Really just an excuse to mention Guanajuato...

There's magic in the air, there.

I don't know why I like Natalie's Café so much. There's nothing really special about it: a small family-run greasy-cucharadita in a part of town I almost never go to (on Cupples Road, just north of US 90 West). I found it entirely by accident when I had to be at a nearby school and, given my fondness for trying new places, stopped in.

What does that mean?

Anyone who reads this blog with any regularity -- nobody, as far as I know, but who's counting? -- knows that my quest for the perfect breakfast taco ranks right up there with Love and Justice, the other two things in life worth fighting for. The chilaquile tacos at Natalie's are as close as I've come, so far. They transport me back to Mexico, to those ancient days in Guanajuato (a magical city to visit with your one special one) when I first discovered chilaquiles.

What else can I say about it? The ambience is utterly mejico tipico, the service is good, not fussy and not great, and the prices are low -- or at least, they seem low after so long on the North Side. Actually they're about average for the less affected parts of this very inexpensive city.

I took a friend there for lunch yesterday. I think she was a little put off that I wasn't taking her to a more trendy North Side establishment, but she admitted that the enchiladas were very good even though she wouldn't feel safe walking along the sidewalk out front. (I would, at least at that time of day; I often forget that the women I know tend to be a little more concerned than me about personal safety.) I gave serious thought to ordering something other than chilaquile tacos, but in the end I couldn't bring myself to pass on them: as I said, I don't get over to that part of town often, and felt I should take the opportunity when it presents itself. Mmmmm.

Go Figure: Taco Taco

I'm always amazed that a national magazine like Bon Appetit would pick a restaurant within walking distance of my house as being the best in the entire country for the type of food it serves. Not because there aren't a lot of good restaurants within walking distance (for an ambitious walker, at least), but because I always think of San Antonio as being somehow off the radar for the rest of the country. A big city, yes, but close enough to Houston and Dallas that, when people think of Texas, they don't think of us. And now Austin, just up the road, is taking on the mantle of coolness, leaving us as kind of an oversized colonia, but with plumbing.

In a sense, though, it's natural that even the sophisticates who run national magazines would eventually be led to San Antonio for the best Tex-Mex food. While the vast majority of people in the mainstream hinterland believe what they're told, that you can get good Mexican in Houston and Dallas and Santa Fe and even Los Angeles, they don't realize that when we say Mexican, we mean Tex-Mex, and that don't come no better than right here in River City.

It's been a while -- probably more than a year -- since the professional foodies at Bon Appetit pronounced Taco Taco Cafe to be the best Mexican food In The Whole Country, but the banner's still up out front, the review's still on the door, and let's face it: no place in town has gotten higher praise since from People Who Count.

What does that mean?

I, obviously, don't count. I've been to Taco Taco a number of times since the Greek lady who owns the gas station next door opened her taquería in this unassuming space after Panchito's moved uptown. I've been there for breakfast, and for lunch, and even went back several times after the magazine piece and accompanying television program, just to see what it was they'd found that I never had. I still don't know.

I went back again today, and had a couple of chilaquile tacos, and coffee, and have once again come away completely unimpressed. The flour tortillas were fresh, as always, and this time they weren't overcooked as they have been on occasion. The coffee was good. The chilaquiles were, well, not bad, though the cheese tasted like Velveeta. They were a little messy, which is a good thing, and the salsa that was available in the nearly-empty pitcher on the table was tasty enough. The service was mediocre despite the fact that, when I arrived, the place was more than half-empty. The kitchen seemed disorganized -- the three army officers at the next table got their orders in three separate deliveries some minutes apart, and I had time to drink my coffee and read five chapters of a trashy novel before the waitress brought my order and a refill. Not bad, really, but not good.

Cheese is an integral part of chilaquiles, to my way of thinking. Without cheese, it's just scrambled eggs with tortilla strips mixed in with the veggies. So I object to being charged extra for a dose of cheese; it reminds me of that old "I Love Lucy" episode where the man sells Lucy a vacuum cleaner -- "the works" for ten bucks. "And now that you've bought the works, don't you think you'd like this attractive case to put them in?" Cheese is not an added ingredient for chilaquiles.

I especially object to being charged extra for Velveeta, which is not cheese, but is a cheese-like substance. And still more, I object to being charged 59¢ for it ... twice. That objection is reflected in the rating for value.

Best tacos in America? Oh, puh-leeze! They're not even the best tacos on that street.

Five Guys Burgers & Fries

I tried the fare at Five Guys Burgers in the Quarry Market again yesterday. I had been there once before and found it good, but not great, and wanted to give the place another chance to live up to the high expectations generated by a number of favorable reviews in both the local daily rag and the weekly throwaway. Plus, having recently been in the Washington DC suburbs, the sheer numbers of Five Guys locations had burned the name into my subconscious, where it whispered to me confused notions about the link between success and quality.

I can't fault the quality of the burger. Everything that was supposed to be soft was soft; everything that was supposed to be crisp was crisp. Everything that was supposed to be tasty, was tasty.

What does that mean?

The place is arranged in a traditional storefront way. Wooden tables for four, all just a wee bit too close together, occupy the front of the space, with an aisle between that leads to the counter. A menu board hangs above two cash registers; the kitchen bustles behind that. I was dismayed at the line waiting to order when I arrived, but it moved quickly.

I was less impressed with the prices. A regular burger ("regular" is the new "small"), regular order of fries, and regular drink was just over ten dollars -- not an awful lot in absolute dollars, but it seemed about fifteen percent more than it should have been. (I notice that, on Urbanspoon, two locations are rated at $, while this location in the upscale Quarry Market is rated $$; maybe Five Guys is like HEB, & charges different prices at different locations.) The price includes free refills on drinks ... if you can get to the dispensers.

Two drinks dispensers stand against the wall near the counter. They seemed to be The spot for teenagers and young children to loll about, chatting on cellphones and testing first one, then another flavor of soda. Gradually they were reminded of the world about them, and moved off to tables, giving the grown-ups the chance to pour drinks. Some minor inconvenience attended the fact that some flavors of drink were available in one dispenser, but not the other. This occasioned that dance you do when one dispenser is available, but it's not the one the person in front of you wants. But the trade-off is that there are more flavors available, and all in all I'd say it's a worthwhile trade.

While you wait for your order, you can treat yourself to roasted peanuts from large boxes placed around the dining room. (The boxes are labelled with the advice that "because of the danger of allergic reactions," peanuts are not to be removed from the shop. What hogwash. It's because they don't want you carting off all their peanuts. Understandable, but it makes me wonder that we accept such bald-faced lies in our lives without comment; especially at airport "security.") The tradition in places that give away knosh peanuts is that you toss the shells on the floor. That gives the place a down-home kind of feel, but (a) we modern Americans are just a tad too well-brought-up to make an intentional mess like that in somebody else's place, and (b) the smooth floor is too slick to have peanut shells lying around on it. If they're going to do the peanut thing, they should have a floor that won't turn into an ice rink when somebody walks on the shells.

Despite the number of people ahead of me in line, the orders were cranked out at good speed, and I didn't have to wait long to get my food. The burger, as I implied above, was very good; maybe not Fatty's-good, but close. The fries, however, were another story.

The regular (small) order proved to be about twice as many fries as I would have wanted, and about three times as many as I would have expected, but for the price. Five Guys makes a point of the fact that they use only peanut oil in-house; I think they might want to rethink that. The fries were greasy and limp, and the peanut oil imparts a taste that, while not unpleasant, is unappealing. It made me less regretful about throwing half my order away.

The one other thing worth mentioning is the noise. Every surface in the place is designed to reflect sound, so this small glass-fronted burger shop is as loud as Rosario's at lunch on Friday in Lent.