I’m a Mexican food snob. I have to be because there is no reason to eat Mexican food if it’s not good. I mean, if it’s not going to be worth it, I’m better off just driving to my mom’s.
My Mexican-food superiority complex has for years provided me with quite the laugh at the expense of friends promising a restaurant with “the best Mexican food you’ve EVER had.” So, if you’ve ever seen me snickering at the table while sitting across from you and my so-called Mexican meal, now you know what was so amusing.
However, since one of my resolutions is to be nicer this year, I’ve decided to offer a few tips to anyone thinking of taking someone who really knows Mexican food to “the best Mexican restaurant EVER.” Noticing a few simple things about the Mexican restaurant you have in mind will make the experience more pleasant for you and the Mexican you’re trying to impress.
- The first thing put out on the table is often salsa. This is not because salsa is a time-filler to keep your hands busy before the drink order is taken. Salsa is an important indicator of a restaurant’s taste credentials. A bad salsa will immediately indicate that you have a warped sense of good Mexican food. What is bad salsa? While salsa contains tomatoes, its primary ingredient is chile. Accordingly, make sure that your salsa has something of a kick and that it is not sweet. Salsa shouldn’t be sweet. It is not ketchup or spaghetti sauce.
- There are many things to drink at a Mexican restaurant. Horchata, orange Fanta out of a glass bottle, jamaica, licuados, margaritas, and beer are among them. However, I think the best indicator of whether or not a Mexican restaurant knows what it’s talking about is whether or not its “limonada” is made with limes. While the dictionary translates “limonada” as “lemonade,” in a good Mexican restaurant there are no lemons in the limonada.
- When you order your entree, it’ll come with beans. Many people focus on the entree as the way to pass judgment on the whole restaurant. I prefer to look at the pinto beans. Whether you like them “enteros” (whole) or “guizados” (refried with lard or, as Americanized, with vegetable oil), you can tell whether they’ve been properly washed, soaked, and spiced if they look light and taste fresh with a hint of garlic, onion, and maybe cilantro or jalapeños (see El Chavo’s description of frijoles de olla). If the beans are dark and don’t taste like anything, chances are you’re looking at beans out of a can, something I would be disowned for ever knowingly eating.
- Lastly, there is the knowledge of a restaurant’s authenticity to be gained from a reading of its tortillas. You see, there are traditional dishes that demand specific types of tortillas. There is no negotiating this. Tostadas are meant to be on deep fried corn tortillas. Enchiladas are meant to made of salsa-dipped corn tortillas. Tacos (both soft and hard-shell) are meant to be made with corn tortillas, as well. If you want creativity or fusion, or you just prefer these entrees made with flour tortillas, find someplace that calls its burritos “wraps” or that offers tortillas in all of the rainbow’s colors. While it’ll suit your immediate needs, it won’t be how my grandmother, great grandmother, or any of my other ancestors did it—so please, don’t tell me it’s “the best Mexican food EVER.”
© Laura Genao 2007
Hey, Laura. Amelia pointed all the rest of the Noels toward the blog to look at pictures of Anna.
That said, this post reminds me of a North Hammond story.
Back in ’04, I was working on a user research project. And some of the interviews were set up for South Chicago/North Hammond, in areas where I spent a lot of time as a kid. So I drove Joanna, the interviewer, to a lot of the interviews. Helped out with some, with some I just sat in the car and listened to the Cubs, or chatted with other family members.
One young woman was interviewed at her grandparents place, and I spent the hour talking with her Grandpa. After a while, we got to talking about the neighborhood.
“You know,” I said, “one of my favorite restaurants is around here.” Since I already knew his last name was hispanic, and since that part of North Hammond is mosly Mexican, I should have known this was going to end poorly.
“Oh, reallly? Which one?”
“My folks always took me there as a kid. Taco Real.”
“Oh,” he said. “Sure, that place is fine.” But his expression said, “Oh, boy, I don’t want to be impolite to this guy.”
So I said to him, “Hey, wait, come on, what did you really want to say?”
He laughed, and told me, “No, no, it’s fine, nothing.”
A couple of minutes of back and forth got him him laughing, and he finally said to me, “Really, that place is fine. But we have a name for a food like that.”
“What’s that?”
“We call it “White Man’s Mexican Food.”"
We both cracked up. “Sure,” I said. “I’m a white guy! So of course I’m gonna like it! It’s made for me!”
After that, he gave me directions to about three “authentic” places nearby, all of which I tried over the next few months, all of which were takeout joints, and all of which were great. The one thing they had in common was that they were all burn-your-mouth-off spicy.
So, while the ingredients may have been authentic, the beans may have never seen a can, and the Fanata was nice and cold, what I really learned was that the difference between White Man’s Mexican Food and the authentic stuff was a LOT spicier.
None of it as good as your Mom’s food, of course.
I agree with cindy, great post! One other clue which screams you’re NOT eating the best Mexican food: the Jack Cheese Smother. Yet, some of the most popular places in town still commit that crime, que triste.
Mujer, you deserve a medal for this post. I agree with everything you say, especially the part about type of tortilla and good beans. There is no substitute for good beans.
I don’t live with my parents anymore, and don’t really know how to cook so it’s rare that I have access to good beans, unless I’m at home. Sometimes a bowl of frijoles de la olla, queso fresco and a tortilla de maiz (just a little burnt, the way I like it) is the best meal ever.