To call Jorge’s décor eclectic would be putting it lightly: cheap, tinny sort-of chandeliers; corrugated aluminum siding and stones; a general melée of folk art. It’d be festive if not for the filthy floors, torn pleather tablecloths, and the thick coating of caked-on yuck fogging the menus. Perhaps owing to the half dozen TVs and sometimes-verdant patio, Jorge’s is still a happy-hour hot spot, despite how easy it is to pay way too much for substandard food, drinks, and service.

Everything is priced much higher than at better Tex-Mex restaurants. A “Tampico Plate” samples the range of blandness: two 8-inch flautas rendered soggy from a non-descript “española sauce” of onions and tomatoes; a damp chalupa whose undersalted guacamole chills the refried beans and melted cheese beneath it; and a chile relleno that is so scraped clean of any chile flavor or heat that you will resort to hunting through the greasy ground beef for a seed or two like a dope fiend in a shag carpet. Pozole arrives with a promising deep red broth that fails to deliver, and overcooked chunks of pork.

The happy hour specials vary daily, but even $5 is too much for a top-shelf margarita that tastes like salty lemonade. Jorge’s used to be an acceptable, cheaper alternative to Fonda across the way—but now? No way, Jorge.