7:30 at Tres Hermanas, my favorite Mexican restaurant, and the wait would make a lesser man weep. I put my name in with the hostess, but already know I have no intention of sitting at a table. I make for the bar and hope to find two empty seats. It’s a tight squeeze, but I get my wife and me in, between two guys doing shots and what has to be a couple on a first date. The bartender looks at us and smiles. Without asking he puts two of his famous top-shelf margaritas in front of us and asks how the hell we are doing.