Posts from the ‘Mexican’ Category

Feb 20

Carnitas Uruapan & Birrieria Reyes de Ocotlán

1/2 There’s a tendency to believe that shops focusing on one item must be masters. Like you don’t want to buy banh mi where you get your pho, and the same goes for sushi and ramen. Of course there are tons of bad pizzerias, which kind of ruins this theory.

While on mini-vacation I did some single-minded sampling in Chicago’s Pilsen neighborhood. Clueless whiners eat at Benny’s Burritos and Señor Swanky's, then complain that there’s no good Mexican food in NYC. That’s completely untrue, but the good stuff congregates in pockets and our immigrants tend to come from only a few regions, Puebla in particular. Chicago seems to have a little of everything, geographically, and treats we definitely don’t have. Since I only had two days in the city and my stomach is only so iron-clad, I decided to just try two dishes: Michoacán carnitas and Jalisco-style birria.

First we stopped at Carnitas Uruapan. It’s on the same block as the 18th Street el stop and you can spy the red white and green storefront from the air. If you didn’t know what carnitas were, you’d quickly get a rough idea based on the pig paraphernalia decorating the otherwise spartan room. It’s hard not to chuckle at the horrors portrayed comically: pigs cooking each other in a caldron, an angry knife-wielding chef chasing talking piglets and a bas relief sculpture of pigs nuzzling each other…so sweet…never mind the ribbons of fried pork rinds encased in glass inches behind my head.

Year of the pig aside, pork is having its foodie heyday. Though anyone who’s ever eaten Filipino lechon, Latin American chicharrones or Chinese pork belly or my favorite, Thai crispy pork with chiles and basil, is well acquainted with the crackly, fatty appeal.

There are variations, but essentially carnitas are chunks of pork that have been simmered in fat until meltingly tender, then crisped up through roasting. They’re a typical taco filling but I’d never been to an establishment wholly devoted to the fruits of this oily labor. At Uruapan you can get them in tacos or buy them by the pound. We split a pound of mixed bits. They ask if you only want meat. Not exclusively wanting meat means you also get skin, snouts, ears and heaven’s knows what else. Whole hog, for sure.

I seriously could’ve eaten the whole plateful myself but then I would’ve been useless for our second stop. Whole pickled jalapeños, red salsa and tortillas are the only accompaniments. We could’ve stood for a little chopped white onion and cilantro, though our self-made rollups didn’t suffer without. Our plate of meat easily yielded ten tacos. I hate mints and love caramel so the after-meal cajeta lollipop made me like Carnitas Uruapan even more.

It was only half a mile in a straight line to get to Birrieria Reyes de Ocotlán but we almost froze to death on the icy journey–remind me not to complain about brutal NYC weather. I would’ve been more excited about the prospect of warming goaty consommé strewn with meat, scattered onion and cilantro and a squeeze of lime if I hadn’t just loaded up on the other white meat. I ordered a small bowl to share with James but he hardly touched it because we only had one spoon and he was preoccupied with his BlackBerry (I couldn’t really complain because he was subsidizing most of this 48-hour excursion and hadn’t taken time off work. I guess his office assumed he was working from home).

I’ve only eaten goat a couple times in my life but that’s more of a scarcity than a scared issue. I’m not sure why Americans are so grossed out by goat meat, we don’t even really eat lamb—it’s too gamey, I suppose. But purportedly, it’s low fat (on a recent F-Word, Janet Street Porter showed up with goat at a Weight Watchers meeting to convince British dieters of its charms) so I told myself that I was balancing out the badness of the previous pork fest.

Orange-brothed birria is soothing and fortifying. There’s nothing offensive about the flavor, which is slightly sweet and not really lamb-y in the least. I’d love a bowl for breakfast and that would most definitely bug out coworkers (this Times piece about eating at your desk irritated the hell out of me, and this quote in particular “‘When I’m interviewing someone and I see their bones protruding, I know it’s a good hire,’ he said. ‘They’re extremely disciplined.’” Er, or have emotional problems. Eating habits aren’t anyone else’s business in the workplace, though I will admit to being dismayed at my current soon-to-end job where no ones takes lunches at all. Seriously, no one eats or takes breaks. I bring yogurt, granola bars and apples from home to eat at my desk because they’re inoffensive and inexpensive. I’m going to get smelly, greasy Cuban food tomorrow–see ya, suckers).

I’d like to figure out tortilla eating etiquette. I was trying to watch how two women seated across the room were consuming their flattened corn disks. With a soupy dish it seems like you might dip pieces in the broth or maybe tuck some shreds of meat into a substantial torn off wedge. Even so, I might use three tortillas total. Four if I was making an effort. But you’re brought a stack of eight or so and halfway through your meal you’re asked if you want more. No más, gracias, I’m going to explode. Is one person really supposed to consume eight-plus tortillas? I love my starch, but that seems excessive.

Both Carnitas Uruapan and Birrieria Reyes de Ocotlán tickled me with devotion to few items done well and their sense of humor about the animals being served as food. A taxidermied goat head with a toothpick in its mouth and pigs stewing each other are the best anthropomorphic antics I’ve seen beyond southern barbecue signage.

Carnitas Uruapan * 1725 W. 18th St., Chicago, IL

Birrieria Reyes de Ocotlán * 1322 W. 18th St., Chicago, IL

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Feb 12

Itzocan Bistro

Occasionally, I wonder why I rarely go uptown, and after four subways and over an hour standing, I remembered why. Bone-chilling weather and the F, J, 4 and 6 trains do somehow bolster the appetite.

And you could do worse than Mexican ingredients, French technique and Bryan Adams’s greatest hits (segueing into the best of Paula Abdul) serenading you while you eat. I started with a goat cheese flan with epazote and jalapeño. I had expected a more literal silky flan texture, but the queso de cabra disk was more crumbly like a cheesecake quiche hybrid. The crumbles were more suited to eating with toast and lettuce, anyway.

I really wanted the ancho crusted duck breast but I had convinced myself that seafood would be marginally healthier and suitable for the weather, so I chose the jalapeño and oregano dotted pozole with mussels, snapper and giant head on shrimp instead. It was certainly in a different class than a weekends-only, hominy-heavy soup you might find at a tacqueria.

Lately I’ve been austerely attempting wine or dessert not and but Itzocan’s sweets didn’t sound run of the mill and I was happy to see that they hadn’t gone molten on me. Thankfully, no soft-centered, Mexican chocolate, cinnamon spiced cakes were to be found. We did go the chocolate cake route, though, sampling a rich tequila flavored version with brown sugar ice cream.

On the F ride back home I spied that recent Look Book guy with walrusy facial hair (I’m still not clear why he merited a meta second look elsewhere) doing a crossword from one of those paperback puzzle books. At least it wasn’t Sudoku, I guess. I hovered near his prime seat because I’d pegged him for someone who’d get off at Delancey and I was right. It’s one of the few skills I have, deducing who’ll get off sooner on the subway and positioning myself accordingly. I just hope I didn't pick up any bedbugs.

Itzocan Bistro * 1575 Lexington Ave., New York, NY

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Jan 22

Tacos Matamoros

1/2 I can only say so much about tacos (which isn’t to say that others have no problem filling this niche. I envy single-minded bloggers—I’m way too scattered for such focus and devotion. I fear it’s a case of jack-of-a-few-trades, master of none). This is just an addendum to an older entry before I started taking photos like some foodie freak.

I’m always torn over whether or not to bother with updates, but like Mr. Miles told me in eighth grade social studies, “you have diarrhea of the mouth.” (That seriously pissed me off at the time—I was not a fan of Mr. Miles. He once kicked me out of class until I’d apologize for something he misheard me saying. This went on for days until I was forced by my guidance counselor to say sorry. He even called my house at night during Cheers and told my mom “I was the rudest student he’d ever encountered.” After that, she wasn’t a fan of Mr. Miles either.)

I do miss living close to good tacos. I wasn’t crazy about Red Hook’s El Huipil on my one visit, but it’s the only real Mexican place currently within semi-reasonable walking distance. But apparently, they’ve closed shop. Back to Sunset Park.

I didn’t intend to order a torta and taco, both pastor. I was thinking carnitas for the sandwich but they were out. Oh well, pork is pork. I had forgotten that Matamoros makes munchkin sized tacos but they’re only $1 each. I would’ve just ordered a variety and left it at that but I’m a sucker for tortas. I frequently feel guilty eating too much food, but the two average-sized young women sitting across from me had cemitas (a big brother to the torta) and healthy-sized bowls of sopas. What a great idea—I’d never even considered a Mexican soup and sandwich combo.

They don’t have specials like many other restaurants in the area but the listed plates are popular. James ordered bistec a la Mexicana, which comes in a thin tomato-y sauce dotted with halved jalapeños that looked like bell pepper wedges at first glance. We thought this was the meaty thing that tons of other diners were eating but we were wrong. I’m not sure what the popular dish was, maybe carne asada? I didn’t ask. Just asking for a receipt caused enough trauma—I didn’t want to push my luck with the tough questions. (1/21/07)

Dec 31

Mariana’s Supermarket

While digging up info on Mariana’s, I stumbled upon an odd best of review in local Vegas media that compared it to Trader Joe’s. That seemed off the mark in print and even more so in person. Other than being busy and well-curated by design, it’s more like a Pathmark or Stop & Shop . It’s a large (by NYC standards) Mexican grocery store, nothing, trendy, gourmet or healthy about it. It's even a chain–there are three locations in the area.

Mariana’s is impressive because we just don’t have mega marts like this in New York. Despite the Puerto Rican/ Dominican dominance there aren’t Latino equivalents to these supermarkets with food stands, which feel more Asian to me. Bakery counter, butcher, deli, take out, all under one roof. I’ve always wondered why there are no Latin American Hong Kong Supermarkets (or Ranch 99 to you west coasters). “Ethnic” food needn’t be hole-in-the-wall bodega-style. I love suburban sprawl.

Mariana’s makes me wish I was more Mexican. I glom onto Southeast Asian food culture because I love it, but I do have roots as root-less as I often feel. I didn’t even know the names for half the things I encountered and sometimes I hate the sensation of being a tourist in my own country. I should know this stuff but my dad did such a good job of assimilating that I know more about kueh than pan dulce.

If I had access to refrigeration and a kitchen, I would’ve spent more time exploring the groceries. But I had to limit myself to dried goods and snacks like chile garbanzos. My sister had asked me to send her dried chipotles, which are truly foreign in Western England where she lives. I went a little overboard snatching up at least five varieties of chiles to mail her way.

James commented on something foreign to him, Squirt. There’s nothing Mexican about Squirt (when I could afford private Spanish lessons, there was an issue with the verb squirt. My Columbian tutor had never heard the word and I had a hard time trying to describe it without referring to ketchup bottles). I’m not a soda drinker so it had never occurred to me that you never see that brand on the east coast. It made me happy to be reminded of it even if I had no desire to imbibe.

The real gem was the take out counter with seating in the front of the store. It was late in the afternoon so I think many of the weekend specials like pozole and menudo were running low. I tried the menudo anyway, just because it’s not something I frequently see here (I'd do well to find a local source pronto, as it's a reputed hangover cure and it seems that I'll be working New Year's Day). It didn’t come with sides like lime slices, cilantro and chopped onion but the warm, freshly made corn tortillas were absolutely amazing. It’s hard to understand what’s so great about a simple tortilla if you’re used to buying them in packages that have sat around for who knows how long. I felt guilty about throwing more than half of my stack out, but we had Joel Robuchon in our future and I didn’t want to completely spoil my appetite, tiny portions or not.

I had two tacos, a carnitas and an al pastor. Double pork. Despite what west coast transplants say, there is good Mexican food in NYC. I suspect they just haven’t properly mined pockets of Queens and Brooklyn. I’ve had wonderful tacos here, but these slap-dash grocery store versions were a notch above. The words moist and juicy immediately came to mind. Oh, and they were only a buck apiece.

There’s also a stand with agua frescas in giant glass jars nearby. Like I said, I’m not crazy about sweet beverages but the horchata and vivid watermelon, hibiscus and tamarind juices were enticing.

Las Vegas has so much more to offer in the way of food culture than people might realize. If I’d had more than a weekend to spend, I would’ve tried tapping into the Filipino scene that appeared to be floating just under the radar.

Mariana's Supermarket * 3631 W. Sahara Ave., Las Vegas, NV

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Nov 7

Tacos Nuevo Mexico

It was a going with what you know weekend. There are all of these new places opening vaguely in the neighborhood, brick oven pizza three blocks up Henry Street and barbecue in Fort Greene and Park Slope but new frequently equals annoying. And for reasons I won’t go into (because they’re boring not because they’re salacious…I wish) this past week had enough built in trauma to push me into the arms of thoroughly charted food territory. It was my stand by South Slope isn’t all that near but Tacos Nuevo Mexico is the closest Mexican restaurant that doesn’t melt cheese on everything or serve chimichangas (sorry Mezcal’s). El Huipil is technically closer but I wasn’t all that impressed on my one and only visit.

I was first introduced to TNM by a former stalker who I was inadvertently leading on by entertaining his notion that I might sublet his 12th Street apartment while he was off busy starting and subsequently getting fired from a new out-of-state job (the same fate befell him at the NYC job where we became acquainted). He suggested we get drinks on the cantina side where I’ve never sat since. At the time I lived in Queens and barely knew the area, though I was tickled by the discovery that the much-maligned M train stopped in both neighborhoods, current and potential. Anyway, I’ll confess that the food didn’t leave much of an impression on me but that’s likely because alcohol was my primary focus.

I couldn’t even say at what point I became a Tacos Nuevo Mexico convert. I used to have a dilemma living on 31st Street where I was in between their 12th and 44th street locations. I’d usually end up at the Park Slope one because the atmosphere was more inviting and happened to be nearer to things like my bank, gym, a pharmacy, grocery stores, etc. (as opposed to upper Sunset Park which had/has none of those things). Fifth Avenue in the 40s and 50s is much more of a Mexican food hotbed than the teens, TNM is a bit of an anomaly (even more out of place is Milan’s, the Slovak joint off 22nd Street that I was always too irrationally scared to visit. I’ve never had an affinity for Eastern European culture despite accidentally living in a Bosnian/Roma/Serbian/Polish enclave for three years).

But yes, the food. I forget how good it is. There’s really no going wrong with their namesake tacos and there’s plenty of choice from tongue and tripe to routine chicken and carne asada. Rather than folded typical taco, these two-dollar treats come wrapped in a cone held together with waxed paper. As I was taking the above photo, our waitress swooped in and stuck a plastic fork in one. I don’t see how you could them hand held without creating a mess.

I went porky and had one carnitas, one pastor. I do like how they’ve decided that different fillings should have different salsas (though I can’t remember which came with green and which merited red). I originally ordered a taco de buche off the handwritten specials menu but they were out. I’m not even sure what I missed out on but felt up to a surprise. I figured buche was something mouthy but the waitress motioned with her hand on her neck. Throat tacos? Some sources say buche is cheek (very Batali) but most seem to point to pork stomach or more esoterically, the lining around the stomach. The thing is that even if I go back and am able to try the buche, I doubt I’ll be able to gauge which body organ it is by sight. Who knows what throats and stomach linings look like tucked into a corn tortilla?

They did have the huitalacoche (I must be spelling that wrong because when I Googled to check this site came up as the first hit, and lord knows I’m not that popular) quesadilla from the specials insert. The vivid red, white and green stripes almost succeeded in drawing attention away from the oozy black innards. I didn’t try the enchiladas tapatio, but I gathered that each of the three cylinders contained a different filling, kind of like a Mexican happy family. (10/3/06)

May 6

Pacifico

1/2 There are moments made for mish mash. And those moments tend to involve alcohol impaired judgment. Pacifico, it turns out, is great for what it is: drunk food. Unfortunately, it almost became puke food after swilling mint juleps and bourbon slushes for five hours straight. Despite the burgoo and derby pie consumed earlier, I still needed a little padding of the stomach lining.

Beer and a carnitas quesadilla did more harm than good. The cheese and grease backfired and I was only able to eat one of my four stuffed tortilla wedges. It wasn't half bad, I just wasn't primed for eating. But I was happy the next day to have hefty leftovers as hangover food.

Pacifico * 269 Pacific St., Brooklyn, NY

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Feb 25

Tehuitzingo Deli

People in the know go all nuts for Tehuitzingo Deli. I think it's because the bulk of Manhattan is taco deprived. Don't get me wrong, they churn out an authentic item (I included them in a real vs. fake article I recently wrote) but it's the sort of place that humorless foodies might bandy about as a badge of honor.

Behold tacos filled with barbacoa, carnitas and cecina. They all taste distinct, but it's hard to discern which is which from this pic.

I went to the Belle and Sebastian show with Heather, who had a friend (that I won't link to because it's more fun to blog behind backs) that wanted to grab a bite before the concert. He had mentioned Tehuitzingo to her, but I had already put in a convincing vote for Olive Garden. This was majorly vetoed by this friend of a friend. It was ok, I wrangled two souls into going to The OG.

It was funny because after the show, my pal tracked down this guy and introduced us and mentioned that we both did food blogs like that would be a bond. But it never is. That's why I don't hang out with any food freaks (most of my friends are vegetarian or meat and potatoes). If someone can't eat at Tehuitzingo and Olive Garden in the same week, then it's just not going to work. God created tripe tacos and neverending pasta bowls to both be enjoyed.

Tehuitzingo Deli * 695 Tenth Ave., New York, NY

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Feb 14

Pampano

Oh my god, every year I get brattier and brattier. In the old days I'd be shocked and amazed if a guy bought a carton of kung pao chicken and let me pick a few bites. Now I expect the world. Well, the world outside east midtown.

I've had such irrational aversion to the east 50s since my new job stuck me in this stagnant no-man's land. Sutton Place is scary. Shun Lee Palace is scary. All of Third Ave. gives me the heebie-jeebies.

So, it weirded me out when James mentioned he'd chosen a Valentine's restaurant near my office. I'm still not sure how he stumbled upon Pampano. But I guessed it because he has a propensity for Latin American or meaty restaurants for celebrations. Really, he was being thoughtful since I've been attempting to eat moderately light and figured seafood would be safe.

And Pamapano was perfectly nice. Unfortunately, it got overshadowed by our showier Blue Hill meal later that week. I mean, the two are nothing alike so I shouldn't compare them. Valentine's is one of those tricky dining occasions because it's hard to avoid the hype and hokeyness. It's definitely not the best measure of a chefs strengths.

We started with guacamole because that's what you're supposed to do at higher end Mexican places in Manhattan. And then we went with the prix fixe, which I'm having a hard time recalling in great detail, despite taking photos. I think drinking on an empty stomach before dining can exacerbate this memory problem. It is interesting to see the food all together in this fashion, as it's clear that there's a distinct color palette being employed.

Pomegranate seeds, roe and shrimp	Mixed ceviche
Shrimp, manchego empanada, pineapple bell pepper relish, chile chipotle vinaigrette	Squash soup with amazing huitalacoche wonton and epazote
Shrimp, calamari, scallops, octopus and cilantro rice with achiote-coconut sauce	This was James's and I'm not 100% sure which fish and preparation he had
a messy (yet tasty) panna cotta	pineapple and mango sorbet

Pampano * 209 E. 49th St., New York, NY

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Feb 4

La Flor

1/2 I feel like La Flor is one of those Chowhound darlings (at least it was some years back) as was corroborated by the 95% white middle class clientele (myself included, I guess) that mysteriously was almost exclusively made up of pairs of 40-ish women. But I've never been in all of my years. If I find myself along these parts of Roosevelt Ave., I inevitably end up in an Asian establishment. And even this excursion was a fluke. We'd been shopping at Western Beef in Ridgewood and wanted a taco, which could've been satisfied en route back to South Brooklyn. But the pull deeper into Queens was too strong to resist.

I know, La Flor is more capable than a mere taqueria–the short ribs sounded tempting and the cheesecake and bread pudding filled dessert case taunted me all evening–but we just wanted tacos. I had to try the special al pastor ones since I'm crazy for pork and pineapple. I happened to be sitting right near the spit, so I could see the meat being shaved off. Clearly I wasn't the only al pastor fan, as a lot of slices were stripped off before mine made their way to my table. The tacos looked larger than average, the two corn tortillas seemed to be slightly bigger in circumference. Or maybe it was an illusion because of the generous amount of filling. The meat was crispy edged, sweet and earthy with hints of fruit. I could eat a pile of it. The two tacos came with a mesclun salad topped with fresh corn for $8.95, which seemed fair enough.

We shared a shrimp quesadilla that came red, white and green stripes of salsa and crema. Festive. And the filling wasn't overly cheesy, in fact there appeared to be mashed potato chunks mixed with the seafood and green onions.

Coupled with a glass of the ever popular Yellowtail Shiraz (no, not fancy, but not jug wine either), the early evening meal was a nice way to waste time while waiting for a severe downpour to pass over the elevated 7 tracks. I can see how this corner caf appeals to locals looking for variety. (2/4/06)

La Flor * 53-02 Roosevelt Ave., Woodside, Queens

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Jan 15

Chevy’s

We had three choices in the Target parking lot: Applebee's, Boulder Creek Steakhouse and Chevys. After a hard afternoon at Short Hills Mall, giant margaritas seemed in order.

And they were massive, which made me worry a bit since they conveniently omit drink prices from the colorful menu. We were guessing $12.95, but then you have to remind yourself this is real chain dining, not the Manhattan facsimile. My supersized Gold Rush (Cuervo Gold, Triple Sec and sweet & sour on the rocks) was a mere $7.95–if I'd known that from the get go I wouldn't have nursed it throughout the meal.

For once I didn't feel bad about ordering an appetizer sampler since we were four rather than just the usual two. Spicy wings, taquitos, fajita nachos and a "chicken ?dilla" quartered up, isn't a wholly unreasonable starter.

When I go gringo I do it all the way, and that means chimichangas, but I resisted and fooled myself into believing that seafood enchiladas were healthier (perhaps minutely). Really, Chevys isn't any worse than anything else that passes for Tex-Mex in the NYC area. It's not completely horrible, and they were playing Weezer, for whatever that's worth.

As one of my favorite parts of Red Lobster is the Cheddar Bay Biscuits, Chevys charms me with their little corn blob that's like a freeform corn bread, polenta hybrid. Ah, it's called a tomalito, and here's the recipe.

That would've, should've been enough, but then we had to go and order two desserts: an Ooey-Gooey-Chewy Sundae and something else with ice cream and caramel sauce that I can't recall the name of. I don't think it was the "potato," as they call it. Sunday night in Linden, NJ (I was treating it as a Sat. since it was a three-day-weekend) is a sparse affair. This is one of the only chain restaurants I've ever been to where there hasn't been a wait, not to mention empty seats. It was so desolate they had to send someone over to the Applebee's half-way across the parking lot to borrow whipped cream for our chilled desserts. Now that's service.

Chevys * 1150 South Stiles St., Linden, NJ

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Posts from the ‘Mexican’ Category

Carnitas Uruapan & Birrieria Reyes de Ocotlán

Itzocan Bistro

Tacos Matamoros

Mariana’s Supermarket

Tacos Nuevo Mexico

Pacifico

Tehuitzingo Deli

Pampano

La Flor

Chevy’s

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