I’m Johnny, the Cranky Coquí. I grew up on porch laughter, the clink of cheap‑rum glasses, and food made by hands that remembered who they were feeding. Over time I watched things change—restaurants trading flavor and history for flashy photos, $15–$20 cocktails, and a dizzy parade of “fusion” dishes that forgot their roots. Even handing a $20 bill over and receiving change is unheard of. Waiters that used to joke with you at the table or are genuinely concerned about you since your last visit, have been replaced by handheld tablets and no knowledge of the food they sell. The food they should hold dear to their heart. The stories and laughter have been removed from an act we should cherish most. The act of dining out. 

For a while I was so tired of it all I stayed home and ate on my porch, savoring the memories. But good food and good company are meant to be shared. So, I packed a leaf‑wrapped lunch, hopped north to Wallingford, Connecticut, and found a couple sketching a different kind of place: honest drinks at fair prices, food that actually tastes like something, and warm service that makes you feel welcome.

It’s time to get back out there—and share those stories and flavors with the world. Pull up a chair and relax.

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— Johnny,

the Cranky Coquí