Eddie Arzola brings Arzola’s Fajitas & Margaritas to Benton Park

After gaining a loyal following at the venerated Chuy Arzola’s, the restaurateur is back in the business on a smaller, simpler scale.

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When Eddie Arzola was 17, he was grilling fajitas with his buddies on a street corner in Austin. After a successful and occasionally bumpy restaurant career—notably, as the force behind the venerated Chuy Arzola’s, known as simply Chuy’s during its 19 years in Dogtown—the 61-year-old is back at the flat-top griddle. This time, he’s in Benton Park at Arzola’s Fajitas & Margaritas, which focuses on what locals best remember the family for making. Yes, it’s all in the name.

Editor's note: The restaurant will officially open for dine in service on May 5. 

When did you cook your first meal and was it any good? I was 14, working in a restaurant in Austin, Texas with my dad, playing with ideas for fajita marinades. For one of my first ones, I used spices, soy sauce, a can of beer, and marinated onions and peppers in it for a week. It was good, and we used a version of that a few years later. Some friends and I were cooking fajitas on the corner of Sixth and Broadway in downtown Austin, on a 6-by-4-foot cart that we built ourselves around a charcoal grill. We did that Thursday through Sunday nights and loved every minute of it. This was way before the fajita craze hit, way before the food trucks hit. In those days, Sixth Street was the spot to go to for restaurants and bars. We were just a bunch of kids cooking what we enjoyed cooking, drinking beer, and hopefully making some money.

Were you successful? [Laughs.] At all three! We did that for three years, on weekends. We had other jobs, but this was our passion, so we thought, Why not?

What all did you serve off the cart? Beef fajitas with tortillas, pico de gallo, and salsa, in paper boats. That’s it. That’s all we needed to do. It was like, How many you want?

What did that transition into? Into me working in different Mexican restaurants down there. My dad was a cook, working split shifts. He worked at some great places—and was a great cook—but he never took the chance to open his own place, despite our nagging him to do so. He never wanted to take that risk or borrow that kind of money. So he worked for other people his whole career. One of the first places I worked with him was the now-famous El Arroyo. They gave the keys to the kitchen over to my dad and told him, Just do what you do. That’s where he came up with his famous jalapeño hushpuppies. That place was—and still is—great. I’d show up there in the afternoon, telling my dad I was on a program where I only went to school in the morning and worked a job in the afternoon. Well, that program existed, but I wasn’t in it. Unfortunately, I didn’t care about school. I wanted to work. I wanted the money.

Did you stay in school? I actually dropped out of school as a sophomore. My saving grace was a high school counselor who stopped by the house one day to ask my parents why I wasn’t in school. My parents didn’t know. They got me out of bed, and he said, I don’t care what you do in life, but you’re going to graduate from high school if I have anything to do about it. He took me back to school and told me about the work-study program I already knew about and signed me up. I have him to thank for finishing high school.

Then what? More restaurant jobs, all Mexican places. I did work for a time as a courier for a title company, then a title examiner, but I would work in restaurants at night, because that was my passion. One of my favorites was working for the Arredondo family at their Casita Jorge restaurants, which were extremely popular in central Texas. I remember they served margaritas with Everclear in them. You were only allowed to order two.

How did you transition from Austin to St. Louis? It’s funny. My wife got a job when she was on vacation in Austin and moved there at the age of 18. I met her when she was working in one of the Jorge’s restaurants, and she encouraged me to take my talents to the St. Louis area, where she was from, since Tex-Mex restaurants in Austin were a dime a dozen. We moved back here together.

And picked up a restaurant job? I first took a job at Sym’s Department store, working for Sy Syms. You have to remember those ads “Sym’s, where an educated consumer is our best customer.” Great people to work for. I think I was 26. On my days off, I’d drive around checking out restaurant locations. One day, I saw, “Café For Sale. Dogtown. Cheap.” I thought, Hey, if nothing else I’ll find out what and where Dogtown is. The place in question was a greasy spoon called the Ten K Café: 1,600 square feet and the owner wanted out. There was a ton of traffic on Clayton Avenue, which was a thoroughfare at the time, and his place wasn’t attracting them. I think he was asking something like $10K for the business; I made him an offer, met the landlord, and agreed on the rent. No attorneys, he said. Handshake, $500 a month, and he stuck out his hand. If it doesn’t work, you tell me, and I’ll find somebody else. I immediately asked my dad if he wanted to come up from Austin to help me run it and that I probably would decline if he didn’t. He could stay with us for awhile, I said, and if it didn’t work out, we move on. So I bit the bullet. I named the place Chuy Arzola’s, after my father, a guy who never had his own place. He was only supposed help me for a year. He stayed here for 17. We both got to live his dream. 

Talk about the early days. I had almost no money, so we cobbled the place together. There were green tabletops, pink walls. I hired the guy who sold me the business to work as a waiter and two people from Sym’s who had zero restaurant experience. I told the people in the kitchen to just listen to my dad and we’ll be fine. But we had a very slow start. Agonizing. Gut-wrenching. Months of it being slow. I really began to second-guess myself. I was thinking, if I can’t handle $500 a month, maybe I shouldn’t be in the business. I should go back to Sym’s. My wife convinced me to persevere, that the people I’d hired believed in me. I just needed that reinforcement. So I started handing out fajita tacos: Here, take this. Take this back to Deaconess [Hospital]. Here’s my flyer. I started taking food to radio and TV stations.

Did it work? It did. We didn’t have advertising dollars, so we were relying on word of mouth. It took several months, but more and more people started coming in. Then some friends in the business, who were regulars, thought that Joe Pollack would like it, too, and gave him a call. They said after his second visit, a review would be imminent, so double the staff and double the food orders. Chances are you’ll need it. If not, you fix what needs fixing. So I posted a photo of Joe on the wall and instructed the staff that he was to be treated just like any other customer. This was 1989.

How was Pollack’s review and the response? He loved the place. I had been in the process of hiring more staff, and Thursday night was busy as hell. Friday night was a shitshow. A woman we hired to make some café curtains came in to measure the windows, and she asked my wife how she wanted her to proceed. She told her she could “proceed to bus that table over there with me, and we’ll talk about it.” This gal had waitress experience, so she started taking orders at tables, having no idea what we even served. I’m working the line, and she comes up with her order pad, asking what pico de something was. I said, Pico de gallo? She said, “Yeah, and they want the green stuff.” I said, Guacamole? She said, “Yes, my name is Mary, and your wife just hired me.” She worked for us for years and years—and never made the curtains.

So did Chuy’s continue to stay busy after Pollack’s review? For decades. And Joe Pollack was the catalyst. I remember the Friday night after the review, my wife was sitting at the end of the bar crying—one, because she was so happy, and two, because she was so damn tired.

There is such a thing as being too busy. On one Saturday night early on, I saw we were getting low on food, so I told my wife, who was running the door, not to put any more people on the waiting list. We scribbled something like, “Good for one free queso or margarita. Please come see us again” on some business cards and handed them out. She said that people were happy that we were being so honest and thoughtful. I just remember us handing out a lot of cards that night—but we didn’t run out of food.

Regardless of that review, people came to Chuy’s and returned? What made the place so magical? We treated people like they were guests in my house or, better still, in my grandmother’s house. We thought of you as family just for walking in the door. It was genuine, and people could feel that. We didn’t care who you were or where you came from. A dollar was a dollar, and we had to earn it. People also enjoyed that my dad, the namesake, came out front after he stopped cooking to say hello to people. Our family emphasized that we were in the people business and just happened to serve food.

Chuy’s fajitas were different than others. What made them so? Our style was a reaction to other fajitas I had experienced, steamy theatrics that were chock-full of onions and peppers but little meat. That was my biggest gripe. My dad wanted to serve them traditionally, with onions and peppers, “like they do in Texas.” I had to reminded him we’re not in Texas anymore and to trust me on this. If you order a pound of fajitas, we’ll serve you a pound of fajita meat, and you can get the onions and peppers if you want, on the side, at no cost. If the food is good and people are getting value, they will come back. They won’t come rushing back for a platter of onions and peppers. And the meat itself better be good. We use skirt steak or a top flat meat, marinate it for at least 72 hours, flat grill it, and slice it.

What’s in the marinade? I can’t say—or rather, I won’t say.

Did customers ever give you any grief for not serving fajitas the traditional way? Not when they realized that we were happy to bring them out, no charge, which made ours look like an even bigger value.

How did Chuy’s make its margaritas? We didn’t have a liquor license when we opened, so we played around with different ingredients and liquors, handed them out to customers, and asked what they thought. That led to the secret recipe we ended up using. We made them every day in 5-gallon batches and served them by the pitcher and in one size of glass—a beer mug because they were both inexpensive and indestructible. I was never a small, medium, and large guy. I like things simple.  

How long was Chuy’s open, and what were the reasons it closed? Nineteen years and for several reasons, mainly the '07–'08 recession and the Highway 40 closure, which I didn’t think would affect us, but it did. We lost 65 percent of our dinner business. I also tried to expand the footprint at a time when I shouldn’t have and it cost us.

Talk about authentic or traditional Mexican versus Tex-Mex. Where did Chuy’s fall on that continuum? Tex-Mex, for sure. More sauces, more cheese, yellow cheese instead of cotija and chihuahua. 

Did you help your son Coby with Agave, his first restaurant? Agave was all Coby. I was just there for moral support and because I was the Arzola face that most people would recognize. Agave was one of the best restaurants I’ve ever eaten at to this day. The carnitas, the elevated drinks—even the filet—were excellent. The guacamole? Incredible. It was way ahead of its time, especially considering that The Grove had not quite arrived.

What did you do after getting out of the restaurant industry for a time? I worked for FedEx for awhile. I sold cars for five years in Metro East... I [later] took a job with Human Support Services in Monroe County, working with people with intellectually disabilities. It was a job I loved that was three minutes from home. I miss it to this day, but it wasn’t my passion. Then Coby, who’s now in real estate, called and asked me to look at a piece of property that he was considering buying. There was a former wine bar [Ernesto’s] next to the building in question, so I was pretty sure where this was heading.

Did Coby miss the business? Was that part of his decision-making process? I think he missed that type of interacting with people, but my wife told me this, and I believe her: I think he did it for me. He knew I was fine doing what I was doing, but he knew I had one more restaurant in me. He said he was thinking a small space that sold fajitas, margaritas, and the handful appetizers we’re known for—a greatest-hits kind of place.

And you were in. Yes, I’m a simple guy, and this is a simple concept.

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Photo by George Mahe

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Describe the interior and patio. One room, 45 seats, a small bar, a quick-service model. There’s some ironwork on the walls and bar. The existing brick walls will remain, sealed but otherwise untouched. The three-season patio will have a permanent roof, temporary walls, and another 45 seats. We’ll roast onions and peppers on the built-in fireplace.

What parts came from Agave? The upscale, fresh-juice, hand-shaken margaritas. The presentation and the level at which you run service. Agave had the best service staff around at that time, thanks to Coby and his husband, Derek [Fatheree]. They both own service businesses and know how it’s done. Derek also is in charge of the business end, the tech, branding, and marketing. He and Coby also have an eye for design. Guests will see that.

What parts came from Chuy’s? The steak, chicken, shrimp, and fajitas, as well as the jalapeño hushpuppies, Spanish rice, charro beans, and chili con queso, which many Chuy’s customers called “the sauce of life.” Our chef, Tanya Keys, who owned The Little Dipper sandwich shop, is marinating sweet potatoes and roasting them on the flat-top as part of the seasonal veggie fajita. They’re unbelievable. I would never have thought of that. She’s also tinkered with the rice and the charro beans. She’s unbelievable.

Is the margarita at Chuy’s the same one that’s now made at Fajitas & Margaritas? The same but tweaked. The Chuy’s margarita graduated into a fresher version at Agave, swapping lime concentrate with fresh lime juice. In turn, Agave’s product graduated into the one we use here.

Who’s one person you really respect in the industry? Cary McDowell. If I ever came across a shitload of money, I told him what I would do: I’d say, Hey Cary, let’s go. You and I are opening a spot, whatever you want to do. I believe in the guy that much.

Is it a good time to get into the business? Yes, especially if you focus on an everyday place. And make sure you keep it affordable, or it will cease to be that.

What’s next on the drawing board? What concept makes sense? This one does for sure. We feel there’s a need and a market for this. We’re the only ones who can screw this up.

Arzola's Fajitas + Margaritas

2730 McNair Avenue, St Louis, Missouri 63118

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