their packs, but this is not the place for such stories.

Of the old Mexican restaurants, those of us who can look back to the
days of a quarter of a century ago remember old Felipe and Maria, the
Mexican couple who kept the little place in the alley back of the old
county jail, off Broadway. Here one had to depend entirely upon
sentiment, or rather sentimentality, to be pleased. The cooking was
truly Mexican for it included the usual Mexican disregard for dirt.
Chattering monkeys and parrots were hanging around the kitchen, peering
into pots and fingering viands, and they served to attract attention
from myriads of cockroaches that swarmed about the walls. One could go
to this place just on the theory that one is willing to try anything
once, but aside from its picturesque old couple, and its Dantesque
appearance, it offered nothing to induce a return unless it was to
entertain a friend.

Everyone who lived in San Francisco before the fire remembers Ricardo,
he of the one eye, who served so well at Luna's, on Vallejo and Dupont
streets. Ricardo had but one eye but he could see the wants of his
patrons much better than many of the later day waiters who have two.
Luna's brought fame to San Francisco and in more than one novel of San
Francisco life it was featured. Entering the place one came into the
home life of the Luna family, and reached the dining room through the
parlor, where Mrs. Luna, busy with her drawn work, and all the little
Lunas and the neighbors and their children foregathered in the window
spaces behind the torn Nottingham curtains which partially concealed the
interior from passers on the street. The elder sons and daughters
attended to the wants of those who fancied any of the curios displayed
in the long showcase that extended from the door to the rear of the
room.