Eighty-six the enchiladas and margaritas, and you might guess that this were one of Houston’s classic steakhouses or perhaps a French brasserie, with its baroque deep reds, dark golds, plush carpet, and even plusher curtains. It’s so pretentious that there’s not even a sign for the restaurant—on the door or anywhere else. If you’re exclusive enough to find the way in, you’ll find servers looking sharp in close-fitting black clothing. We absolutely love the large, secluded banquettes; snag one in the corner and you’ve got the best view in the house.

It seems like every expensive restaurant in Houston feels the need to serve a high-priced filet mignon, as if it’s some sort of signal of success in life—here, following suit, we have the “Armandos Cut.” But we like Armandos more for its Tex-Mex, and, above all, the good (if unpredictable) margaritas; on an on-night, they’re nice and tart, but on an off-night, they taste more like sour mix and less like fresh lime. Queso’s consistency just thick enough; beef fajitas come with well-seasoned meat that could be a touch be more tender; chicken verde enchiladas have dry chicken but competent sauce. But the food is almost beside the point. It’s mostly a compelling—and in a certain way, romantic—atmosphere for margaritas.