It’s like you’re popping up every two miles to remind us you exist. “Pedro sez stop!” “Hot Tamale!” “You never sausage a place!”—are these ads or desperate love letters to passing cars? I’m just saying, I’ve seen less persistence on dating apps.
And when we did finally stop (because, let’s face it, your billboard campaign works like hypnotism), we were met with a carnival fever dream. Fiberglass giraffes, a giant pink gorilla, and you, Pedro, grinning like you know all our secrets. The Sombrero Tower? Yeah, we rode it. The glass elevator was putting off major Willy Wonka vibes, well if he had a Tamale Factory instead. And your Pleasure Dome? Let’s just say it’s a bold name choice for a Motel surrounded by fireworks and mystery meat tacos.
But you know what? You’ve got something, Pedro. Against all odds, your technicolor chaos is oddly charming. It’s like you’re saying to every traveler, “Forget subtlety—come here and embrace the madness!” And honestly, we kind of love you for it.
The Peddler Steak House, tucked inside the sombrero-shaped building at South of the Border, is exactly what you’d expect from a place where neon nostalgia meets smoky decadence. It’s an unapologetically old-school steakhouse, the kind your grandparents might have visited after bowling league, but with a flair that only Pedro could pull off. Here, a waiter wheels a cart right to your table, brandishing cuts of steak like some sort of meaty magician, letting you pick your perfect slab before they cook it over open coals. While you wait, there’s a fresh salad bar that feels like a time machine to 1983, stocked with everything from iceberg lettuce to croutons that crunch louder than the Sombrero Tower’s elevator. It’s delightfully retro and oddly charming, much like the rest of South of the Border—except this time, you’re leaving full and a little less terrified.
