Lotus
4970 Summer Avenue
682-1151
Ok, I'll just say it. You can't take your kids to Lotus. Not unless they are at least 13. It's just too slow.
And frankly, I'm not sure it is worth the wait.
Now, I am sure someone out there is a big Lotus fan and is not going to like hearing this, but I'm sorry, it's true.
Warren and I went to Lotus not too long ago--maybe a year or so--and we didn't have the kids. I used to go all the time in college, so I talked him into going. Well we sat down and no one ever took our order or said hello or anything. In fact, we never even saw anyone working there. So we left.
My good friend, who I used to actually go there with in college, recently convinced me to give it another try. She told me about the gigantic and delicious Banh Xeo and the shrimp in lobster sauce. In fact, she said if I didn't order them both we couldn't be friends anymore.
So on Friday night, after taking the monkeys to the econo hour over at the Ajay Cinema, we went back to Lotus. (Now, I know going at 7:00 on Friday is probably the worst time ever to go, but we did.) The parking lot was absolutely packed, but inside there were two or three open tables. (There are only about ten tables in the whole restaurant.) It took about 5 minutes, but a man did finally acknowledge us and point us to a table. We sat down and about ten minutes later a young man came over to give us a menu and take our drink orders.
That's already 15 minutes, people.
The only reason we didn't leave was because the kids had eaten before the movie and were not going to starve if we had to wait and the aforementioned friendship threat. I looked around at the other tables to see if any of them had food and to gauge whether we stood a chance. The problem seemed to be a table of nine. They were obviously celebrating something and had done a LOT of ordering. There was also a table of six. I could only hope that they weren't as hungry as the table of nine.
My friend was busy texting me to be patient, to wait, it was worth it, etc. She said the man and his wife do all of the cooking and everything is made to order. Ok, whatever, I'm fine with that. I pulled out my notebooks and pens and let the monkeys draw so that they wouldn't get too rowdy.
Lotus is definitely too small for any sort of rowdiness. Another reason I'd advise never bringing kids.
When we finally ordered we went with hot and sour soup, two spring rolls, the Banh Xeo, shrimp in lobster sauce, and pork fried rice. Jiro really wanted chicken wings, but they didn't have any. Satchel wanted beef curry, but I was worried that we'd already ordered too much. Surprisingly, neither one of them wanted any egg drop soup.
There was lots of drawing and talking and we did a pretty good job of being patient. Everything that came out of the kitchen went to the nine top. They seriously ordered a TON of food.
Our spring rolls and soup came out after ten or fifteen minutes, so we had a little to eat. "We" being me and Warren. The kids were not interested in either. I thought the soup was just okay. (It didn't come with "crunchies" which was a shame, since they would have appeased the monkeys.) The spring rolls were awesome. Soon after we finished our appetizers the kids got bored with drawing, so we let them play games on our iPhones. Normally I would not let them play games at dinner, but we were desperate. The table of six next to us had requested a plate of white rice for one of the dudes to eat, so I knew we still had a loooooooong wait!
Our Banh Xeo came out after awhile and it was okay. Described as an Asian Taco, it was a fried shell with bean sprouts and grilled shrimp inside. Maybe some cabbage? It was pretty good. My friend said to order it with lettuce and hot sauce but we never quite figured out what to do with either. Again the kids had no interest in eating any of this.
After the Banh Xeo was gone we had about an hour's stretch with nothing. NOTHING. Satchel was getting really hungry and whiney, my iPhone battery was dying, and things were generally not looking good. Again, had it not been for the friendship threat, I would have left.
Finally, I took a cue from our neighbors and asked the man for some white rice. I told him the kids were getting too hungry. Then, like magic, our fried rice came out, white rice came out, and the shrimp in lobster sauce came out. (I should have complained sooner!)
Now, let's talk about the pork fried rice. I am not very picky about pork fried rice, but I have to say that this one was awful. First off, it smelled like it was rancid. I took one bite and that was it. (The giant carrot chunks did not help the taste.) I kept my disdain to myself, lest I put the kids off. (I don't think it was really rancid, but I do think that the "pork" may have been pig parts I don't usually eat.) Warren tasted it and said it was fine. Satchel was open to eating some, but Jiro refused. Poor Jiro only ended up with a plate of white rice after behaving for almost two hours!
The shrimp in lobster sauce was thankfully pretty good. Satchel agreed to eat one shrimp, but the sauce was too daunting and it stayed on his plate. We ran out of white rice before we could put a dent in the shrimp, so we just decided to take it home. And we had a shit ton of pork fried rice to take home too. (Warren insisted he would eat it. He doesn't like to waste.)
The man came by and I asked for some boxes and the check. He brought both over and I handed him my credit card. He showed me the bill and asked me to add the tip in first, which I have never ever been asked to do, but I did. Then he walked over to the register where I assumed he'd ring it up. Well, just then the table of nine got up and apparently they all had separate checks. Instead of ringing mine real quick, he rang up every single one of them.
Yep.
So we sat there another 20 minutes while this went on. Did I mention it was 9:15 and I was supposed to meet someone at 8:30? Or that we got to the restaurant at 7:00?
Luckily Warren's battery had more juice than mine and he downloaded a really fun marble run game for the kids to play.
Once the nine people left, the man went back to waiting tables. I walked over to ask about my check and then he remembered my card. He rang it up ($34 + $6 tip) and then handed me the slip to sign. The slip had a place for a tip, which I thought was strange since he had asked me to add it in before. I just drew a line and totaled it out, signed my name, and we were off. Finally!
As we drove home, we listed all of the other Vietnamese places we know that were faster, cheaper, and had better food.
The family that owns Lotus is really nice and I do appreciate that they make everything themselves. Obviously they have a loyal following or they wouldn't have made it all of these years. I wish them the best. Team Oster will be dining elsewhere.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
The Local Taco (Nashville)
The Local Taco
4501 Murphy Rd
Nashville, TN
(615) 891-3271
After a lovely couple of days in Chattanooga, we headed back to Memphis. We planned to stop in Nashville for a quick run through Trader Joe's and for some dinner. I texted my friend Chip, who is a frequent visitor to Nashville, and asked him what the name of the taco place was that he told me about. He had presented it to me as a taco place along the lines of Las Tortugas that used mostly local ingredients. (Or at least that's how I remembered him telling me.) Anyways, that is a lot to live up to. My expectations were extremely high going in.
Also, I have to say that I've been completely ruined by all of the great places in Memphis along Macon Road.
The Local Taco is in Sylvan Park, which isn't too far from Trader Joe's. We arrived just as it was getting dark. It's a very small restaurant with a large covered patio. It was chilly so we opted to sit inside--after we stood at the hostess stand and perused the specials board and paper menu. (That's right, the hostess stand.) I looked around the restaurant and there were several families in attendance, which I took to be a good sign.
The kids' menu featured two choices--a cheese quesadilla or a southern fried chicken taco--with a side of rice, refried beans, or black beans. Satchel opted for the chicken taco with rice and Jiro said he only wanted chips and cheese dip. (We'd actually eaten a late lunch so I wasn't too worried about him doing this.) Warren, who thought the kids meal should come with rice AND beans, opted for the special ancho chile blackened ribeye taco and a Korean BBq taco. I went for the special buffalo chicken taco and a spicy shrimp taco.
Now, it was clear from the menu board, the menu, the interior bar, and the large, enclosed patio that one should definitely order a margarita or some sangria to go along with their meal. Had we not been driving all the way to Memphis (at night, on very little sleep) maybe we would have gone this route and I'd have nothing but fantastic things to say about the Local Taco.
We took a seat by the window and were soon presented with our drinks--waters all around, except Jiro who went with an orange Juarito. Satchel's water came in a paper cup with a papery feeling straw. (Bonus points for no styrofoam or plastic. And extra double bonus points for Joni Mitchell on the speakers.)
We also got our chips and dip, which according to the menu, featured locally made chips and locally grown jalapenos. No complaints on the chips and dip. The kids liked it, Warren and I liked it, and we happily ate it.
We had no salsa, which was kind of sad. I'm morally opposed to paying for salsa. Ok, not morally, because obviously it costs money, but too many places give it away for free to make me want to pay for it. Who knows, maybe The Local Taco has the best salsa in the whole world and it is a total steal for $2.50.
The food came out soon after and Satchel was horrified to see lettuce and tomatoes on his taco. I removed them and he wasted no time wolfing down the chicken and the tortilla, which incidentally is also made locally. Jiro, who was still working on the last of the chips and dip, informed me that tomatoes give him the hiccups. When I questioned him further, he changed his story. "Well, one big hiccup."
Warren and my tacos came out together on one platter. We divvied them up and we dug in. Warren liked the ribeye taco but said the Korean BBQ would be better in a rice paper wrapper. I informed him that if that were the case, it wouldn't be a taco anymore. Both of my tacos were fine--a little too smothered in sauce, but fine. I definitely do NOT think the Las Tortugas comparison was warranted. (Sorry, Chip!) I would put it more on par with Cafe Ole.
Our total bill was $21, which I thought was ok. I didn't feel like I got ripped off, but I didn't feel like I got a deal either, if that makes any sense. (Remember, we only had one drink and Jiro didn't eat a meal.)
I also don't know how I feel about the whole "Local" thing going on. Nowhere on the menu (or the website) does it explicitly state how local they are or what exactly is local--other than the chips and the tortillas. It kind of seems like they are taking advantage of the locavore fascination, or at the very least, just not doing a good job of explaining how awesome they really are.
But in the grand scheme of things--if I lived in Nashville, I'd probably frequent this place. It seems like a nice place to take kids, relax, have a fancy cocktail, and enjoy some interesting food.
4501 Murphy Rd
Nashville, TN
(615) 891-3271
After a lovely couple of days in Chattanooga, we headed back to Memphis. We planned to stop in Nashville for a quick run through Trader Joe's and for some dinner. I texted my friend Chip, who is a frequent visitor to Nashville, and asked him what the name of the taco place was that he told me about. He had presented it to me as a taco place along the lines of Las Tortugas that used mostly local ingredients. (Or at least that's how I remembered him telling me.) Anyways, that is a lot to live up to. My expectations were extremely high going in.
Also, I have to say that I've been completely ruined by all of the great places in Memphis along Macon Road.
The Local Taco is in Sylvan Park, which isn't too far from Trader Joe's. We arrived just as it was getting dark. It's a very small restaurant with a large covered patio. It was chilly so we opted to sit inside--after we stood at the hostess stand and perused the specials board and paper menu. (That's right, the hostess stand.) I looked around the restaurant and there were several families in attendance, which I took to be a good sign.
The kids' menu featured two choices--a cheese quesadilla or a southern fried chicken taco--with a side of rice, refried beans, or black beans. Satchel opted for the chicken taco with rice and Jiro said he only wanted chips and cheese dip. (We'd actually eaten a late lunch so I wasn't too worried about him doing this.) Warren, who thought the kids meal should come with rice AND beans, opted for the special ancho chile blackened ribeye taco and a Korean BBq taco. I went for the special buffalo chicken taco and a spicy shrimp taco.
Now, it was clear from the menu board, the menu, the interior bar, and the large, enclosed patio that one should definitely order a margarita or some sangria to go along with their meal. Had we not been driving all the way to Memphis (at night, on very little sleep) maybe we would have gone this route and I'd have nothing but fantastic things to say about the Local Taco.
We took a seat by the window and were soon presented with our drinks--waters all around, except Jiro who went with an orange Juarito. Satchel's water came in a paper cup with a papery feeling straw. (Bonus points for no styrofoam or plastic. And extra double bonus points for Joni Mitchell on the speakers.)
We also got our chips and dip, which according to the menu, featured locally made chips and locally grown jalapenos. No complaints on the chips and dip. The kids liked it, Warren and I liked it, and we happily ate it.
We had no salsa, which was kind of sad. I'm morally opposed to paying for salsa. Ok, not morally, because obviously it costs money, but too many places give it away for free to make me want to pay for it. Who knows, maybe The Local Taco has the best salsa in the whole world and it is a total steal for $2.50.
The food came out soon after and Satchel was horrified to see lettuce and tomatoes on his taco. I removed them and he wasted no time wolfing down the chicken and the tortilla, which incidentally is also made locally. Jiro, who was still working on the last of the chips and dip, informed me that tomatoes give him the hiccups. When I questioned him further, he changed his story. "Well, one big hiccup."
Warren and my tacos came out together on one platter. We divvied them up and we dug in. Warren liked the ribeye taco but said the Korean BBQ would be better in a rice paper wrapper. I informed him that if that were the case, it wouldn't be a taco anymore. Both of my tacos were fine--a little too smothered in sauce, but fine. I definitely do NOT think the Las Tortugas comparison was warranted. (Sorry, Chip!) I would put it more on par with Cafe Ole.
Our total bill was $21, which I thought was ok. I didn't feel like I got ripped off, but I didn't feel like I got a deal either, if that makes any sense. (Remember, we only had one drink and Jiro didn't eat a meal.)
I also don't know how I feel about the whole "Local" thing going on. Nowhere on the menu (or the website) does it explicitly state how local they are or what exactly is local--other than the chips and the tortillas. It kind of seems like they are taking advantage of the locavore fascination, or at the very least, just not doing a good job of explaining how awesome they really are.
But in the grand scheme of things--if I lived in Nashville, I'd probably frequent this place. It seems like a nice place to take kids, relax, have a fancy cocktail, and enjoy some interesting food.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Mellow Mushroom (Chattanooga)
Mellow Mushroom
205 Broad St
Chattanooga, TN
(423) 266-5564
After a long day of walking around the awesome riverfront and across the pedestrian bridge, riding the carousel, and generally checking out everything Chattanooga had to offer, we were starved. "We" being Team Oster, our friend Catherine, and her son, Noah, age 2, who met up with us for the weekend. We needed something relatively fast since it was getting late, and something that everyone would like. I suggested the Mellow Mushroom since pizza is usually a crowd pleaser. (I was also a little nostalgic about eating there since Satchel's first bite of pizza was at the Mellow Mushroom in Nashville when he was nine months old.) Catherine and Noah live in Ramallah, so Noah's not really used to eating pizza, but Catherine figured she could at least procure some pasta on his behalf.
We arrived around 6:30pm and there were several people there, but we had no trouble getting a table. The atmosphere was very laidback and bar-like, but there were plenty of families in attendance. Our very attentive waiter supplied us all with the beverage of our choice within minutes and we quickly decided on what we wanted to eat. Bruschetta and meatballs for Noah (there's no pasta on the menu!), a calzone for Catherine, a pepperoni pizza for Satchel and Jiro, and a Caesar salad & Kosmic Karma pizza for Warren and I to split. I mentioned we were starved, right? My only concern was that our pizza had a pesto sauce rather than a red sauce, my favorite, but the waiter happily agreed to bring me a side of sauce for dipping. Warren was very seriously considering ordering one of their witty t-shirts.
Catherine requested Noah's food ASAP and it came out amazingly fast. The monkeys were totally eyeing the meatballs and Catherine quickly offered them each one. Warren and I got our salad right away too so everyone was quite happy eating and chatting and enjoying each other's company. I hadn't dined with a two-year-old in quite some time and was very impressed by Noah's table manners. The monkeys, after going all day, were worn out enough to sit still, quietly eat, and participate in dinner conversation.
We had so much food on the table already I wondered how we'd fit the pizza, but thanks to the elevated metal racks, we had no problem. The pizza was really, really good. Ours had sundried tomatoes, spinach, feta, pesto and fresh tomatoes. Yum. Even the kids' pepperoni was extra tasty. It should come as no surprise to you that we ate everything and even had a second round of beers. (No one had to drive thanks to Chattanooga's free electric shuttle.) Jiro and Satchel claimed that they were still hungry and wanted more meatballs. Catherine thought Noah could probably eat another one, so I ordered some more.
I should have known better.
The restaurant was quite a bit fuller by then, and our waiter and the kitchen were much busier. Whereas our first order of meatballs came out in about five minutes, the second order took infinitely longer. The kids, who had now had a chance for their food to settle, didn't care about eating at all. They wanted to run around some more. We did a few bathroom runs and then let them play pee- a-boo at the railing adjacent to the table. It was time to leave. I called the waiter over and asked to cancel the order of meatballs, but he said they should be done. "Then box them up," I said, hoping someone would eat them before they went bad. (Our hotel room did not have a fridge or a microwave.) "And please bring the check."
By the time I got the check and the meatballs, Catherine and Warren were running the kids up and down the sidewalk outside. I took a quick look at the check, and it seemed a little high, but I just figured it was because it was for 6 instead of our usual 4. I was pretty happy with the service prior to the last order of meatballs, so I left our waiter a very nice 20% tip.
A few days later, back in Memphis, I took a closer look at the receipt. It already had an 18% gratuity added! No wonder! I was not happy about the waiter not mentioning this when he handed it to me. I didn't think a party of six would warrant an automatic gratuity-usually it's more people that that, right? Our waiter, while good, did not deserve an almost 40% tip! I thought about calling the restaurant, but decided it would be more trouble than it was worth. I learned a lesson the hard way. And a hard working waiter got a little bonus. Worse things have happened.
Oh, and just so you know, a Mellow Mushroom is slated to open in Germantown in 2010. Yep Nashville and Chattanooga get one in the urban center, we get one in the burbs. Oh, Memphis.
205 Broad St
Chattanooga, TN
(423) 266-5564
After a long day of walking around the awesome riverfront and across the pedestrian bridge, riding the carousel, and generally checking out everything Chattanooga had to offer, we were starved. "We" being Team Oster, our friend Catherine, and her son, Noah, age 2, who met up with us for the weekend. We needed something relatively fast since it was getting late, and something that everyone would like. I suggested the Mellow Mushroom since pizza is usually a crowd pleaser. (I was also a little nostalgic about eating there since Satchel's first bite of pizza was at the Mellow Mushroom in Nashville when he was nine months old.) Catherine and Noah live in Ramallah, so Noah's not really used to eating pizza, but Catherine figured she could at least procure some pasta on his behalf.
We arrived around 6:30pm and there were several people there, but we had no trouble getting a table. The atmosphere was very laidback and bar-like, but there were plenty of families in attendance. Our very attentive waiter supplied us all with the beverage of our choice within minutes and we quickly decided on what we wanted to eat. Bruschetta and meatballs for Noah (there's no pasta on the menu!), a calzone for Catherine, a pepperoni pizza for Satchel and Jiro, and a Caesar salad & Kosmic Karma pizza for Warren and I to split. I mentioned we were starved, right? My only concern was that our pizza had a pesto sauce rather than a red sauce, my favorite, but the waiter happily agreed to bring me a side of sauce for dipping. Warren was very seriously considering ordering one of their witty t-shirts.
Catherine requested Noah's food ASAP and it came out amazingly fast. The monkeys were totally eyeing the meatballs and Catherine quickly offered them each one. Warren and I got our salad right away too so everyone was quite happy eating and chatting and enjoying each other's company. I hadn't dined with a two-year-old in quite some time and was very impressed by Noah's table manners. The monkeys, after going all day, were worn out enough to sit still, quietly eat, and participate in dinner conversation.
We had so much food on the table already I wondered how we'd fit the pizza, but thanks to the elevated metal racks, we had no problem. The pizza was really, really good. Ours had sundried tomatoes, spinach, feta, pesto and fresh tomatoes. Yum. Even the kids' pepperoni was extra tasty. It should come as no surprise to you that we ate everything and even had a second round of beers. (No one had to drive thanks to Chattanooga's free electric shuttle.) Jiro and Satchel claimed that they were still hungry and wanted more meatballs. Catherine thought Noah could probably eat another one, so I ordered some more.
I should have known better.
The restaurant was quite a bit fuller by then, and our waiter and the kitchen were much busier. Whereas our first order of meatballs came out in about five minutes, the second order took infinitely longer. The kids, who had now had a chance for their food to settle, didn't care about eating at all. They wanted to run around some more. We did a few bathroom runs and then let them play pee- a-boo at the railing adjacent to the table. It was time to leave. I called the waiter over and asked to cancel the order of meatballs, but he said they should be done. "Then box them up," I said, hoping someone would eat them before they went bad. (Our hotel room did not have a fridge or a microwave.) "And please bring the check."
By the time I got the check and the meatballs, Catherine and Warren were running the kids up and down the sidewalk outside. I took a quick look at the check, and it seemed a little high, but I just figured it was because it was for 6 instead of our usual 4. I was pretty happy with the service prior to the last order of meatballs, so I left our waiter a very nice 20% tip.
A few days later, back in Memphis, I took a closer look at the receipt. It already had an 18% gratuity added! No wonder! I was not happy about the waiter not mentioning this when he handed it to me. I didn't think a party of six would warrant an automatic gratuity-usually it's more people that that, right? Our waiter, while good, did not deserve an almost 40% tip! I thought about calling the restaurant, but decided it would be more trouble than it was worth. I learned a lesson the hard way. And a hard working waiter got a little bonus. Worse things have happened.
Oh, and just so you know, a Mellow Mushroom is slated to open in Germantown in 2010. Yep Nashville and Chattanooga get one in the urban center, we get one in the burbs. Oh, Memphis.
Wednesday, November 04, 2009
Aretha Frankensteins
Aretha Frankensteins
518 Tremont St. (Chattanooga)
(423) 265-7685
My Facebook friends who live in Chattanooga are always talking about a place called Aretha Frankensteins. There was no way I was leaving Chattanooga without eating there. Aretha's is located on the North side of Chattanooga, across the Tennessee River, where all of the hipsters live. It's one of those places that is super local and just can't be duplicated. It's like Brother Juniper's, but dare I say, cooler.
Aretha's serves breakfast, lunch, dinner, espresso, and beer. It's open from 7am to midnight everyday. These facts alone make it awesome in my book. Word on the street is that breakfast is the time to go, so we made plans to go on a Sunday morning. I knew that this would likely be a super busy time, but with such a short visit, it was then or never.
Thanks to Google maps we found it without too much trouble. It's nestled inside a very quirky, Cooper-Youngish neighborhood in an old house. It's pretty small, and it was a bit too cold to sit on the lovely patio, so we kept our fingers crossed as we approached. Turns out it was full, but there were only two people ahead of us in line. A waiter came over and took our name and said it would be about 15 minutes. He pointed to a family at the bar and said they were almost done and we could sit in their seats when they left. I was worried we might miss our pre-booked River Gorge ride on the other side of the river, but the waiter said we'd have time. I took his word for it and tried to relax.
We crouched in the doorway and took in the decor. There were lots of kitschy and spooky things hanging on (and from) the walls. I'm assuming that the spooky things are permanent considering the restaurant's name, but they might have been Halloween related. As we waited, more and more people started showing up. Some ordered coffee and drank it on the porch, others patiently chatted on the patio. I asked for a menu to peruse while we waited. We started planning our orders so we could be in and out.
The family at the bar finished up soon after, and we happily took their spots. The bar was expansive and so were the chairs. They were like big leather armchairs on stilts. Satchel and Jiro were getting a little loud with each other so I sat between them. They didn't like this, but I didn't budge. A cute little woman with a "Chattaboogie" t-shirt took our drink orders (coffee, Diet Coke, 2 waters) and Warren and I finalized the food order. Satchel wanted biscuits and gravy; Jiro wanted a breakfast burrito with eggs, cheese, and sausage; and Warren wanted the Polish omelette with sausage and peppers. I felt like someone should get pancakes, so a slim stack was my order by default. (Had I done a better job of examining the menu, I would have certainly ordered someone the Elephants Gerald which is a Belgian waffle topped with ice cream and pecans.)
To keep the very hungry and increasingly antsy monkeys busy, I let them take pictures with my camera and design various shapes and structures with toothpicks. Satchel and I could also see in the kitchen were a young man was making the biscuits. Above the kitchen door was a melted keyboard, which Warren and I found interesting. A little digging and I discovered that Aretha's burnt down a few years ago and had to be rebuilt, so it is likely a remnant. I also read, but did not actually see, that there is a table that is a working Pac Man game. Too bad we didn't sit there!
Our food came out in a timely fashion and we all dug in. Satchel's biscuits and gravy, despite being a half order, were huge! He ate every bite! Jiro's burrito was huge too, but he only made a dent in it. He was distracted my his large side of breakfast potatoes and his very own biscuit. Warren was too far away for me to get a good look at his breakfast, but he reported that it was tasty. My pancakes, also gigantic, were really, really good. So good, in fact, that I ate them plain. That's right, plain. (The pancake mix is sold in stores, and I can definitely see why.)
Our tab came to $28. We all had full bellies and a ton of leftovers (except Satchel). As we walked out, I couldn't believe how many people were waiting to get in. We definitely lucked out and beat the rush. Had we not been in a hurry to catch the boat, I would have insisted on strolling through the neighborhood. (I saw one house with a fence made of old bicycles!)
For the rest of our visit, Satchel asked at least 50 times if we could go back to Aretha's. I really wished we could.
518 Tremont St. (Chattanooga)
(423) 265-7685
My Facebook friends who live in Chattanooga are always talking about a place called Aretha Frankensteins. There was no way I was leaving Chattanooga without eating there. Aretha's is located on the North side of Chattanooga, across the Tennessee River, where all of the hipsters live. It's one of those places that is super local and just can't be duplicated. It's like Brother Juniper's, but dare I say, cooler.
Aretha's serves breakfast, lunch, dinner, espresso, and beer. It's open from 7am to midnight everyday. These facts alone make it awesome in my book. Word on the street is that breakfast is the time to go, so we made plans to go on a Sunday morning. I knew that this would likely be a super busy time, but with such a short visit, it was then or never.
Thanks to Google maps we found it without too much trouble. It's nestled inside a very quirky, Cooper-Youngish neighborhood in an old house. It's pretty small, and it was a bit too cold to sit on the lovely patio, so we kept our fingers crossed as we approached. Turns out it was full, but there were only two people ahead of us in line. A waiter came over and took our name and said it would be about 15 minutes. He pointed to a family at the bar and said they were almost done and we could sit in their seats when they left. I was worried we might miss our pre-booked River Gorge ride on the other side of the river, but the waiter said we'd have time. I took his word for it and tried to relax.
We crouched in the doorway and took in the decor. There were lots of kitschy and spooky things hanging on (and from) the walls. I'm assuming that the spooky things are permanent considering the restaurant's name, but they might have been Halloween related. As we waited, more and more people started showing up. Some ordered coffee and drank it on the porch, others patiently chatted on the patio. I asked for a menu to peruse while we waited. We started planning our orders so we could be in and out.
The family at the bar finished up soon after, and we happily took their spots. The bar was expansive and so were the chairs. They were like big leather armchairs on stilts. Satchel and Jiro were getting a little loud with each other so I sat between them. They didn't like this, but I didn't budge. A cute little woman with a "Chattaboogie" t-shirt took our drink orders (coffee, Diet Coke, 2 waters) and Warren and I finalized the food order. Satchel wanted biscuits and gravy; Jiro wanted a breakfast burrito with eggs, cheese, and sausage; and Warren wanted the Polish omelette with sausage and peppers. I felt like someone should get pancakes, so a slim stack was my order by default. (Had I done a better job of examining the menu, I would have certainly ordered someone the Elephants Gerald which is a Belgian waffle topped with ice cream and pecans.)
To keep the very hungry and increasingly antsy monkeys busy, I let them take pictures with my camera and design various shapes and structures with toothpicks. Satchel and I could also see in the kitchen were a young man was making the biscuits. Above the kitchen door was a melted keyboard, which Warren and I found interesting. A little digging and I discovered that Aretha's burnt down a few years ago and had to be rebuilt, so it is likely a remnant. I also read, but did not actually see, that there is a table that is a working Pac Man game. Too bad we didn't sit there!
Our food came out in a timely fashion and we all dug in. Satchel's biscuits and gravy, despite being a half order, were huge! He ate every bite! Jiro's burrito was huge too, but he only made a dent in it. He was distracted my his large side of breakfast potatoes and his very own biscuit. Warren was too far away for me to get a good look at his breakfast, but he reported that it was tasty. My pancakes, also gigantic, were really, really good. So good, in fact, that I ate them plain. That's right, plain. (The pancake mix is sold in stores, and I can definitely see why.)
Our tab came to $28. We all had full bellies and a ton of leftovers (except Satchel). As we walked out, I couldn't believe how many people were waiting to get in. We definitely lucked out and beat the rush. Had we not been in a hurry to catch the boat, I would have insisted on strolling through the neighborhood. (I saw one house with a fence made of old bicycles!)
For the rest of our visit, Satchel asked at least 50 times if we could go back to Aretha's. I really wished we could.
Friday, October 30, 2009
Prince’s Hot Chicken (Nashville)
Prince’s Hot Chicken
123 Ewing Dr
Nashville, TN
(615) 226-9442
As we headed toward Chattanooga a couple of Saturdays ago, Warren suggested I consult our Road Food book for a good place to eat around Nashville. Seeing how I’d been getting up at 5:30am to work out at Memphis Adventure Boot Camp for five weeks, I decided I needed a treat and honed right in on the hot (fried) chicken places. The Sterns recommended both Bolton’s and Prince’s. I consulted a Facebook friend who lives in Nashville and decided on Prince’s after she assured me that it would “blow my mind.” I read a few online reviews that were similarly enthusiastic. One guy even said that he had divided his life into two categories--before Prince’s chicken and after.
How could we not go?
As I investigated further, I found out that all of the chicken is made to order and that we should expect at least 45 minutes to an hour to get our food. Reviewers also warned that Prince’s was not in the best of neighborhoods. Some even said our stomachs would burst into flames.
We could not be deterred.
At approximately 5pm, we rolled into the Prince’s parking lot. It was in a strip mall in an area I would liken to Poplar & Hollywood in Memphis. Since my favorite chicken place in Memphis is located at Poplar & Hollywood, I felt that this was a good sign. When we walked in, we were pleased to see that there was not a line. Several people appeared to be waiting and a nice lady selling cake at a back table told us where to order. Warren took the boys to wash up and I set off to procure dinner.
In the very back was a counter that had been boarded up. A small window was cut out and a man stood back there awaiting orders. The man had a gun and was quite imposing. Believe it or not, his name was Sweetie, and he was the security guard. I learned that someone called in sick so he was filling in at the register. There was a woman running around the back, trying to help him, and everyone else, while simultaneously counting a huge stack of cash. (Prince’s is cash only.) A few younger women appeared to be doing the cooking and three little girls were sitting on overturned milk crates playing with someone’s iPhone.
I perused the menu quickly, as I could feel people breathing down my neck as a line began to form. I ordered 1/2 chicken mild for Warren and I to split. (Sweetie put it down as medium, and I wasn’t sure if this made a difference, but I didn’t say anything.) I ordered a 1/4 leg plain for Satchel and Jiro to split. Then I added two orders of fries and one order of slaw for good measure. There was a drink machine next to the window, so I skipped drinks.
I got my number, made a quick bathroom run, and headed to where Warren and the boys were sitting. They managed to secure a booth by the front window. It had a green and pink striped plastic table cloth that wreaked of bleach. Satchel and Jiro were both a bit grumpy from the drive. Warren and Jiro set off to get gas and drinks down the road and Satchel and I held our seats.
Once Jiro was gone, Satchel cheered up immensely. (Jiro has been pushing his buttons a lot lately.) He looked over at a bulletin board with a picture of pit bull puppies. “I want a dog,” he said. I explained we already had two and that was enough. “How about a parrot?” he tried. “Why on earth do you want a parrot?” I asked. “Because they’re fun,” he said. “What’s so fun about a parrot?” I wondered. “They talk and fly around!” he answered. I then launched into my speech on letting wild animals live in the wild, not in cages.
To change the subject, I pointed out a flock of birds resting on a nearby electrical wire. I have some expertise in this area, and told him about the dangers lurking in the wires. This launched us into a discussion of whether the voltage was enough to kill a bird, elephant, giraffe, flower, tiger, the sun, ice cubes, and a tree.
Warren and Jiro returned with a full tank of gas and a couple of drinks. To kill more time, I pulled up pictures from our last trip to Chattanooga to get them excited. A few minutes later our number got called. (It was almost exactly 45 minutes.) By now the place was filling up so I had to fight my way to the front. Everything was handed to me in brown paper bags. I went back to the table and divvied everything up. The chicken was resting on top of several pieces of white bread and had a side of sliced pickles. The 1/4 leg didn’t look like enough for two, but the 1/2 chicken seemed to be plenty for three. (Go figure.) The fries had seasoning on them, but it didn’t stop the kids from eating them so that was good.
After one bite, Warren started choking. His nose was running and his eyes started watering and I thought he might die. “Is it that hot?” I asked, a little scared. In between gasping for breath he explained that he had inhaled a piece and maybe it went down the wrong way. I wasn’t sure. I took a bite of my piece, which came from the same bird, and didn’t think it was really hot at all. In fact, Jiro requested some and minus the skin he was able to eat it with no problem. He ate a few chunks then went back to the fries. Meanwhile, Satchel declared his plain leg to be delicious and set out to eat every bite.
Warren was begging for water, but I hadn’t gotten any and the line was too long to try now. He settled for a $1.25 Diet Coke out of the machine. I was enjoying my chicken, but it was greasy as all get out and I was fixated on the fat grams. The thick skin was crispy and delicious though. Mmmmmmmmm. The meat fell off of the bone and was cooked perfectly. The Sterns said the meat itself was spicy, but I think Jiro proved that wrong. Part of me wished I had ordered the hot.
Here's a hot chicken fun fact: Apparently the fiery recipe was once used to punish men who cheated on their wives. (There must have been a lot of cheaters in Nashville since they have a Hot Chicken Festival every July.)
As Warren and Satchel plugged away and I tried to control myself, Jiro announced that he needed to poop. Awesome. Warren immediately implored him to hold it. “Hold it til when?” I asked. “Until Chattanooga?” Having already visited the bathroom myself, I figured it would be ok. It really didn’t seem that bad. We headed to the back and unfortunately someone was in the women’s room. After (im)patiently waiting a few minutes, we headed to the men’s. (It was a one top.) Obviously someone had “cleaned” the bathrooms since my original visit because there was an intense ammonia smell. Good lord, I thought I might pass out. It was bad. BAD! Thankfully, Jiro was quick and we both survived.
Back at the table Warren was still eating. “Please stop,” I begged. “You’ll go into a hot chicken coma while driving! We still have 3 hours to go before Chattanooga!” He humored me and agreed to pack up the rest for later. (It turned out to be quite tasty at 11pm that night.) Once I packed up all of our leftovers and bussed the table, I swear to you there was a THICK layer of grease on the tablecloth. Yum!
Warren complained Sunday morning that the chicken had come back to haunt him, but you don't want to hear about that. I definitely think you should get some hot chicken the next time you are in Nashville, just don't go crazy!
123 Ewing Dr
Nashville, TN
(615) 226-9442
As we headed toward Chattanooga a couple of Saturdays ago, Warren suggested I consult our Road Food book for a good place to eat around Nashville. Seeing how I’d been getting up at 5:30am to work out at Memphis Adventure Boot Camp for five weeks, I decided I needed a treat and honed right in on the hot (fried) chicken places. The Sterns recommended both Bolton’s and Prince’s. I consulted a Facebook friend who lives in Nashville and decided on Prince’s after she assured me that it would “blow my mind.” I read a few online reviews that were similarly enthusiastic. One guy even said that he had divided his life into two categories--before Prince’s chicken and after.
How could we not go?
As I investigated further, I found out that all of the chicken is made to order and that we should expect at least 45 minutes to an hour to get our food. Reviewers also warned that Prince’s was not in the best of neighborhoods. Some even said our stomachs would burst into flames.
We could not be deterred.
At approximately 5pm, we rolled into the Prince’s parking lot. It was in a strip mall in an area I would liken to Poplar & Hollywood in Memphis. Since my favorite chicken place in Memphis is located at Poplar & Hollywood, I felt that this was a good sign. When we walked in, we were pleased to see that there was not a line. Several people appeared to be waiting and a nice lady selling cake at a back table told us where to order. Warren took the boys to wash up and I set off to procure dinner.
In the very back was a counter that had been boarded up. A small window was cut out and a man stood back there awaiting orders. The man had a gun and was quite imposing. Believe it or not, his name was Sweetie, and he was the security guard. I learned that someone called in sick so he was filling in at the register. There was a woman running around the back, trying to help him, and everyone else, while simultaneously counting a huge stack of cash. (Prince’s is cash only.) A few younger women appeared to be doing the cooking and three little girls were sitting on overturned milk crates playing with someone’s iPhone.
I perused the menu quickly, as I could feel people breathing down my neck as a line began to form. I ordered 1/2 chicken mild for Warren and I to split. (Sweetie put it down as medium, and I wasn’t sure if this made a difference, but I didn’t say anything.) I ordered a 1/4 leg plain for Satchel and Jiro to split. Then I added two orders of fries and one order of slaw for good measure. There was a drink machine next to the window, so I skipped drinks.
I got my number, made a quick bathroom run, and headed to where Warren and the boys were sitting. They managed to secure a booth by the front window. It had a green and pink striped plastic table cloth that wreaked of bleach. Satchel and Jiro were both a bit grumpy from the drive. Warren and Jiro set off to get gas and drinks down the road and Satchel and I held our seats.
Once Jiro was gone, Satchel cheered up immensely. (Jiro has been pushing his buttons a lot lately.) He looked over at a bulletin board with a picture of pit bull puppies. “I want a dog,” he said. I explained we already had two and that was enough. “How about a parrot?” he tried. “Why on earth do you want a parrot?” I asked. “Because they’re fun,” he said. “What’s so fun about a parrot?” I wondered. “They talk and fly around!” he answered. I then launched into my speech on letting wild animals live in the wild, not in cages.
To change the subject, I pointed out a flock of birds resting on a nearby electrical wire. I have some expertise in this area, and told him about the dangers lurking in the wires. This launched us into a discussion of whether the voltage was enough to kill a bird, elephant, giraffe, flower, tiger, the sun, ice cubes, and a tree.
Warren and Jiro returned with a full tank of gas and a couple of drinks. To kill more time, I pulled up pictures from our last trip to Chattanooga to get them excited. A few minutes later our number got called. (It was almost exactly 45 minutes.) By now the place was filling up so I had to fight my way to the front. Everything was handed to me in brown paper bags. I went back to the table and divvied everything up. The chicken was resting on top of several pieces of white bread and had a side of sliced pickles. The 1/4 leg didn’t look like enough for two, but the 1/2 chicken seemed to be plenty for three. (Go figure.) The fries had seasoning on them, but it didn’t stop the kids from eating them so that was good.
After one bite, Warren started choking. His nose was running and his eyes started watering and I thought he might die. “Is it that hot?” I asked, a little scared. In between gasping for breath he explained that he had inhaled a piece and maybe it went down the wrong way. I wasn’t sure. I took a bite of my piece, which came from the same bird, and didn’t think it was really hot at all. In fact, Jiro requested some and minus the skin he was able to eat it with no problem. He ate a few chunks then went back to the fries. Meanwhile, Satchel declared his plain leg to be delicious and set out to eat every bite.
Warren was begging for water, but I hadn’t gotten any and the line was too long to try now. He settled for a $1.25 Diet Coke out of the machine. I was enjoying my chicken, but it was greasy as all get out and I was fixated on the fat grams. The thick skin was crispy and delicious though. Mmmmmmmmm. The meat fell off of the bone and was cooked perfectly. The Sterns said the meat itself was spicy, but I think Jiro proved that wrong. Part of me wished I had ordered the hot.
Here's a hot chicken fun fact: Apparently the fiery recipe was once used to punish men who cheated on their wives. (There must have been a lot of cheaters in Nashville since they have a Hot Chicken Festival every July.)
As Warren and Satchel plugged away and I tried to control myself, Jiro announced that he needed to poop. Awesome. Warren immediately implored him to hold it. “Hold it til when?” I asked. “Until Chattanooga?” Having already visited the bathroom myself, I figured it would be ok. It really didn’t seem that bad. We headed to the back and unfortunately someone was in the women’s room. After (im)patiently waiting a few minutes, we headed to the men’s. (It was a one top.) Obviously someone had “cleaned” the bathrooms since my original visit because there was an intense ammonia smell. Good lord, I thought I might pass out. It was bad. BAD! Thankfully, Jiro was quick and we both survived.
Back at the table Warren was still eating. “Please stop,” I begged. “You’ll go into a hot chicken coma while driving! We still have 3 hours to go before Chattanooga!” He humored me and agreed to pack up the rest for later. (It turned out to be quite tasty at 11pm that night.) Once I packed up all of our leftovers and bussed the table, I swear to you there was a THICK layer of grease on the tablecloth. Yum!
Warren complained Sunday morning that the chicken had come back to haunt him, but you don't want to hear about that. I definitely think you should get some hot chicken the next time you are in Nashville, just don't go crazy!
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Happy Mexican
Thanks to Steph for warning us about this place! I've been to the downtown location a few times with good results, but never with monkeys.
Happy Mexican
6080 Primacy Parkway
On a recent week night in East Memphis, I needed a break from cooking and suggested a night out. The family readily agreed. "Pizza or chicken nuggets?" I asked. "Pizza!" Chloe answered, as Connor yelled, "Chicken!" "Uh, chicken!" said Chloe, as she quickly corrected herself to make sure the man in her life was happy, at her own expense. (I've got a ways to go with that one.) Chip looked at me quizzically, as we had both been counting on pizza. "El Porton?" he offered. "Happy Mexican!" I exclaimed. I've been wanting to take the kids to the East Memphis location for quite some time. "You're a genius!" Chip (really!) said, and we were off.
One reason we wanted to visit Happy Mexican was that we love Mexican food and wanted to see where this might fit into our usual Salsa/El Porton rotation. Another reason is because it is in the building that used to house Grady's Goodtimes, a restaurant where I worked for over three years. It's been a few things since Grady's closed, but nothing that has really stuck. We went in, excited to see what they'd done with the place now, taking lots of pictures to use in our review, and generally excited about margarita happy hour and cheese dip. And then we sat down, and it all went downhill from there.
I have to admit, at first I wanted to write a review that said simply, "Don't go there." Then I realized that wasn't fair, and figured it was only right that I explain myself. Here are a few reasons why I'll never be back.
There are TVs everywhere. And they are all showing real programs, not news or sports or the usual nonsense that plays in the background at restaurants. The one closest to our table had the Cartoon Network logo in the bottom corner, so I didn't pay it much mind. Connor (age 6) and I were sitting in chairs that were oriented towards that TV, but I didn't pay it much attention and neither did Connor. But soon I noticed he was watching the reflection of another TV in the window. "That's a bad show," he declared, and realized it was Cops. WTH? I told him not to look in the window, but as I craned my neck to locate the offending TV I realized it was behind a column from my seat, but directly in Chloe's line of sight. I made her switch chairs with me and thought, Hey, it's our fault for bringing kids, we'll make it work. However, as the evening dragged on (more on that later), two things happened. For one thing, the movie on CN turned out to be scary- The Witches, based on the Roald Dahl book and starring Angelica Houston as the head witch at a witch convention. Maybe with a little bit of context, it wouldn't have seemed so scary. However, there were tons of ugly, scary witches who were freaking my kids out! In fact, Connor kept trying to tell Chloe to cover her eyes. He was worried about her. (One review I read said, "VERY frightening for children preteen and below, having as its central theme normal looking, adult women turning into vicious child-killing witches with much intense, well-presented suspense throughout the movie. My kids, 9 and 5, couldn't finish it.")
While this was happening, Cops ended and the next show on TruTv began. The first thing that happened was some kind of group attack on a couple riding on a subway. I stared, mouth agape and stomach turning, until Chip covered my eyes and told me not to watch. He was worried about me. I said, "That is IT!" and marched to the front to ask that the TV channel be turned. I hate to be that woman, but come on! Not only do I not want my kids to see that, but I don't want to see that! I don't know many people who do. But the hostess said, "See, sometimes people ask if they can watch certain shows. . ." I cut her off and declared that no one should be allowed to choose shows like that in a public setting- it is unacceptable and they should consider saying no and adopting some kind of decency standard. There were plenty of kids in the restaurant, not to mention wimps like me who vomit at the first sign of fisticuffs. (Long story.) I was happy, however, that the manager came over, grabbed the remote control, and followed me to change the channel.
Unfortunately, that wasn't the only thing I was complaining to the hostess about. I began my channel-changing request with, "For one thing, we've been waiting forever for our food. . ." It's true- we waited more than a half hour for our food. At a Mexican restaurant! And the food wasn't anything earth-shattering - I can think of at least five other places I could go and get the same quality food in ten minutes. By the time our food came, we had eaten every bite of cheese dip (usually we use it for the chicken strips), two basket of chips, had switched seats, complained to the management, and Chip had finally stood up and turned off the Cartoon Network TV that the kids were unable to look away from yet were terrified by. (I mean, Chloe was literally trembling at one point. Too bad she didn't have any food to distract her.)
I couldn't help but overhear the ladies behind us say, "The food is okay, but the service is horrible! He hasn't been back to check on us (ditto) and we never got our cheese dip." This is not to mention that the person delivering their food had dropped an entire meal at their table. The ladies were gracious and agreed to share a plate until the other dish could be remade. (I couldn't help but think it would have been easier to handle if they had some cheese dip.)
When we finally saw our server, I made sure to give him our credit card so that I wouldn't have to spend another hour tracking down the bill. We spent $35 on average-tasting food that took too long to hit the table in a horrible atmosphere. We couldn't get out of there fast enough, waving a permanent good-bye to the Happy Mexican as we hastily departed.
Happy Mexican
6080 Primacy Parkway
On a recent week night in East Memphis, I needed a break from cooking and suggested a night out. The family readily agreed. "Pizza or chicken nuggets?" I asked. "Pizza!" Chloe answered, as Connor yelled, "Chicken!" "Uh, chicken!" said Chloe, as she quickly corrected herself to make sure the man in her life was happy, at her own expense. (I've got a ways to go with that one.) Chip looked at me quizzically, as we had both been counting on pizza. "El Porton?" he offered. "Happy Mexican!" I exclaimed. I've been wanting to take the kids to the East Memphis location for quite some time. "You're a genius!" Chip (really!) said, and we were off.
One reason we wanted to visit Happy Mexican was that we love Mexican food and wanted to see where this might fit into our usual Salsa/El Porton rotation. Another reason is because it is in the building that used to house Grady's Goodtimes, a restaurant where I worked for over three years. It's been a few things since Grady's closed, but nothing that has really stuck. We went in, excited to see what they'd done with the place now, taking lots of pictures to use in our review, and generally excited about margarita happy hour and cheese dip. And then we sat down, and it all went downhill from there.
I have to admit, at first I wanted to write a review that said simply, "Don't go there." Then I realized that wasn't fair, and figured it was only right that I explain myself. Here are a few reasons why I'll never be back.
There are TVs everywhere. And they are all showing real programs, not news or sports or the usual nonsense that plays in the background at restaurants. The one closest to our table had the Cartoon Network logo in the bottom corner, so I didn't pay it much mind. Connor (age 6) and I were sitting in chairs that were oriented towards that TV, but I didn't pay it much attention and neither did Connor. But soon I noticed he was watching the reflection of another TV in the window. "That's a bad show," he declared, and realized it was Cops. WTH? I told him not to look in the window, but as I craned my neck to locate the offending TV I realized it was behind a column from my seat, but directly in Chloe's line of sight. I made her switch chairs with me and thought, Hey, it's our fault for bringing kids, we'll make it work. However, as the evening dragged on (more on that later), two things happened. For one thing, the movie on CN turned out to be scary- The Witches, based on the Roald Dahl book and starring Angelica Houston as the head witch at a witch convention. Maybe with a little bit of context, it wouldn't have seemed so scary. However, there were tons of ugly, scary witches who were freaking my kids out! In fact, Connor kept trying to tell Chloe to cover her eyes. He was worried about her. (One review I read said, "VERY frightening for children preteen and below, having as its central theme normal looking, adult women turning into vicious child-killing witches with much intense, well-presented suspense throughout the movie. My kids, 9 and 5, couldn't finish it.")
While this was happening, Cops ended and the next show on TruTv began. The first thing that happened was some kind of group attack on a couple riding on a subway. I stared, mouth agape and stomach turning, until Chip covered my eyes and told me not to watch. He was worried about me. I said, "That is IT!" and marched to the front to ask that the TV channel be turned. I hate to be that woman, but come on! Not only do I not want my kids to see that, but I don't want to see that! I don't know many people who do. But the hostess said, "See, sometimes people ask if they can watch certain shows. . ." I cut her off and declared that no one should be allowed to choose shows like that in a public setting- it is unacceptable and they should consider saying no and adopting some kind of decency standard. There were plenty of kids in the restaurant, not to mention wimps like me who vomit at the first sign of fisticuffs. (Long story.) I was happy, however, that the manager came over, grabbed the remote control, and followed me to change the channel.
Unfortunately, that wasn't the only thing I was complaining to the hostess about. I began my channel-changing request with, "For one thing, we've been waiting forever for our food. . ." It's true- we waited more than a half hour for our food. At a Mexican restaurant! And the food wasn't anything earth-shattering - I can think of at least five other places I could go and get the same quality food in ten minutes. By the time our food came, we had eaten every bite of cheese dip (usually we use it for the chicken strips), two basket of chips, had switched seats, complained to the management, and Chip had finally stood up and turned off the Cartoon Network TV that the kids were unable to look away from yet were terrified by. (I mean, Chloe was literally trembling at one point. Too bad she didn't have any food to distract her.)
I couldn't help but overhear the ladies behind us say, "The food is okay, but the service is horrible! He hasn't been back to check on us (ditto) and we never got our cheese dip." This is not to mention that the person delivering their food had dropped an entire meal at their table. The ladies were gracious and agreed to share a plate until the other dish could be remade. (I couldn't help but think it would have been easier to handle if they had some cheese dip.)
When we finally saw our server, I made sure to give him our credit card so that I wouldn't have to spend another hour tracking down the bill. We spent $35 on average-tasting food that took too long to hit the table in a horrible atmosphere. We couldn't get out of there fast enough, waving a permanent good-bye to the Happy Mexican as we hastily departed.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Caminos de Michoacan
Caminos de Michoacan Panaderia & Taqueria
3896 Macon Road
458-5550
We first noticed Caminos de Michoacan when we ate at El Ranchito Taqueria a few weeks ago. We thought it was a bakery--and it is, but when I was researching my Macon Me Crazy story for the Flyer, I went in and discovered it was a bakery and a taqueria. After sampling the pastries and tacos for my story, I was anxious to get back with the monkeys (Satchel, 7, and Jiro, 5).
We went on a Saturday night and found the brightly colored and well lit restaurant to be only mildly busy. There were three or four other tables full, which is respectable, but it felt empty since the place is huge and has seating for 70! I let the monkeys walk past the pastry cases in order to motivate them to eat their dinner. They both immediately set about pointing and saying, "I want that!" With a variety of sugar cookies (even pig shaped!), muffins, croissants, donuts, and parfaits to choose from, dessert was not going to be an easy decision!
I told them they could take another look after dinner and we headed to a table. The monkeys were psyched to see that "The Hulk" was on TV. A nice waitress came right over with a basket of chips, green and red salsa. (The green is crazy hot!) She asked for our drink orders and Jiro immediately signaled that he wanted a Tutti Fruiti Jarrito. (He loves those Jarritos!) Satchel, who usually opts for water, requested a Pineapple Jarrito. Getting into the spirit, Warren suggested we try a horchata, which is a milky drink spiced with cinnamon. I also ordered some cheese dip to appease the monkeys.
When the waitress came back with our wares, I tried to make conversation. "What's up with the pig shaped cookie?" I asked. She shrugged and said, "Nothing." I was hoping for a funny explanation, but I think the language barrier was preventing me from getting one. The monkeys dove right into the cheese dip and Satchel pondered, "Why does cheese dip have to taste so good?" Believe me, I wish I knew!
After much debate and a fine combing of the menu (which thankfully includes English translations), we decided on the following: chicken soup for Satchel (He loves soup!), chicken flautas for Jiro, guisado pork for Warren, and a chicharon taco and shrimp tostada for me. Our wait was short and uneventful thanks to the Hulk and the promise of sweets.
For whatever reason, Jiro shunned his flautas. I think they may have been too close to the avocado garnish. He ended up eating rice wrapped in a tortilla. (Satchel ate his avocado and one flauta.) Satchel's soup was really quite impressive. It was filled with fresh broccoli, cauliflower, squash, green beans, corn on the cob, and chicken. He was in heaven. Warren liked his pork, but said he didn't expect it to come with bones. I was a little disappointed by my order. The chicharon, or pork rinds, were covered in a green sauce that I wasn't too crazy about. Likewise the shrimp tostada had a little too much cocktail sauce mixed in for my taste. Warren gladly ate my rejects while I ate the rest of Jiro's. (Next time I think we'll all try more soup, which appears to be their specialty.)
At some point during dinner, the Hulk got switched off and soccer got switched on. And we saw the best Mexican mullet ever. (Warren then coined the term "mulleto.") Satchel bit his finger instead of the chicken and had a moment, but thankfully recovered enough to finish his meal. (This provided the 1000th opportunity to explain the importance of eating with utensils.) We had a trip to the bathroom, which was not the cleanest ever, but acceptable.
When we were all done, I told the monkeys they could pick out their dessert--or go next door for an ear of corn. "Corn?" they asked as if it was too good to be true. "We want corn!" (I think the very popular horchata satisfied our sweet teeth.)
So off we went next door.
Tamales Monterrey
Best Z Market, 3888 Macon
864-9414
We learned on our last visit that corn (and tamales) are only sold on Friday and Saturday. Each ear is slathered with mayonnaise, cotija cheese, and then squirted with lime and cayenne pepper if you choose. It's the best $3 you'll ever speand. Trust me.
Warren had the genius idea of pulling his car around so we could tailgate. It was the perfect solution for a very messy treat. Jiro and I both got spicy corn and Satchel opted for plain.
3896 Macon Road
458-5550
We first noticed Caminos de Michoacan when we ate at El Ranchito Taqueria a few weeks ago. We thought it was a bakery--and it is, but when I was researching my Macon Me Crazy story for the Flyer, I went in and discovered it was a bakery and a taqueria. After sampling the pastries and tacos for my story, I was anxious to get back with the monkeys (Satchel, 7, and Jiro, 5).
We went on a Saturday night and found the brightly colored and well lit restaurant to be only mildly busy. There were three or four other tables full, which is respectable, but it felt empty since the place is huge and has seating for 70! I let the monkeys walk past the pastry cases in order to motivate them to eat their dinner. They both immediately set about pointing and saying, "I want that!" With a variety of sugar cookies (even pig shaped!), muffins, croissants, donuts, and parfaits to choose from, dessert was not going to be an easy decision!
I told them they could take another look after dinner and we headed to a table. The monkeys were psyched to see that "The Hulk" was on TV. A nice waitress came right over with a basket of chips, green and red salsa. (The green is crazy hot!) She asked for our drink orders and Jiro immediately signaled that he wanted a Tutti Fruiti Jarrito. (He loves those Jarritos!) Satchel, who usually opts for water, requested a Pineapple Jarrito. Getting into the spirit, Warren suggested we try a horchata, which is a milky drink spiced with cinnamon. I also ordered some cheese dip to appease the monkeys.
When the waitress came back with our wares, I tried to make conversation. "What's up with the pig shaped cookie?" I asked. She shrugged and said, "Nothing." I was hoping for a funny explanation, but I think the language barrier was preventing me from getting one. The monkeys dove right into the cheese dip and Satchel pondered, "Why does cheese dip have to taste so good?" Believe me, I wish I knew!
After much debate and a fine combing of the menu (which thankfully includes English translations), we decided on the following: chicken soup for Satchel (He loves soup!), chicken flautas for Jiro, guisado pork for Warren, and a chicharon taco and shrimp tostada for me. Our wait was short and uneventful thanks to the Hulk and the promise of sweets.
For whatever reason, Jiro shunned his flautas. I think they may have been too close to the avocado garnish. He ended up eating rice wrapped in a tortilla. (Satchel ate his avocado and one flauta.) Satchel's soup was really quite impressive. It was filled with fresh broccoli, cauliflower, squash, green beans, corn on the cob, and chicken. He was in heaven. Warren liked his pork, but said he didn't expect it to come with bones. I was a little disappointed by my order. The chicharon, or pork rinds, were covered in a green sauce that I wasn't too crazy about. Likewise the shrimp tostada had a little too much cocktail sauce mixed in for my taste. Warren gladly ate my rejects while I ate the rest of Jiro's. (Next time I think we'll all try more soup, which appears to be their specialty.)
At some point during dinner, the Hulk got switched off and soccer got switched on. And we saw the best Mexican mullet ever. (Warren then coined the term "mulleto.") Satchel bit his finger instead of the chicken and had a moment, but thankfully recovered enough to finish his meal. (This provided the 1000th opportunity to explain the importance of eating with utensils.) We had a trip to the bathroom, which was not the cleanest ever, but acceptable.
When we were all done, I told the monkeys they could pick out their dessert--or go next door for an ear of corn. "Corn?" they asked as if it was too good to be true. "We want corn!" (I think the very popular horchata satisfied our sweet teeth.)
So off we went next door.
Tamales Monterrey
Best Z Market, 3888 Macon
864-9414
We learned on our last visit that corn (and tamales) are only sold on Friday and Saturday. Each ear is slathered with mayonnaise, cotija cheese, and then squirted with lime and cayenne pepper if you choose. It's the best $3 you'll ever speand. Trust me.
Warren had the genius idea of pulling his car around so we could tailgate. It was the perfect solution for a very messy treat. Jiro and I both got spicy corn and Satchel opted for plain.
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