Kickin' it at Pancheros

After a blissfully hum-drum day at work, I shuttled off to my temporary single dad duties. Kate had a soccer game in Polk City. On the ride home from Ma and Pa Snyder's house, Kate reminded me at least three times she had to bring after-game treats.

Polk City is tucked up north and well out of the way for us. That meant a pit stop at Hell on Earth, the lobotomizing experience we all know and love as "Wal Mart." Now, I assumed, foolishly, that the Ankeny Wal-Mart could not muster the kind of IQ-lowering enhanced interrogation techniques that the south side store does so spectacularly. I managed to swear in front of the kids only a couple times as the Amazon checking us out remarked on poor quality of our fruity snacks.

Kate's penultimate soccer game for the season proved to be worth the ordeal. Her team struggles, despite their improvement and determination. They've lost every game so far, and they have gone scoreless in about half their matches. Today, they put up a hell of a fight, went into the half leading 1-0 and ended up in a tie after a bizarre penalty kick that shot over the poor 10-year-old keeper's head.

Trish, mom to Kate' s best pal, and I did more yelling and fretting than any grown up should do for a bunch of fifth and sixth graders. "I think I'm going to have a heart attack," she mentioned to me at the half. "You and me both," I replied with a smirk.

I grew up on little league, slow pitch, baseball, basketball and football. You know, meat and potato sports of the good ol' Midwest. I'm a die hard NFL fan, and love my Hawkeyes, too. So, it's a little strange for me to holler at the top of my lungs to the left defender to cover the goal on a corner kick. I'll be damned if I'm not on the edge of my fold up nylon chair for each girl out there as they dribble the ball up the field. Now if they could only pass a bit better ...

I'd teased Kate and Riggs before the game. Pancheros was in their future. So, we dined like royalty. For those not in the know, Pancheros is a made-to-order burrito place on the order of Qdoba and Chipotle. But, those places? Mere shadows on the cave wall. Food for plebes and riff raff! Pancheros is ambrosia. I have been going to Pancheros since 1993. It started as a single restaurant in 1992 in my home-away-from-home, Iowa City. In a bid to keep me sane and well fed, they franchised right as I moved back to the Des Moines area (they're in bunches of states now, too). I have spent birthdays there. I bring the food home for Christmas, for christ's sake! Watching them prep food inspired several of my own cooking tricks for Mexican grub.

The secret is the tortilla, which they press from dough as you order. It is divine, and I never want to know the ingredients or nutritional values of that glob of delicious stuff. Shuddup and eat it, I say. It makes all that soccer dad mania almost palatable.