Pretty Good Thai

Chongco Thai Rice & Noodles
8503 Broadway #100

(on the northwest corner at Loop 410)

It seems like it wasn't that long ago that there was only one Thai restaurant in San Antonio. Now, Thai cuisine is all over the place: it's the new Buffalo chicken, only better.

Chongco took the triangular location vacated by a long-established pizzeria, cleaned it up and moved in. There is a brightness and sparkle to the place, partly no doubt because it is so new, but also because of the open, airy, uncluttered and clean feeling. 

Last city inspection: none performed yet

We arrived early in the evening (because we were on our way to witness the San Antonio Scorpions' famous victory over the Houston Dynamo), before the evening rush began. Of course, on a Tuesday evening I wouldn't expect there to be much of a rush; this is a location that is likely to attract only people employed in the immediate area. In fact, I wouldn't expect there to be any trouble getting a seat on any evening, unless the place somehow becomes fashionable, with well-known hip-hoppers and television personalities flying in from LA and New York to dine here. And while the airport is conveniently close, I don't see that happening. Despite being open for dinner, this really is a lunch place.

Judged against other Thai food in town (which may or may not be what Thai people eat at home, but who cares?), Chongco is pretty fair. The service was good, though I sensed that the waitress is very new to the endeavour. Still, she was prompt, friendly, competent and attentive to her customers' needs and desires, and when she gets comfortable in actually dealing with people in that setting, she will no doubt earn the place another chili pepper. For now, the verdict is that the place overall is not great, but good. 

I had the spring rolls, edamame and pad see ewe. The edamame was less than perfectly fresh, but about as near to it as one could reasonably expect in this town at the end of May. The spring rolls were well-made, but fried just a hair too long. The appetizer portion was five rolls, too much for one person's appetizer and a tough number to share unless among five people. The pad see ewe, a dish of broad noodles in sauce with broccoli and, in this case, pork, was better than I make at home, but that's really damning with faint praise. The sauce is thicker than I expected, making it difficult to separate the noodles into mouth-sized forkfuls, and the meat included a couple of pieces that were distinctly iffy. But overall, again: good, not great. 

(I also, uncharacteristically, opted for a "bubble drink." For anyone who hasn't tried one of these ultra-sweet chilled drinks, shame on you. They are a dessert that you can sip all through your meal, and when a tapioca pearl comes up the straw, it's like a little prize. My choice was honeydew melon flavour, and it was delicious. A wonderfully sinful treat ... although the last pearls out were frozen solid.)

Opa!

Mina & Dimi's Greek House

7159 Highway 90 West

(at Southwest Military)

I'm not that big on Greek food. After the better part of a lifetime trying the various Greek places around town, expecting good food from those places that have clung to the precarious existence offered by the restaurant business in general, I had about decided that, really, there simply was no such thing as good Greek food 'round here. I'd had good Greek food elsewhere in the country, and I've had good Turkish food here in town (and despite the sometime acrid political and historical division between Greek and Turk, when it comes to food, they eat pretty much the same thing, just with different names). But the overriding characteristic of all the Greek places I've been to in town (and setting aside those that are, primarily, Mediterranean — a distinction without a difference, in many ways — I think I've been to all but one of them) is grease. The most popular Greek places, or at least those that seem to survive the longest, appear to cultivate the zen of grease in their food. 

Now, though, I've found Greek food I can recommend, at this casual little strip-center restaurant on the far-West side, right across the freeway from Lackland. For me, a bit of a drive, and that (plus my inauspicious history with Greek food here in Paradise South) is what's kept it on my wish-list for, oh, a couple of years. But today I took a good friend to lunch, and she lives not far from the junction of Highway 90 and Interstate 35, so it seemed that, if I was ever going to drag myself out there for another disappointing meal in a Greek restaurant, this was the day to get it over with.

The place is coolly dark inside, and small. There is a counter at the back where you place your order, and we were concerned that, with almost all the tables occupied and what looked like another small crowd lined up to order, we might not get a seat; but it worked out alright. Turnover at the tables here is brisk enough to accommodate a respectable number of diners.

The menu is straightforward: there are twenty-some-odd pictures over the counter showing the options available. We were behind a group of five young women in training to be Ladies-Who-Lunch, so we had plenty of time to peruse the illustrations while they questioned the counter attendant on everything from gyro to pie, and tried several of the wines offered. (And speaking of pie, it's good that the menu is above the counter, because it kept me from studying the dessert case below ... but a quick glance told me I wanted all of it. But I was good. I was good. I regret it now, but I was good.)

Their long sojourn at the counter gave me time to notice the specials on blackboards on the wall left of the cash register, above the cooler case, and I chose that day's special, grilled filet of basa with potatoes and salad. My friend went for the chicken-on-a-stick, which a more pretentious place might have called chicken kebab, served with fries and a pita.

First off, the fundamentals: the pita bread was outstanding. If it was not baked by an Attic grandmother in a little oven in the back then it must've been flown in by special messenger direct from Athens or Salonika. Soft, fluffy, exquisitely tasty ... nothing like the packaged crap you get at every other local Greek place I can think of. It was paired, on my dish, with a delicious tzatziki sauce also made in the back, and I got a ramekin of very similar salad dressing that, training aside, I ate every drop of. Everything on both plates was, far as I could tell, fresh and home-made. Okay, they probably bought the ingredients from somewhere else, but I'm pretty sure they did everything that needed doing themselves, and they seem to have the kind of standards I would want in a kitchen. Fresher lettuce I have not had in a salad outside my own home when the occasional head, properly guarded from the neighbourhood wildlife, survives to maturity in my back yard. The fried potatoes on my friend's plate were thick-cut and well-fried, just enough to give the edges a little crispiness while succoring the potato flavour of the insides. My potato, I'm going to guess, was boiled, then sautéed lightly in seasoned butter. However it was done, it was done right: they were cooked the requisite amount of time and no longer; they were neither underdone nor mushy. They were excellent.

Last city inspection: April 2012
only 3 demerits

My friend's chicken was seasoned and grilled and she was pleased not just with the chicken but with the honey-mustard sauce it was served with it ... until she tried my tzatziki sauce, a good portion of which ended up coating her chicken and her fries. But the best thing on the table was the grilled fish. It said "basa" on the menu board; basa is a catfish that is native to southeast Asia. Whether it was actually imported basa, as opposed to, say, garden-variety catfish from Mississippi or Louisiana, I couldn't say; the fish and I exchanged no words; I'm not aware of any culinary cachet that Vietnamese catfish has over its good ol' American cousin; and frankly, immigrant catfish looks pretty much the same as native catfish when it's skinned and filleted and lying on a plate. In any case, whatever the fish's ancestry, it was a large filet deliciously and perfectly grilled in oil, cooked all the way through but not to the point of dryness. The oil was applied both liberally and conservatively: there was enough of it to lightly coat the entire fish, but not so much that it pooled on the plate. It was an exquisitely moderate fish; and that, in cooking as in politics, is an art much needed in the world just now.

Though you place your order at the counter, and collect your own utensils, your meal is served to you by the staff, and they are well-trained and capable, as they would have to be to keep such a compact yet crowded place functioning smoothly. Despite its casual nature, the interior is intimate and comfortable, with interesting décor a cut above the usual in such location-specific restaurants, such as too often seem limited to pages torn from travel magazines. And though most of the crowd, not surprisingly, seemed to be in uniform, I think in the evenings this restaurant would make an excellent date venue. The prices are reasonable, the atmosphere is conducive to quiet conversation, the staff is very good, and the food ... the food is excellent.

Shopping-Center Mexican

El Jarro de Arturo
13421 San Pedro

(281 at Bitters, on the southwest corner of the intersection)

and

Ajuúa Mexican Bar & Grill
11703 Huebner Road

(at Vance Jackson, in the shopping center on the north side)

El Jarro is a very traditional sort of upper-end Mexican restaurant, the sort that was exotic and a touch elegant twenty to fifty years ago. There are a dwindling number of such places still around — Los Barrios, my favourite place, is in the same class, along with La Fogata and La Fonda on Main. Most of them survive, and even thrive, by having reliably good Mexican and Tex-Mex food in a nice setting, with reasonable prices and good service. They update their menus, taking account of gradual changes in dining habits and adopting those things that won't really compromise their premise, like the eventual addition of fajitas to their offerings (a dish that, once upon a time, only their yard men and maids would consider good eating). El Jarro seems to have a different theory of success that I did not immediately perceive.

Last city inspection: April 2012
9 demerits

The interior is dark, which I suppose in the evening could pass for romantic. We, though, were there at lunch, and being Just Friends, Rick and I were not much interested in any romantic characteristics the place might offer. We were, though, interested in being able to navigate the restaurant's floor, and a few small tables inconveniently lined up in a narrow aisle (apparently because their regular locale was occupied by buffet tables) made it a little tight. There were also a number of chairs stacked up near the entrance, giving one the feeling that the restaurant was either about to move out, or had just moved in. It's a moderately large dining room, with a small raised stage to one side where, I suppose, they have music from time to time. There were tables there during our visit, though no chairs. (Hmmm... maybe those chairs by the door....) Tile from Puebla adorns some of the surfaces in the room, and the chairs have rough-woven seats that have seen better days. Fortunately, I've lost enough weight in the last few months that I didn't feel physically threatened by their tenuous integrity; but just barely.

We arrived at a moment when a sudden rush to get out had apparently developed spontaneously, and the sourfaced little man behind the cash register, who later acted as host for new arrivals, could not bring himself to acknowledge our untimely appearance. Instead we waited with more patience than the eventual experience deserved for a waiter to notice us and seat us (and a couple who had been waiting even longer). 

That same waiter returned in good time to take our orders: a Special Salad for Rick, the enchilada-and-taco buffet for me, and ice tea. He brought my tea, it not having occurred to him that I might want something to stir it with; teaspoons are customary, but I made do with a knife from one of the extra place settings on the table. Later, when it came time to get the bill, our waiter was deeply engaged in a discussion with another waiter across the room, a conversation that appeared to require a great deal of directional gestures and detailed instructions, as though they were talking about how to get through unfamiliar streets to the company picnic. This went on far longer than my already-strained patience could last.

The food was disappointing. The chips and salsa, almost always a reliable indicator of delights (or otherwise) to come, were so-so: the chips average, the salsa with a good flavour but a very watery texture.

Rick's "Special Salad" was nothing in the least special. He was served a plate of mixed greens with watery artichoke hearts and shavings of queso fresco (instead of the gorgonzola the menu promised) and a few pumpkin seeds. He thought the vinaigrette dressing was too salty; I tried it myself, and though I'm abnormally sensitive to salt I thought it was fine.

The enchilada-and-taco buffet had highs and lows. Normally, in my weight-watching mode, I would avoid a buffet entirely, but it looked good as we walked past and the price, $7.95, seemed quite reasonable. And it was, though the food looked better than it was. The best of it was the chicken fajita taco filling, which consisted of large, moist chunks of white meat with peppers and onions and good seasoning. The worst was the fideo loco soup, which was a nearly flavourless broth filled with too-long strands of spaghetti (not vermicelli, and in this dish, it makes a real difference) and some overcooked vegetables. The refried beans were as liquid as the salsa, but otherwise had a good flavour; the rice was good enough. The enchiladas were red corn tortillas wrapped around thin slabs of cheddar cheese and covered with a thin, dark gravy such as your abuela would serve when she was mad at your mother. There were flour tortillas and corn taco shells for you to choose from; I didn't try the hard shells, but the flour tortillas were variable. The first one was quite good, the next not. Pico, sour cream, lettuce and tomato were there to dress your creation with. 

All in all, I'd judge that El Jarro de Arturo is a place in need of some new thinking about what people want when they go out to eat. A little adjustment to the lighting, the menu and the staff's attitude would pay dividends, I suspect. Until I hear, though, that changes have been made, I won't be going back myself.

Last city inspection: December 2011
17 demerits

Ajuúa, on the north-west side, is a much more current sort of slightly-upscale Mexican restaurant. A modest space in a modest shopping center that also features a kolache bakery and a Chinese restaurant, Ajuúa is relatively new, with attractive décor of a much more contemporary sort. We still had to wait an inordinate amount of time upon our arrival, nearly half an hour after the day's opening, but this time it was because everyone on the staff (except the bartender) was in a meeting somewhere out of sight. But once we were seated the level of service quickly rose beyond minimal expectations, and had there been someone to greet us when we arrived I'm sure I would have gone with a four-chili-pepper rating. There was plenty of staff to handle the lunch rush we seemed to have started; our waiters, and the ones we could observe tending to the people at nearby tables, were all excellently trained, helpful, and capable. Everyone working there knew what his job was and did it quite well.

Once again, the chips and salsa provided an accurate indication of what was to come. The tostadas were fairly light, not fresh-from-the-fryer hot but not cold or oily either. The salsa was tasty, with a noticeable taste of cilantro that, remarkably, didn't overpower the other flavours in the mixture. And it had a very good texture, and stayed obediently on the chip. 

My choice for lunch (from the specials menu) was the ensalada Ajuúa, a plate of mixed greens with fajita-seasoned chicken breast. It was exquisite. There was plenty of chicken meat, all nicely seasoned and well-cooked without being the least bit dry; there was a base of Romaine lettuce enlivened with a great variety of other fresh salad ingredients, and there was an exquisite sweet poppyseed dressing that, training going out the window, I sucked down every drop of. This was preceded by what was billed on the lunch menu as a "cup" of tortilla soup: it was easily twice that much soup, and it was very good. Not, perhaps, the best in town, and I'm sure my good friend the Hankmeister could name thirty places with better (though since he relocated to Austin, his information may be somewhat dated); I can only name three, and one of those is my house; but I know there are others. 

But I digress.

Rick, on this occasion, chose the unexpected menu entry of a Cuban sandwich. What he was served was pork and turkey on a light toasted bun, with steak fries and a small portion of tossed salad (featuring that same poppyseed dressing). Who would figure, given the cultural differences, that a Mexican kitchen would whip up a really good Cuban sandwich, when the two peoples are barely on speaking terms? But they did, and while it proved an exception to the General Theory of Sandwiches,* I don't think anybody's going to be too disappointed when the thing doesn't fall apart on the plate. The steak fries were perfectly cooked, an accomplishment, it seems, in any kitchen, and the salad was, as you would expect, delicious.

Two Mexican restaurants in two suburban shopping centers within fifteen minutes of each other, yet decades, and worlds, apart. I know which one I'd pick ... if I didn't have to go outside the Loop.

* A sandwich's quality is directly proportional to its messiness. 

Can't Say Little Enough

Taco House
6307 San Pedro

(between Basse & Jackson-Keller)

It is, it turns out, possible for Tex-Mex food to be both spicy and bland. Don't believe it? Try the tacos de chilaquiles or tacos de huevos a la mexicana at the Taco House.

Everything we had — four kinds of tacos, and coffee — was scalding hot. The coffee was passable, but the tacos relied exclusively on quantity for any appeal they could claim. This place has been around for ages, so I guess that's enough for a good number of people.

Last city inspection: October 2011
13 demerits

The eggs must've been scrambled on a grill without fat, because they were almost completely lacking in flavour. What, then, was that oily stuff dripping from the taco? I don't know. It looked like oil, but had no taste. The texture of the tacos was alright, including the fried tortilla strips, and there was enough jalapeño in the mix to give fire to the dish ... but nothing else. The result was blandness, in both the egg-based tacos. The fajita meat was tender and plentiful but it, too, had no seasoning to speak of. The plentiful grilled onion and green pepper were alright but they didn't add enough to make the whole thing worth while. The picadillo was adequate, but it could so easily have been much better.

There is no service at the Taco House: you order at the counter and pick up your food when they call your number. There is no atmosphere, either: bare floors, minimalist décor, aging tables and lumpy bench seats: a real utilitarian setting. The prices were unremarkable, although my dining partner is convinced that he's never paid so much for a fajita taco. (The overall bill, though, was right where it should've been.)

Celayense, tal vez, pero no la mia

Mi Celayence
2903 Fredricksburg

(between Hildebrand and Olmos Drive)

Of all the untried Mexican restaurants in the Hildebrand Corridor, probably none interested me more than Mi Celayence. Celaya is a large industrial city in the southern part of the state of Guanajuato; it is also the family home of a very good friend of mine, and so a place I've visited on occasion. And frankly, my memories of Guanajuato are so gilded that any association with that place, however tenuous, causes a little hiccup in my normally profound equilibrium. 

But as a restaurant, Mi Celayence is nothing special, despite my wishing to make it seem so. The food is perfectly good, even slightly better than average. Our choices on this visit were what have become our generic standards: machacado and chilaquile tacos on corn tortillas, beef fajita and picadillo tacos on flour. While the seasoning and preparation were just competent, the difference lies in the quality of ingredients used. The fajitas were, in particular, a slightly better cut of meat than is strictly necessary for the dish, and that, plus the relatively large chunks of well-cooked potato in the picadillo, was just enough to raise the food in our esteem about half a chili-pepper's worth in the ratings. The service was reasonably good, though the three waitresses working the room at the time of our visit seemed unable to cope completely with some recently-departed rush: there were a number of uncleared tables when we arrived, and as many when we left, though the place wasn't remarkably busy in the interim.

Last city inspection: November 2011
19 demerits

Those tables were one aspect of the ambience that left something to be desired. Another was the number of flies buzzing around, and while I accept that, in a corner booth with windows on two sides, any flies in the place would be in that part of the place, I still found it unpleasant, and something made me think that the management didn't really care about such things. Also, the air conditioner was barely adequate to compensate for the unusual warm humid conditions prevailing on the day, which detracted from the pleasure a diner hopes to find in even the humblest restaurant. 

One other characteristic of this restaurant deserves mention, and that is the thoroughly mejicano feel of the place. It's not just the food, the décor, the colours, the Spanish heard on all sides. It's also the well-behaved little children in the place and the itinerant vendors offering sweets and trinkets. Most Mexican restaurants seem to try hard to be American, or at least Mexican-American; it was refreshing to find one that is utterly and unapologetically content to be Mexican.