-style toward the kitchen, four chimichangas on my arm like long mitts, to read my suicide order.

Casa Fun Fact #44: The server is responsible for the ease or difficulty of every order. If your table orders steak, each a different temperature, and huevos rancheros, your moments on Earth are rapidly decreasing.

I grabbed the second round from Tina. She leaned in, looking at table three: “Something weird is going on — they keep changing seats.” I dropped the drinks and felt the conversation dim. Fireworks started over Lake Flower as I felt my tip slip further away.

They ate like snails traversing mud flats. I hovered, snatching cleared appetizer plates, finally delivering entrees at 11 p.m. Tina sent shift drinks to the kitchen, and we started our eat-it-and-beat-it protocol.

Blossom became the hostess with the least. She turned the lights up, the music off and cracked the door so a cold breeze snaked across the floor. The kitchen noisily broke down and sanitized — pots and pans slammed with intention. As I quietly put chairs up on other tables, their voices darted around faster. I caught, “…yeah, then why are you always checking him out?” I feigned deafness.

This eat-it-and-beat-it ejection worked depending on inebriation level, and a few pointed groups from Lake Placid or Upper Saranac Lake who thought they owned the place. If locals came after 9, they tipped big and bought the kitchen a round. Working people know working people.

I approached with their bill. The floor and their expressions were equally frigid. “Happy New Year!” They stared in different directions as an echoing boom lit the snow-covered lake. I walked away and heard, “Then why don’t you just marry her then!”

I peeked back to see Petite Brunette pointing at Blonde Pixie. Silence.

“Actually,” said Tall Skinny Guy, “that’s the smartest thing you ever said.” He held out his hand to Blonde Pixie.

“Trish, I’ve wanted you for two years.” Scripted, Trish slid onto his lap. They kissed and walked out holding hands, leaving their coats on the chairs.

The Petite Brunette meekly followed in Expo Hat’s wake to the door. Tina, on her game, stood in front of the already locked door. “Sir, your check?” The kitchen managers, Macho and Freddy, were belly-up at the bar, and looked menacing.

Expo Hat opened his wallet, threw three hundred-dollar bills on the bar, and handed another to me. Four lives rearranged themselves between sopa de lima and carne asada. I had a fat tip and a front-row seat.

Casa Fun Fact #99: You never know who’s walking through the door — or what story they’ll leave behind.

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Sopa de Lima

Original Casa del Sol recipe from Kitchen Manager

Murphy “Macho” Ryan

Ingredients:

8 cups water

1/8 cup chicken base

1 cup diced onion

5 oz diced green chilies

2 cups cooked and shredded chicken

2 cups diced tomatoes with their juice

1/8 cup lime juice

Directions:

Saute onions in olive oil until translucent. Combine rest of ingredients and bring to a boil. Simmer 20 minutes. Serve with tortilla strips, sprinkle of jack cheese and a lime wedge. Taste and add kosher salt and pepper to taste.