Casa Bonita and the Magical Veil of Childhood

If you grew up near Denver, you probably visited Casa Bonita at some point in your childhood. Maybe, like me, you were lucky enough to visit once or twice every couple of years, for a birthday party or a special night out with family—not so frequently that it lost its appeal, but often enough to create a colorful tapestry of memories.

For those unfamiliar with Denver, Casa Bonita is a Mexican restaurant located in an unlikely strip mall west of the city proper, situated today between a dollar store and a Pizza Hut. It opened in 1974, part of a chain that started in Oklahoma City in 1968. It had a pink, 85-foot tall, castle-like facade and a cavernous interior that surprised early visitors with its 52,000-square-foot size and unique decor and atmosphere. Grottoes, gardens, and a 30-foot waterfall were some of the restaurant’s unexpected features.

In my memory, Casa Bonita held a lofty spot unrivaled by other childhood attractions. Visits there meant dimly lit caves with glow necklaces and colorful lights; a dank, musty smell, with nooks promising pirates and hidden treasures; cliff divers with fantastical talents; and cloud-like sopapillas drizzled with warm honey. I can still summon the smells, the excitement, and the delight that was found only there, only by the kids among us.

My brother, Nick, told me recently that his memory of Casa Bonita felt like being transported into another world. It fit neatly in a singular place also occupied by a movie, perhaps the most iconic one of our childhood, The Goonies, which was about a lost, hidden pirate ship filled with ancient treasure. At Casa Bonita, my brother and I felt like the kids in that movie, adventuring and exploring and discovering treasure upon treasure. Pirates, cliff divers, secret places, warm sopapillas: a place could not have been more enticing to any child.

I’ll never forget the feeling, though, of returning to Casa Bonita as an adult. I was in my early twenties, out of college, dating a boyfriend who also grew up in Denver. We decided on a whim to return to the scene of our childhood dreams and have a date night at Casa Bonita. Surely, the magic that awaited would transport us back to the thrilling visits of our past.

Instead, when I visited that night with my boyfriend, it was like waking up from a dream: Had we made a mistake? Could this really have been the same place that I loved in childhood? Back inside, instead of feeling transported or thrilled, I felt mostly grossed out: it seemed unclean, the food was ghastly, and the cliff divers wore cheap, unceremonious swimsuits that felt ridiculously out of place. It smelled bad and the caves and tunnels were more icky than magical. It was intensely disappointing and anticlimactic to see the place in this new, dimly harsh light.

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While Casa Bonita did end up in disrepair before its bankruptcy in 2020, I think my rude awakening there was the result of more than the bombardment of physical reality and restaurant mismanagement.

I’ve come to believe that a veil exists over each of us in childhood, perhaps more pronounced for some sensitive and imaginative souls, which allows magic to exist, and Santa Claus to bring our Christmas gifts, and cartoons like The Smurfs—my personal favorite of childhood Saturday mornings—to transport us to another, highly plausible world.

Beneath that veil, more than just believing in Santa Claus, as a kid the entirety of Christmas felt so magical it was difficult to hold the excitement. The anticipation of getting longed-for toys and gifts was due to more than greed; it was about delight and grace and seeing our dreams made manifest. Christmas movies and the Charlie Brown classic and even TV commercials during Christmastime felt special in some undefinable way. I attribute that perception to the childhood veil, the beautiful gossamer shield between us and garish commercialism.

I’m not sure at what age the veil lifts, and I imagine it’s different for each soul; maybe it happens around age ten, when we cease being purely kids and start dipping our toes in the murky waters of puberty and sexual maturity. I don’t think the veil lifts all at once, either, but gradually, in stages, in such a way as not to be jarring and traumatic. I see it lifting for my daughter, an innocent and childlike person in the best way; she’s almost twelve, and I try not to mourn as she transitions into more wisdom, more awareness, and more complexity of emotion. It’s a tough place to sit as a parent, and as a human, seeing that lovely veil dissolve into nothingness.

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Thankfully, though, I comfort myself by remembering the veil still exists for countless children around the world, and may exist for my children again through their own kids. Like so many aspects of life, as Ponyboy Curtis quoted Robert Frost, “Nothing gold can stay.” But knowing golden, pure things exist is beautiful and necessary for each of us.

I feel an immense gratitude to Trey Parker and Matt Stone, the creators of South Park and Colorado natives who rescued Casa Bonita from restaurant oblivion, restoring it to the magical place of their childhood remembering. (If you’re unfamiliar with their fantastic acquisition, this New York Times piece profiles it delightfully.) Now, thanks to Trey and Matt and the new team at the helm, new generations of kids can visit Casa Bonita, experiencing anew that magical realm while their parents enjoy highly adequate Mexican food, margaritas, and mariachi tunes.

I returned again shortly after the restaurant’s overhaul, along with my husband and two kids, then aged nine and seven. I felt like a kid myself in anticipation of my own children experiencing this unique place, newly restored in a way that far exceeded my once-dashed expectations.

This summer, when my brother and his family were visiting from California, we returned to Casa Bonita on his maiden voyage since childhood, along with his wife and three boys. A magical time was had by all, and I basked in the joy of seeing my children, my nephews, and so many others running from caves to waterfall and back again, beneath that glorious, lovely, oh-so-fleeting veil.