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Hoofin’ it over to Safeway on a lovely Monday, I pass the restaurant I mentioned in my maiden blog.

There has been some progress since that post. It appears that the new eatery is open, though, oddly, it’s closed for the advertised lunch trade. The awning over the door sports a new and nicely printed panel with “Now Open,” the new name and hours, and the tagline “All American Cuisine.” Just below the awning, a big banner bearing the words “1/2 Pound Hamburger and Fries, $5.95” flaps in the breeze. A free-standing blackboard advertises a blues band on Friday nights. (No more hookah lounge. Darn!)

Despite these efforts, the place has an unfinished feeling. The big palms still stand sentry by the door in their gorgeous, ornate pots—too heavy to move, I guess. The name of the old restaurant still appears on the windows, and so do those cheesy-looking stick-on letters with the hours. Peering through the window, I see that the place still looks Mediterranean. As I turn and walk away, I notice that the sign on the roof refers to the place as “All American California Cuisine.” A small inconsistency, but an inconsistency nonetheless.

Lest you think I’m being a bit mean-spirited about branding snafus, let me say that I’m rooting for the place to survive and thrive. My neighborhood could use good saloon food and entertainment, and the owners and employees are nice, hard-working people. You should have seen their pride when they first opened their doors six months ago.

So, I’ll clap my hands and wish for the best. It saved Tinkerbell, but it may not work as well here. As my sister-in-law Betty says, if you’re going to change your identity, don’t do it half way and then stop.

More years ago than I care to think about, I sold Dictaphone dictation equipment in Washington, D.C. I was probably the most inept saleswoman the company had ever hired, but in two-and-a-half years I learned a thing or two about the sales process.

So let me tell you about a great experience I had this weekend. You could say that I ended up selling myself with a little help from the salesman, and when you think about it, that’s probably the best way to be sold on anything.

On Saturday morning, I walked into the downtown San Mateo Footwear etc. store with the idea that I’d like to check out MBTs—those funny-looking things with the rocker soles. I’d tried on a similar style of Sketchers at Kohl’s, but with the annoying security tags they stick on athletic shoes, it was well-nigh impossible to get an accurate idea of either the concept or the fit.

The Footwear etc. salesman greeted me with a pleasant smile, and we got down to business. It took about half an hour to get the right fit and to get in some practice walking (as on the deck of a ship). In the process, Bryce and I yakked it up in fractured French and Spanish as we discovered that we both love to talk and adore foreign languages. Bryce listened carefully, too, and was exquisitely patient. He knew exactly when to slip in a quick benefit statement and why I would perceive it as such. He didn’t flinch when I decided to try on the much cheaper Sketchers. He held steady, as a good salesperson does, until I realized that the MBT shoes just plain fit better.

I walked out walkin’ tall, y’all. But just as important, I walked out with a good feeling, a sense of relationship, and not a single shred of buyer’s remorse.

Ay caramba! I love to eat. I particularly like the Mexican food served in cheap neighborhood places frequented by those who work physically hard for a living.

But what does this all have to do with branding, you ask? Quite a lot, it turns out. Let me offer up Los Primos Taqueria on San Mateo’s Ellsworth Street (near Poplar for those of you who want to swing by) as an example of branding done right.

There’s no confusion about what Los Primos is—in stark contrast to the restaurant I wrote about in an earlier post. What you get is consistency from start to finish.

The first thing you see when you walk up is “Home-made, authentic Mexican food” hand painted on the plate-glass window. Then you step through the door and are hit by the wonderful aroma of beans, frying tortillas, and carne. Proceeding on to the cash register, you catch a glimpse of the grill cook at work and hear a telenovela or soccer game blasting on the two big TVs. Then there’s the food. Boy, is it good!

Everything about Los Primos, from the patrons grabbing a hearty meal and a beer at lunch to the collection box for a sick relative in Mexico, tells you exactly what you’ll get, great food in a no-frills, workingman’s café.

Whether it’s fancy, polished, or not, I think that’s the essence of branding. A promise, a consistent look and feel, and always-on delivery. Los Primos has it right. I stop by every week, as much for the experience as the food—though you will probably never catch me sampling the menudo. That’s for the boys in long pants, as my grad school dean used to say.

I fall in love too easily. With words and phrases, that is. Maybe it’s because I’m a copywriter, but I don’t think so…

What I’m talking about in this post are all the words and expressions we slip slide into our everyday speech. “That guy is as dumb as a box of rocks,” when we think our Golden Retriever might be smarter than a casual acquaintance, or “Tarry awhile,” when we want someone to hang around a bit longer. In short, the things we say that add richness and color and nuance and all the other good stuff to a human interchange.

The other day, I was having lunch with a friend who thinks that all the fun is being leached out of the language. He was referring to corporate-speak, I think, which can certainly take the joy out of most everything. (Ever winced when you’ve heard someone ask, “How can we language that?”)

In the investigative spirit, I sat down with a friend and her son, Phillino, at Starbucks just a few days after this conversation. Without a huge amount of trouble, we came up with a great, if short, list. Among the entries:

• You git what you git, and you don’t throw a fit.
• Another country heard from… (Thanks to my late mom)
• You’re in a world of trouble.
• Whazzup, dude?
• He’s in deep kimchee (or doo-doo, take your pick)
• Burning the candle at both ends (Thanks to Edna St. Vincent Millay)
• No half-stepping
• Upside the head

I spent a lot of time during my formative years in Virginia and Louisiana, so I’ve got a particular love of Southernisms. One of my faves is “hissy fit,” and you don’t have one, you pitch one. As in “Mom pitched a hissy fit when she saw my new nose ring.”

O.K., your turn now. I’m fixin’ to go off and get me some lunch.

The other day, a visit to Safeway got me thinking about branding, especially brands in transition.

On the way there, I walked past a restaurant that’s changing from one identity to another. The Mediterranean theme hadn’t worked, though the place was lovely and had a great menu. About a month ago, the owners announced they were going to rename it and serve “California Cuisine” instead.

So, the new venue had opened, but if you’d blinked while walking by, you’d have missed that. If you’d stopped, as I did, to take a closer look, you might have been confused. The awning over the door displayed the old name. The gorgeous, hand-painted Mediterranean motif still appeared on the front window. Those temporary-looking stick-on letters displayed the new name, and a hand-made paper sign with new hours was taped to the door. I proceeded on.

The Safeway in my neighborhood is changing, too—becoming a more upscale “lifestyle” store with fewer brands to choose from. During the process, everything has become hard to find. As I was scratching my head in front of the dairy cooler, searching for my favorite brand of soy milk, Sam from the meat department stopped to ask if he could help. He located what I wanted in the proverbial trice, and we had a quick conversation about how much he likes the soon-to-be-new store. The check-out process was just as pleasant. Loni, the assistant manager, and I chatted for a moment, and I left with a warm feeling. The changes Safeway HQ instituted a few years ago—you know, calling you by name, asking if you need help with your bags, and escorting you to the right shelf to find an item—seemed a little forced at first, but now they feel right. And, of course, they reinforce the Safeway brand of quality and service.

As I walked home past the restaurant, I thought about how the owners could have managed the transformation—and their brand—better. We’re all running flat-out these days, but with a bit of planning and a little after-hours work, the new restaurant could have opened with a new look and feel. You could argue that Safeway has more resources than a small business and can do a better job of branding, but I disagree. It’s really all about knowing what you want to convey about your business and finding the simplest and most direct way to do it.