You might agree or disagree with my opinions, but that's life, isn't it? And no, I get no commissions or kickbacks from any of the places favorably reviewed - I do this entirely for my own amusement and your information. This, by the
way, is the one part of NotTheNews that often features POSITIVE critiques, so to those
of you whining about NotTheNews being too negative, get off my case.
The first thing that the Casual Restaurant Critic will do upon returning to Mexico is eat a taco...
September, 2000
The Critic, upon returning from long journeys to places so markedly different as to render them unfathomable by the local imagination, always feels the need, the urge, the overwhelming burning desire to get his fingers greasy and eat some tacos; preferably al pastor, or maybe some frijoles charros or anything else really taco-ish.
So shortly after touchdown, the Critic, accompanied by the Fussy Crew who were apparently happy to see him, sallied forth (Monty Python - it means went out) to imbibe in all manner of charred bovine and porcine flesh.
The restaurant? El Paisano. This is an operation that has been around for a year or two or maybe a little more, but not as long as say, Las Jirafas, El Payaso or La Parrilla. El Paisano has one location on 60 street, where this Critic has never been; and another on 31 or Circuito; near the Baño Ideal and that gargoleado furniture place (some locals, caught in the romantic nostalgia of hacienda days and multiple servants, still insist on buying this crap!). Another excellent point of reference is of course that famous jodoguero who has his little stand, complete with red plastic Coke chairs, gas powered lantern and a T.V. for watching las novelas. El Paisano is just a half-block away. In any case, you'll find it, if you are determined and should you really want to.
They have all the basic taco fare; what makes them different is the garlicky creamy dippy sauce that arrives at your table with the usual arrangement of semi-nuevo salsas that have been circulating among many other tables and diners before your arrival. Hmmm, sure hope no-one sneezed in 'em. These salsas and that creamy garlicky dippy stuff is accompanied by the usual tortilla chips and pan arabe, loosely translated as 'arab bread', or for those of us more familiar with Greek cuisine, pita bread, dried and baked and broken into little pieces for dipping in the creamy garlicky dippy stuff.
The rest of the menu also boasts that Arab touch with several large pita wraps and other very large intimidating burrito kind of meals that would make Dr. Atkins and his protein loving followers very happy. The food in general tastes a little on the cheap side; for example the melted cheese (queso fundido, gringas, quesadillas) tastes like the lowest-priced variety possible available at the local Super Maz on triple coupon day; the very greasy chorizo (to be found floating in the choriqueso) is a bright, glow-in-the-dark orange color with only a passing hint of any chorizo flavor, surely there must be some food coloring in there! Maybe it's psychological, but the sight of the ragged, hygienically-challenged personnel, dingy uniforms and the dim lighting imparts a slightly 'off' flavor to the food.
Kids take note: If you should be unfortunate and/or misguided enough to order french fries in this taco place (why order fries in a taqueria?), be prepared to wait an eternity since they are obviously not used to preparing these and they will take a LONG time. The logical part of the Critic's brain asks "So why are they on the menu??" Also please be careful when pouring the quality (!) ketchup/catsup on those fries; El Paisano features the very liquid extra bargain brand and it will burst forth from the bottle, very unlike Heinz, and will flood your entire plate, turning your meal into sour tomato soup with fried potato croutons. Sounds yummy, doesn't it?
The all-male service is pretty well awful on a regular basis (we've given this place several chances in the past to prove us wrong), and can get downright surly at times, especially when you're making some sort of observation regarding the dish you did NOT order and the waiter is bleary eyed and obviously drunk.
Your chair can be far too high for the table so you feel kind of like a T. Rex waving your arms around and bending over your plate to bite into your taco de arrachera without spewing salsa drippings all over your shirt.
Live music by some unknown talent singing in the corner fingering his organ is an unwelcome addition to an ambience that can only be described as cheap and dingy.
Positive elements included the jamaica, which is very
good, and the corn tortillas, which appeared fresh and didn't fall apart
as they do in so many taquerias these days, where price is the only
consideration when purchasing tortillas or masa. Feeling whiny about tortillas?
You are not alone. Read this!
