Embarking on a culinary voyage, my wife and I, spurred by the echoes of online commendations, eagerly ventured into the realms of Senorita Mexican Kitchen and Tequila Bar. The warm embrace of the restaurant's atmosphere, adorned with the rustic charm of repurposed pallets as furniture, set the stage for what we hoped would be a memorable dining experience.

As a devoted enthusiast of fish tacos, my gaze fixated on the alluring promise of mahi tacos. Intrigued, I also delved into the Yucatan shrimp tacos, driven by the allure of freshness. Before sealing our culinary fate, a crucial inquiry regarding the origin of the seafood revealed an assurance of freshness. However, as the plates arrived, my discerning senses raised an alarm.

Fresh fish, in its pristine glory, boasts a clean oceanic scent—a sensory symphony that was conspicuously absent. The anticipated firmness in texture, characteristic of just-caught seafood, was replaced by an unsettling mushiness, betraying the promise of culinary excellence.

Contemplating an alternative path through the menu, the reliable beacon of carnitas tacos beckoned. Yet, even in this transition, the Yucatan shrimp tacos failed to weave a tale of culinary delight for my wife, leaving a trail of muted impressions.

The prelude to our culinary escapade was set by the commendable chips and salsa, a delightful overture that, unfortunately, foreshadowed the unfolding narrative. As I indulged in my mahi taco, priced at $17.**, the promise of an exquisite experience came to an abrupt end when our waiter unceremoniously discarded its remnants into the depths of a trash bin.

The unsettling aftermath became apparent as we patiently awaited the box for my remaining taco. A disconcerting revelation surfaced when, after a 10-minute lapse, we flagged down the waiter, only to discover that the uneaten portion had met an untimely demise in the bin—a perplexing choice, especially given the $8.** value of the discarded culinary creation.

In this delicate dance between expectation and reality, the waiter's apology, though sincere, failed to fully mend the culinary misstep. The acknowledgment of a prolonged wait at the outset added another layer of complexity to an evening marred by disappointment.

As we settled our bill with cash, priced at $50 and change, a poignant realization lingered—an unspoken pact shattered by the cavalier disposal of a taco, emblematic of the broader culinary experience. Reflecting on the echoes of other diners who shared similar sentiments in person, the dissonance between online acclaim and real-time experiences became palpable.

This review, narrated with candor, seeks not to condemn but to illuminate. For those who tread the path to Senorita Mexican Kitchen, may this account serve as a vivid guide through the complexities of expectation and reality. As for us, the refrain of "never again" echoes in our departure, a sentiment cast not in animosity but in the spirit of fostering an informed culinary journey for all who heed these words.