Senor Froggy has left him hopping angry

Truly, it breaks my heart to see such an old favorite go bad so quickly. Sometimes, the little things that happen can slowly add up to disaster and ruin a customer-restaurant relationship.

I’ve been eating at Senor Froggy Mexican restaurant on a regular basis since back in the day when it was the original Taco Time.

I spent a significant part of my youth in the upper dining area, giggling while tossing Mexi-tot bombers over the edge to the crowd below or getting spooked out in the basement, which supposedly is haunted by the ghost of a worker who fell to his death during construction.

Has there been a change in ownership in the last year or so? In the past, everything here was always very consistent and professional. But lately, the Frog seems to be suffering from some bad juju.

My first real problem with the restaurant took place a few months ago.

It had occurred to me that it was “Taco Wednesday,” when they serve three hard- or soft-shell tacos for a very reasonable price. It’s a special Senor Froggy has run every Wednesday since the beginning of time.

So, I went in to order my three tacos but was told that the special had been canceled that day because there had been a parade or some other big event downtown earlier. Not seeing the logic, I questioned further.

The girl rolled her eyes like I was taking away from her valuable doing-nothing time and said, “I dunno – just too busy I guess.”

I was stunned, still not quite sure what she meant, but ordered a crisp meat burrito to go.

When I got it home, I found my burrito was not at all crisp but was undercooked and overly greasy.

That’s another problem I’ve noticed with the place lately. Yes, the food always has been a little on the greasy side, but now it seems like everything is just swimming in hot translucent brown oil, from the taco meat to the Mexi-tots. Even the tortilla chips seem greasy.

Still, kudos to the Frog for keeping refreshing raspberry New York seltzer on tap all these years. I’m pretty sure you can’t get it anywhere else in this day and age.

A friend was in town recently, a Coeur d’Alene native visiting from Seattle, and he wanted to take me out to lunch at Senor Froggy. Seems he’d had a constant craving for the Frog for the entire five years he’d been living in Seattle, and he was clamoring for a fix.

He told me he viewed the place as a Coeur d’Alene institution along the lines of Hudson’s Hamburgers, a do-not-miss place you must visit when in town.

We approached the counter and watched in amazement as a wide-eyed new hire bumbled his way through our order. It seemed like he was looking at a cash register for the first time in his life, like they had given him no actual training, just thrown him out there.

Meanwhile, a co-worker stood there behind the counter, endlessly talking to a buddy on his cell phone about the wild party night he’d had. “Duuuuuude, … I’m on, like, a half-hour of sleep.”

We would order something, and the new hire frantically would scan the register before saying, “Help! Help! How do I put in a small Mexi-tots?” The other guy would come over, acting annoyed that his conversation was being interrupted. (Sigh) “Here, you just push ‘small,’ then ‘Mexi-tots,’ ” and then he’d go back to his phone.

We’d order another thing. A frantic scan, then, “Help! Help! How do I put in a medium drink?” The co-worker would stop yakking again and show him.

Repeat the process for the entire order. I wasn’t sure who I wanted to throttle the most – the phone guy or the new hire. I was about ready to tell the new guy to just move over so I could ring up my own food order – how hard could it be?

Back in the glory days of the ‘90s when this place was run like a tight ship by those lovely triplet girls I went to high school with, this never would have happened.

This time, my food was deeply greasy, as expected, and I spent the rest of the evening with that blah feeling that comes from eating fast Mexican gut bombs.

My friend had wisely chosen the vegetarian burrito and some tots, declaring it excellent and exactly how he remembered, saying what a sense of relief he felt after having craved the Frog for so many years.

I didn’t want to rain on his parade, so I didn’t mention that I thought the place gradually was sliding down the deep end of the service and quality spiral.

But old habits die hard, and I was still unwilling to totally give up on the Frog. That is, until my most recent visit last week.

I walked in and ordered a soft taco combo meal, which includes a side of Mexi-tots. As I made my way up to the dining area, I noticed that it looked like a mild hurricane had hit the place.

Only two tables were occupied, but every other table was cluttered with trays, leaving me nowhere to sit unless I decided to bus my own table. The employees seemed oblivious to this, choosing instead to stand around behind the counter and visit with one another.

The salsa bar was destroyed, a full-on disaster area that looked like a savage troupe of 3-year-olds had hit it. Nearly everything was empty, and, worst of all, the creamy pink fry-sauce was completely gone.

I could have possibly lived without hot sauce or pico de gallo, but as anyone who ever has indulged in Senor Froggy Mexi-tots knows, you’ve just got to have a side of fry sauce, period.

So I asked the cashier, the same kid who had been the new hire on my last visit, if anyone was planning on refilling the salsa bar. “No,” he answered flatly. “We’re just out of all that stuff.”

I asked if he could fetch some fry sauce from back in the kitchen somewhere. “I just told you it was gone,” he glared, his voice rich with attitude. No apology offered, no explanation, just a curt denial.

I suggested that maybe someone could whip up a batch real quick – how hard could it be? A little ketchup and mayo. He snapped, “Uh, you don’t know what you’re talking about – we need garlic salt for that, and the food order doesn’t come until tomorrow.”

Now, it’s been a while since I worked in food service, but I recall many times when emergency trips to the grocery store had to be made to avoid unhappy customer situations like this.

Finally, I’d had it with the whole place and asked for my money back – the first time I’ve ever felt compelled to do such a thing in a restaurant.

The idea of living without the Frog makes me feel disenchanted and sad, but I’ve been let down one too many times.

I sincerely hope the current owners manage to smooth out some wrinkles, or by the next time my Seattle friend comes to town for his Senor Froggy fix, the place will be gone, most likely replaced by some trendy, upscale bistro or wine bar.