Steak Fajitas, Margaritas, and the Kind of Friends Who Matter Most

An evening at El Caporal in Bend that reminded us what really counts.

There’s a strange irony to living in the most connected time in human history — because somehow, despite the constant buzz of notifications and social feeds, it’s never been easier to feel alone. We know what someone from our first-grade class had for breakfast, but we haven’t actually spoken to them in 20 years. And somehow, the people we do want to talk to — our actual friends — feel harder and harder to reach.

That’s why nights like this one matter.

El Caporal on Bend’s east side wasn’t just the place we grabbed dinner — it became the setting for a celebration of something real: friendship. One of our closest friends, Hanna, was back in town for a visit from Wisconsin, and that was reason enough to rally the crew. And this crew? These are the kind of friends you tell everything to. The kind who get you, who know your weird jokes and your favorite taco order, who will absolutely take a bite of your plate without asking — and you don’t even care. You love them for it.

We showed up hungry and left full — of food, of course, but also of joy and stories and that rare sense of “wow, I needed that.”

Let’s talk about the food for a second though, because El Caporal delivered.

We started with crispy chips and salsa, because let’s be real — you have to. The beer was served ice-cold in a giant frosty mug, complete with a lime wedge, as if to say, “You’ve made it. You’re here. Relax.” And the margaritas? One of us had a tamarindo one (we think?), which had this sweet-tangy kick and was dusted with Tajín. It was so good we kept passing it around like a community treasure.

Then came the sizzling skillet of steak fajitas, still smoking as it hit the table. The smell alone could start a standing ovation. It came with rice, refried beans, guac, pico, sour cream — the whole colorful, glorious lineup. We all ended up sampling each other’s plates (because why wouldn’t you?) and laughing at who ended up stealing the last bite of something they didn’t even order.

But it wasn’t just the flavors or the drinks or the sombrero they plopped on our birthday friend’s head that made the night unforgettable.

It was the fact that we were all together.

We talked about what had hurt us that week. What excited us. The random news story we couldn’t stop thinking about. We toasted to Hanna being in town, and to the friendships that brought us to that table in the first place. We didn’t scroll. We didn’t rush. We just were.

And that got me thinking: somewhere along the way, we stopped making space for this kind of thing.

Once upon a time, eating together wasn’t rare — it was how humans lived. In ancient Greece, communal feasts were central to society. In early villages, families and neighbors gathered nightly, not just to eat, but to share life. Across every culture, the table was the hub — where stories were told, where problems were solved, where people showed up for each other.

Now? We eat on the go. We text instead of talk. We doom-scroll while chewing microwave meals. But I’m convinced: eating together is a lost love language.

It’s one of the few moments in life where you’re fully present. Where your hands are busy, your mouth is full, and your heart is (hopefully) open. You share food, sure — but you also share stories, confessions, dumb jokes, little victories, and big heartbreaks. You leave not just fed, but seen.

So here’s my gentle challenge: call a friend. Text the group chat. Book the reservation. Or better yet, don’t even wait for a special occasion. Make being together the reason.

And if you’re looking for a spot? El Caporal is waiting. Bring your appetite and your people — and maybe don’t forget to order those steak fajitas. Just be prepared to share.

Because moments like these — they’re the ones that stick with you.