A Couple of Good Lunch Spots

China Star, on Babcock at Callaghan, is a nice little place for Chinese food on the northwest side. We stopped in on a whim the other day & found it had excellent service and above-average food. The dining room may not have been updated since the 1970s, but then neither have the prices. For five bucks apiece, we each got enough food for two good meals.

The hot & sour soup had an unusual sweet hint to it, and the fried noodles were crisp and not greasy. The beef & broccoli had a nice sauce, thicker than average, with a slight suggestion of ginger that gave it a complexity not usually found in Chinese-restaurant lunch specials.

Last city inspection: October 2014
6 demerits
(a tremendous improvement)
What the Ratings Mean

Yesterday, we went over to Garibaldi's on North West Military, in Castle Hills. We've been fans of the restaurant's Fredericksburg Road location, but sometimes this is a more convenient place. The food is as good as in the other location, plus the dining room is brighter and has a cleaner feel to it. I had the beef fajita nachos. A large order (12) was more food than I really needed, but I managed to lick the plate clean. Good service. Prices seemed a little high for Rick's tacos, but not outrageously so.

Castle Hills doesn't disclose
restaurant ratings on line, but the
restaurant posts the results by the door
What do those ratings mean?

Houlihorn, or maybe Longhans

A week ago, my friend Rick and I were drifting around the Death Loop, hoping for an interesting place for lunch. Unable to find one, we pulled into Houlihan's, a chain restaurant out of Kansas that's been around, oh, I don't know, maybe thirty or forty years. Okay, so it had been at least a decade since I'd been to a Houlihan's, & Rick wasn't feeling particular, so we decided to try it. 

The place has changed substantially since the last time I'd been to one, not that it was ever particularly memorable. They used to be a sort of glamourized bar that also served food. They still have a bar, but now the restaurant is the focus of the place. The room is large and nicely decorated, very much in the current fashion of minimalism and postmodern lines, with a few interesting touches not worth really describing. The partial old-fashioned acoustic-tile ceiling seemed to have been left behind by a prior occupant, not least because it was the only thing in the room that wasn't sparkling-clean. A little shiny steel and teak (or teak-coloured) wood, some glass and fake leather, and voilà: the modern Houlihan's. Nice. Comfortable. 

The hostess left us with menus, lunch-special cards, and a timer. This last is their gimmick: the lunchtime guarantee that your food will be with you in 20 minutes or less. The fine print on the menu reveals some limitations, of the obvious sort: if you order something unusual, for example, it doesn't apply. No one cares about such things, of course, until your food is delayed and you have to get back to the office without having eaten. That probably never happens at this restaurant, which I'm sure is a good thing that will interest some people doing drudge jobs in Überloopland.

Rick, on taking a seat, suddenly became oddly particular about what he was going to have; lucky for the waiter that the 20 minutes didn't start when we sat down, because Rick took at least 15 of those units to make a decision. It being a week ago, I no longer recall what he ordered, or what he thought of it; in any case, he didn't share it with me, so I wouldn't be reviewing it anyway. For my part, I went with the pot roast mac-and-cheese on the lunch specials menu, with a cup of baked potato soup. I'm sure the waiter, who had almost given up on us ordering, and who, I'm sure, was thinking about the turnover rate on his table, was relieved to finally start the little timer on the table and rush off to the kitchen.

What's that mean?
Last city inspection: August 2014
7 demerits

The food did indeed arrive within 20 minutes. I wouldn't call it particularly quick -- this isn't Burger King, after all. But it was prompt. The potato soup was not as hot as I think it should have been, but it was otherwise acceptable: a decent-sized cup, with decent quantities of potato and all the fixin's in a mild cream soup. 

The mac-and-cheese dish was, in some ways, quite good. Not in the same class as my late ex-mother-in-law's, whose version was enough to prompt me to marry her daughter*, but certainly better than what you would get at many restaurants, or out of a box. It had a crust of panko bread crumbs to give it a little crunch, and plenty of tender, moist beef, and of course the pasta and cheese that gives it its name. Though the cheese wasn't enough to give the serving the sort of cohesiveness I like to see in macaroni and cheese, it was flavourful, and enhanced the dish thereby.  The beef, though, detracted despite its exceptional tenderness: it had been prepared in a seasoning mix that I can ony describe as distracting and slightly unpleasant. The phrase that came to mind was that it got up my nose; I didn't like it, and would not order it again.

Today, for reasons not pertinent here, we were again on the hunt for an interesting lunch experience, this time on the inner loop. Years ago, there was a little café down near the county court house called Longhorn Cafe, from which my office-mates and I would sometimes order sandwiches or plate lunches. It was never a particularly good place, just convenient and cheap. Some time after that, this place opened up in town, and for a long time I thought it was the same place, gone upscale.  

But no: this is Longhorn Steak House, an outlet of an east-coast chain originating in Georgia. It occupies a building on the grounds of the old Central Park Mall once home to a Bennigan's, if memory serves. By the time we got that far, we were ready to settle for the sort of pasteurized fare one gets at chain restaurants; and neither of us had ever been there. So in we went.

The room is very much changed since it was a Bennigan's (or whatever). It is oriented left-to-right now, with the dining room on one side and the bar on the other. (Before, the bar was in the middle with dining areas around it like a theater-in-the-round.) The décor is all macho fake western: cheap reproductions of mediocre western art such as one would buy at those traveling hotel room "Art Shows" ("Nothing over $200!"), a few vaguely Amerindian vessels made, probably, in China; and some iron cut-outs of cattle and cowboys. The only things that weren't in keeping with the suburban western theme were the ubiquitous television sets showing sports channels over the bar, and the sign over the restroom door, which looked incongruously like it came from Disneyland's Raiders of the Lost Ark ride.

What the ratings mean
Last city inspection: May 2014
3 insignificant demerits

But the thing that struck us both about this restaurant was the degree of similarities it had to Houlihan's. The two chains don't appear to be at all related, but both possess the same vein of committee-designed ambience and the same vein of committee-designed menu selections (except, of course, at Longhorn the mac and cheese is steak instead of pot roast). These two restaurants are, in many significant ways, interchangeable.

We were given a bread basket while we waited, containing three thick slices of crusty bread that looked better than it was. It was baked slightly too long, rendering it crumbly and dry, and the butter was straight from the freezer and rock-hard.

This time, Rick was quicker to order, presumably as he had reviewed the menu the week before, at Houlihan's. He got the baked potato soup. It could have been from the same pot as what I'd had at Houlihan's, and it too was served not quite hot enough. He also ordered the "BPT special," a sandwich of bacon with pimento cheese and one thin slice of fried green tomato -- disappointing, given that the ingredient was touted as a significant component of the dish. It was served on Texas Toast, which constituted, he estimates, 80% of the food. He was served only a half-sandwich as part of a soup-and-sandwich combo, though he did not order that. The waiter offered to have the sandwich re-made whole, but Rick declined.

I toyed with the idea of ordering the steak mac-and-cheese, for comparison with what I'd had the week before at Houlihan's, but decided instead on an old-fashioned burger with swiss cheese. This proved to be a good choice. For starters, it actually looked like the picture on the menu: lots of meat -- almost too much, if you can believe that -- with fresh lettuce and a big thick slice of tomato. It had no mustard or mayo on it but was moist enough not to need it. The meat was cooked through, and the red onion used was crisp, and pungent enough to give flavour without overwhelming. All in all, a better than average burger.

I chose a baked potato as my side; this, like the bread, was slightly overbaked, but not so much as to warrant serious complaint; like the bread, it was just a little drier than it should have been. It was served with adequate condiments, though the butter was again too hard to use. Luckily, by this time the butter that had come with the bread basket had thawed enough to be cut with a knife.

* I did have other reasons, too; she also made a mean brisket.

Good Food, but No

Jerusalem Grill
3259 Wurzbach

(by Ingram Park Mall)

I had been wanting to try this place for more than a couple of years, having heard so many good things about it. But it's a little out of my normal stomping grounds, so it took me until last month to get over there. I took a friend that I don't get to see as much as I used to, since she moved to a more distant part of town. So you know how it is: once you cross Durango you may as well just keep going.*

Middle-Eastern food has been a cuisine of decreasing exoticness since the 1970s. These days, there seems to be a hummus-and-falafel stand on every third corner. This is not good news for people who don't like chickpeas (like me) but is great news for people who like the blend of spices, the lamb, the beef and the soft breads (again, like me) that are the hallmark of kitchens across that part of the world.

This restaurant inhabits an unprepossessing back corner of an undistinguished strip center just across the road from the back of Ingram Mall. There are a few tables outside (empty, of course, during summer noontimes); inside the space is in an L-shape, with the shorter end occupied by what looked like a buffet line, the larger end by the dining room. We were seated at a table by a glass wall and brought water, napkins, utensils and menus immediately. Naturally, there was a television set on a nearby wall, and equally naturally, it was showing a World Cup match that had been played earlier. Within a very few minutes, we had settled on the mixed grill kebab plate (chicken, lamb, beef) for my friend, the lamb gyro plate for me. The waiter returned to take our order.

I don't know if he had as much trouble understanding me as I had understanding him; his accent was pronounced but I don't think it was impenetrable, except that he seemed to mumble, allowing me to only catch one word in four. Reminded me of the Low-Talker episode of Seinfeld. We placed our order and he went away, apparently satisfied. A minute later another waiter appeared and asked to take our order. He said something I didn't catch and gestured toward the buffet area, where the first waiter was busy being busy, and then asked again what we would like. So we ordered again. At least the second waiter was generally much easier to understand, but while we were eating he seemed to look around the dining room and glower, not just at us, but at other tables as well, like the famous Soup Nazi. It was a little uncomfortable.

Last city inspection: February 2014
two perfect ratings in a row!
What does that mean?

The food came not as quickly as we would have expected. It took long enough for several other tables to order and get their food ahead of us, and for the conversation at our table to run down to a trickle; but not long enough that we began to worry about it.  Both plates were piled high with rice and meat, some seasoned onions and other veggies on the side, and a nice serving of delicious soft bread. The seasonings of the meats (I tried her beef as well as my lamb), the creamy tzatziki sauce (I know, there are Arabic and Turkish and Persian names for yoghurt-and-cucumber sauce too, but it's close enough to the same stuff) and the vegetables were delicious, and everything was cooked well. But I couldn't say that it was better than I'd have gotten at any of the other decent Middle-Eastern restaurants in town. Maybe it's that expectations were inflated after all the glowing raves on the restaurant's Urbanspoon page. Still, I give it an extra half-chili rating just because everything was of that quality. (Usually there is something not quite up to standard.)

So to sum up: yeah, if I'm in that part of town I might go back. But I doubt it.

*For this attitude I should thank, or at least acknowledge, Steve, who lives in New York. Years ago he showed up at my apartment in Austin (on moving day, as it happened) and said that he had been to visit a cousin in Cleveland, and, well, as long as he was in the neighbourhood.... Such an inspiration.

Just Gotta Wonder

Original Donut Shop
3307 Fredericksburg

(at Babcock)

In the seamy section of Fredericksburg Road between Hildebrand and Loop 410, there are relatively few decent taco houses; surprising in this town. I can only think of two, one at each end of that strip of road (though there is one other, in between, that I haven't yet tried). And unlike almost every place in the country north of Waco and Ponchatoula, we don't find donut shops in every strip-center around here. Maybe, then, it's the novelty of a donut shop, and the relative novelty of tacos in that area, that keep this neighbourhood taco house going. Whatever it is, it's worked for decades. It sure ain't the food.

I've tried the food here half a dozen times over the past twenty years. Today probably marks not my last visit, but the experience has been sufficiently consistent over all those visits to write now with some confidence.

Today, for the first time, I tried the donuts. (To be honest, I never before realized that they actually sold donuts; I've always come in from the Babcock Road side, and never before noticed the small donut-shop area at the other end; or if I did, I'd forgotten about it.) The donuts were good, not spectacular: better than HEB, but more expensive; not as good as Shipley's, but cheaper. The variety on offer is substantial, with something to surely satisfy whatever craving your sweet tooth has. Enough said about that.

The taquería side of the business is poorly laid out. The food is set out in steamer tables, and the line to order at the register forms in front of those tables. When your food is ready, they call your number and you collect your tray from the counter over the steamer table. The coffee dispenser is there too, though the sugar and creamer supplies are kept to the left of the register, and napkins and eating utensils are at the other end of the counter. This arrangement guarantees that everybody will be in everybody else's way at least twice, possibly three times. More if you decide to get a refill on coffee.

What's that mean?
Last city inspection: January 2014
14 demerits

The coffee was, to us, not worth a refill. It took double doses of creamer, and a packet of salt, to make that bitter, acidic brew palatable. How the coffee attained that level of unpleasantness without also being Starbucks-strong is beyond me.

I ordered a potato and egg taco and a bacon and egg taco, both on corn tortillas. My friend Rick (now on occasion known to me as Sidekick Max, after a movie character) went for a couple of beef fajita tacos on wheat tortillas. In both cases the tortillas were well-made, and held together fairly well.  Rick was happy enough with his meal, and had nothing to complain of in it. He rates them at two and a half chili peppers -- ordinary.

My bacon and egg taco was a disappointment. It was overly salty, there wasn't much bacon in it, and the eggs were way too dry to be pleasing. That happens when they sit in a steamer table for who knows how long. The same eggs were used in the potato-and-egg taco, but in that taco the big chunks of potato (which had only improved from the long steaming) imparted enough moisture to make the overall texture much more pleasant, and the addition of a little fair-quality red salsa gave the taco a little flavour.

Otherwise, the place is good enough: the dining room is fairly clean despite a constant turnover, though the hard-tile floor made it impossible to find a table that didn't wobble with every touch. If you keep your foot on the table-leg, it'll hold still.

 

First Impression: Better Than Average

Mama's Kitchen
504 West Hildebrand

(between San Pedro & Blanco, by the railroad tracks)

There used to be a different little family-owned Tex-Mex restaurant in this space; and another one before that; and probably another one before that, and so on all the way back to when this was a house on the edge of town in the 1940s. Both predecessors that I tried were pretty run-of-the-mill on a good day, and they didn't seem to have that many good days.

Knowing that, I only went here for breakfast because of my halfway-serious desire to try and review all the restaurants along what I call the Hildebrand Corridor, that stretch of the avenue between McCullough and Fredericksburg, along with the side-streets.  I put off dining here for a long time, expecting something not worthwhile in a town filled with so very many good Tex-Mex cocinas. 

I'm happy to say that this place was, if not a revelation, at least a pleasant surprise. 

The interior is not substantially different from what it was under the former régime: clean enough, not too many ticky-tack tchotchkis around; a few interesting or amusing wall hangings (including an enormous map of Mexico, such as one would find in a schoolroom in Morelia). The furnishings are all small-family-restaurant standard, apparently in decent enough shape. One noticeable drawback is the adhesive quality of the heavy clear vinyl table covers, which make it difficult to move things around on the surface. Not really a problem until you go to slide a water glass out of the way and, oops! Top moves, bottom doesn't. Also the noise from the hardworking window-unit air conditioners is distracting at first, until you get used to it and it becomes just another bit of white noise competing with the stereo and the conversations from other tables. 

The server was prompt and courteous; she spoke just enough English to be able to deal with my friends who speak no Spanish, but clearly Spanish is the preferred language here. And although my own Spanish has rusted away to dust in most applications, I still retain enough restaurant-Spanish to place the right order and answer most questions a server is likely to ask, even if it's only slowly and with poorly-constructed sentences.

What's that mean?
Last city inspection: February 2014
3 demerits (very good)

I went with one of my standard orders: one machacado taco on flour, one chilaquile taco on corn, with coffee. The coffee was in the average range: not too bitter, not too acidic, not too strong, not too weak. Really not too anything. There's nothing about it to recommend, but nothing to condemn either.  It's just ... coffee.

The chilaquiles here are of the variety that I like best, often called a la mexicana: prepared with eggs, tomato, peppers and onion. The chilaquiles themselves (meaning the fried pieces of corn tortilla) were done a little past perfection, but maintained enough crunchy texture and toasted-corn flavour to satisfy. The egg and vegetable mixture was very well done, clearly not rushed as so many kitchens will do. The vegetables were cooked through but not overdone, and the eggs were cooked to moist solidity. There was a satisfying quantity of cheese, and the salsa picante roja in the mixture gave it just the right kick.

The machacado was even better. The meat was dry and chewy, as it should be, though a good deal saltier than I like; the egg mixture accompanying it was as perfectly done as with the chilaquile taco. (No surprise, since they were made at the same time.) I added a little salsa verde to this taco, and the result was exceptional: a very satisfying blend of textures and flavours.

The menu states proudly that the restaurant makes its own flour tortillas. They also make their own corn tortillas, and if I were running this restaurant I'd be prouder of those. The flour tortillas were on the high side of good, but the corn tortillas had outstanding texture and coherence, and very good flavour. I recommend them to all my gringo friends willing to step back from the flour tortillas.

 

An update: I reviewed this place two years later, in 2016, and found it improved. That review is on Zomato.com. Since then I've been back a number of times, and since the current owners took over, it has come to be one of the reliably good taquerías in the Hildebrand corridor. The food is consistently good, the service excellent, and the prices still good. They sometimes get Mexican pastries from a local provider, and when they have them, they're excellent. 

Much Improved

Taquería Chapala Jalisco
1902 McCullough

(at Dewey)

This taco house recently moved from a repurposed Pizza Hut across the street into a larger, and much nicer, new building.  The improvement to the atmosphere is more than matched by the improvement in the food on offer, and the service and value remain as good as before.

what's that mean?
The city hasn't inspected this
restaurant since the move.

The chilaquiles, which on a previous visit had been disappointing in every particular, were tremendously improved. The eggs were still moist, the tortilla strips were thin and nicely fried, the vegetables were plentiful and thoroughly cooked but not over-done. The cheese was a fancy-grated Jack, and the recipe included a delicious and only slightly picquant sauce; the very good red salsa from the table made the seasoning exactly to my liking. The flour tortilla surrounding the whole was large and full and pillowy, with good flavour and good texture.

I also tried the machacado, which was well done, with plenty of meat and a similarly superior accompaniment of egg, vegetables and cheese. This was wrapped in a fresh, well-made corn tortilla. I   added a little of the green salsa to give the taco the level of heat I liked, though the green was not as satisfying as the red in this case.

Even the coffee has improved. Where before I noted it was on the acidic side, this time I found it full-bodied and entirely pleasant.

Meh...

El Jarrito Café
2014 Blanco

(just south of Hildebrand)

I was reminded recently of my intention to review all the restaurants along what I call the Hildebrand Corridor: that stretch along the road, a few blocks wide, that runs from Fredericksburg to McCullough, and harbours a couple dozen taquerías. It's been a while since I expanded on the series of reviews, and I'm sure no one would notice if I never finished it.... But, being embued with a revived, even if momentary, sense of commitment to worthless tasks, I resume with a report on my visit this morning.

This is probably the third time I've been to El Jarrito. It hasn't impressed on any occasion, but it had, on previous visits, been at least okay. Today it was less than that.

First, the good: there's plenty of parking. A large lot on the north side of the building, and street parking on the side-street to the south. And the prices are pretty good, just enough to warrant a rating half a chili pepper above average. And the portions in the tacos are pretty good as well. The coffee was not at all bitter; I even thought it was a little weak, but I kind of like it that way. Most people probably wouldn't. The food itself is still just so-so.

I ordered a machacado taco con huevo in a corn tortilla, and a fajita ranchera taco in a flour tortilla. Both tortillas were acceptable, and I might even go so far as to say that the corn tortilla is better than your average of that type. The fajita ranchera was liberally dosed with a very spicy red salsa, which some people might find overwhelming; if that's you, it can be ordered without the sauce and you can add just as much as you like. Me, I enjoyed it.

last city inspection: November 2013
14 demerits
about ratings

The machacado taco ... well, I don't know what that's like. The first bite made me wrinkle my brow to identify the unusual flavour I found. What was that, I asked myself? I knew I'd had it before.... Took another bite and thought, Yes, I've had this before. It's not really objectionable, like, say, peanut butter and mole, but it was really odd for machacado. The texture was all wrong, too.

A third bite -- and by now, I'm halfway through the taco -- and it comes to me: it's not machacado, it's chorizo. Not my favourite breakfast meat, nowhere near machacado in the rankings. So as a taco of chorizo con huevo, it was alright, just not what I ordered, and not what I wanted. And I'm not the sort to send back a half-eaten taco.

A wrong order happens from time to time, and I try not to fixate on it; it's worthy of a mention, but not necessarily a downgrade of the rating. But in other ways the service here was less than good. It took longer than it should have for us to get menus, and the waitress never came to refill my coffee cup or my friend's ice tea. 

As for the atmosphere in the place: in many ways it is your typical Tex-Mex taquería: brightly coloured walls, with an icon of Our Lady of Guadalupe and a few Mexican landscape pictures. But these were a little on the tatty side, and the walls seemed to have need of a good cleaning. The noise was obtrusive, too, even though the sound on the television was turned down fairly low; there seemed to be a stereo playing somewhere in the back, to go with all the conversation bouncing off the hard surfaces. I thought it was just a little too loud. Not Rosario's-loud, and certainly not Lukë-loud, but too loud for comfort.

In short ... with so many better places so close by, I wonder that this place is still around.

Like Souper Salad, Without the Self-Service

Salata
700 East Sonterra Boulevard

(in the shopping center on the corner of Sigma Road)

I'm pretty sure the people behind this Stone Oak salad shop will not be best pleased at being compared to Souper Salad, but despite the vaguely upscale look of this much smaller franchise restaurant, that's basically what it is, but with two significant differences.

One is that, at Salata, the counter is staffed by people who will put your chosen ingredients in your bowl for you, like the "sandwich artists" at Subway. At Souper Salad, you have to do that yourself. 

The second is that Salata only does soup and salad. You can have your salad wrapped in a tortilla, but that's not really something significantly different. At Souper Salad, after starting off many years ago with just salad, they have added all the high-fat, high-margin foods that keep the business going at a low unit cost: baked potatoes, something vaguely like pizza, things resembling desserts, and a host of other additions to the basic salad bar, including of course a "soft serve" ice cream bar. (It's probably not ice cream but mellorine, because they just call it, I believe, "Soft-Serve.")

Souper Salad has a distinctly working-class aura about it, while Salata cultivates a more professional, hip, slightly upscale ambience.  We went at half past noon on a Thursday, and found the place packed with medical and realty people from the surrounding area. There was no parking available in the immediate area, but I didn't consider having to park beyond the driveway a great inconvenience. (Though, as is my wont, I didn't pass up the opportunity to grouse about it to my friends.) The line was longer than the architecture of the place anticipated, but apparently that was only because someone ahead of us in line was one of those people who just cannot make up their mind. As soon as that person was through, the line dwindled down to something more in line with the architect's expectations.

Your first choice, on reaching the service counter, is lettuce. There were romaine hearts, spinach, something called Spring Mix, and something called Salata Mix. The Salata Mix had a small label identifying its ingredients, one of which was Spring Mix. So, I asked the woman behind the counter, What's in the Spring Mix? She didn't know: "It just comes in a big bag." (It turned out to be red and greenleaf lettuce, arugula, baby spinach and I forget what else. It was fine.) Once you have your lettuce, you pick the veggies you want, just like at Subway. They had all the same things, plus broccoli, cauliflower, snow peas and green beans; things like that. The red onion was cut into very fine dice, which was a nice touch. In fact, except for the lettuce, all the salad ingredients were nicely sized for polite consumption. Plus everything was reasonably fresh, and the work area was kept clean and neat.

The next station offers more toppings: cheeses, eggs,  nuts, croutons, and so on --- the sort of things dieters will want to be a little more wary of. Then you pick your dressing.  There are eight or so dressing choices, including two low-fat or fat-free options. I chose the fat-free sun-dried tomato dressing. Normally they put on two ladles, but I wanted less and they were happy to oblige. (That pleasure didn't work in reverse: my friend Roland wanted more of some of the vegetables on his salad, and was a little put off by the reluctance that produced. He said they claim you can have unlimited vegetables on their website, but I didn't find that claim. I don't much care anyway, because the bowl they serve the salads in is only so big, and it was plenty full.) 

Finally comes your meat selections. These add cost to your salad: two bucks for chicken, three for seafood or turkey. I consider that reasonable, though I wonder why turkey adds more than chicken. Next comes bread --- only three choices, and I did not choose well, getting a dry slice of wheat bread that was run through a barely functional toaster-oven on its way to the checkout station. Once you have all the desired ingredients collected in your bowl, an employee tosses the salad (or wraps it, and with some flair I may say) and passes it on to the cashier.

last city inspection: February 2014
4 demerits (very good)
about ratings

One nice thing about Salata is that their posted prices include tax, so a salad with chicken is exactly ten bucks; and while some people may leave a tip on the table, most don't, which means the three of us ate a nice, satisfying lunch for exactly $33, including drinks (one soft drink, one Perrier, and one plain water). This makes it a better-than-average value overall.

The noise level in the restaurant was sufficient to irritate one of my tablemates, though I was only dimly aware of it. My only real complaint was that, at the peak of the lunch rush when we arrived, the floor staff seemed unable to keep up. I got the last fork, and the last napkin. And the only vacant tables large enough for three people had not been bussed.  We made do, and once the rush subsided the staff caught up.

There's another location of this chain on Huebner Road at I-10.

Highs & Lows

Olmos Pharmacy
3902 McCullough

(at Hildebrand)

My friend Rick and I, having briefly run out of ideas, in the short term, for lunch in my area, were on our way to Subway when we passed by the Olmos. Neither of us had been there since it was actually a drugstore with a soda fountain, years ago, and we decided it was a more interesting choice than the good-but-familiar sandwich shop down the road. Even if we didn't get one of their justly-famous milkshakes.

Did it turn out a good choice? Depends.

The ambience of the place is not quite as funky as when it was an actual drugstore, but it's more coherent. Gone are the high-backed booths with the collapsing seats. Instead there are four-tops sufficient for about 60 people, plus the barstools at the soda fountain (which, I'm glad to see, survived the make-over). There's an area at the street end for bands to perform in (they advertise live music nightly; it used to be known for its jazz sets, but I don't know what kind of music they feature these days), and a full bar at the back to give the place its other sobriquet, "Olmos Bharmacy." In the bright light of the lunch hour, it's a quaint neighbourhood hang-out.

It wasn't particularly busy when we arrived, though it was straight-up 12:00, but it was busy enough for the one waiter to have plenty to do. We got our menus, not quickly but soon enough, and made our selections: turkey and swiss on rye for Rick, the soup-and-sandwich combo for me. Both of us noticed that all the plates coming out of the kitchen were loaded --- I mean loaded --- with food. Most of what people order there, apparently, is fried, but the salads require a steady hand to make the trip from kitchen to table intact. That certainly whet the appetite.

Rick's sandwich looked as gorgeous as anything else that came out of the kitchen. The marbled rye was excellent in appearance and (if he's to be believed) flavour, and the greenery between the slices was as impressive as in any high-end  advertising photograph. His plate came with french fries, but not your ordinary french fries: these are beer-battered steak fries, admirably seasoned and properly cooked. Other small restaurateurs might want to suss out the supplier.

Last city inspection: February 2014
18 demerits
What do those chili peppers mean?

My plate consisted of a bowl of the soup of the day and half a sandwich, also turkey and swiss, but I chose wheat bread. The wheat bread is, I would say, taken from the absolute cheapest loaf of the stuff that you can buy at HEB; the turkey was three slices, stuck together, from a mid-range deli-pack, and the Swiss cheese was the thinnest sliver of the stuff you can get. In better light you could probably read the Express-News through it. This unappealing collaboration was not improved by the fact that the lettuce on my  half-sandwich consisted of a single miniscule chip nestled under a soggy slice of tomato like a doodlebug under a damp rock. Quite the contrast with Rick's artistic masterpiece. 

My lunch was saved from total disaster by the soup. It was a delicious peppery broth of chicken and rice, filled with plenty of vegetables and a good amount of rice, along with an impressive quantity of chicken in large, nicely-textured chunks. The kind of soup your grandmother would make for you even if you weren't sick, and had done something worthy of a serious reward.   It was even good enough to salvage an overall passing grade for the restaurant in the chili-pepper ratings.

This is the best?

Godai Sushi Bar & Restaurant
11203 West Avenue

(between Lockhill-Selma and Blanco Road)

My friend Rick, who seems to have an encyclopædic knowledge of these things, says that Godai Sushi has won awards for years and years. Having now been there only once, my wife is convinced that their awards are for Longest Menu, as we were neither of us much impressed by the food, or service, or prices. Or the atmosphere, for that matter.

I don't pretend to be an expert on sushi as a cuisine. (Well, okay, maybe in some conversations with strangers I do pretend, but not here, not with you, my dear loyal readers, critics, fans and followers.) I'm a latecomer to the genre, and have only had sushi perhaps two dozen times over the last two or three years, mostly here in town but also in California and New York and other, less worldly and serfistikated venues. That may seem like a lot, but it's not, really, so I'm clearly not qualified to rate the sushi qua sushi. I rate it merely as food, like any other type.

Godai is certainly a popular spot. We showed up around 7pm on a Friday evening and had to wait only briefly, but by the time we left the line was well out the door. I've not seen that kind of sushi fan base anywhere else in town. But now that I've tried "the best," I wonder why those people are there.  The food is, in a word, bland.

last city inspection: January 2014
13 demerits
What the chili peppers mean

We decided on chicken teriyaki, beef yakisoba, a bagel roll and a sunset roll. This turned out to be quite a lot of food, and if it had been superior food we'd have been very happy, both at dinner and over lunch the next day. The teriyaki was reasonably well prepared, but lacking in seasoning of some sort. The salt and sugar were there in some measure, but the characteristic rice-wine flavour of mirin was absent. Similarly the bagel roll (salmon, cream cheese and avocado): the flavours were all there, but their combination was lackluster and unsatisfying. (Another small complaint: the roll was quite large and cut in relatively few pieces. With the hard-to-penetrate outer wrap layer, it was consequently difficult to eat, as it was too large to fit in my mouth -- I can only imagine what a person with a normal, more petite orifice might do -- and too tough to bite through into pieces.) 

The flavours of the beef yakisoba were pleasant enough, including those of the vegetables mixed in with the noodles, but in the case of that dish the failing was the texture of the meat, which was dry and overcooked in places. 

The one bright spot was the sunset roll, a mix of salmon, crab, cucumber and avocado. The menu says there were lemon slices in between that make the roll look like its namesake, but I didn't notice that. I noticed that the delicate flavours of this roll blended quite marvellously, making for a complex and coherent entrée, as good as I've had at any of the various sushi bars I've been to. It may be that everyone who voted in whatever poll resulted in this restaurant's awards has had their sunset roll.

Otherwise, the restaurant was unremarkable. The décor is moderate; compared to the other sushi restaurants in town that I've reviewed here, it's downright downscale, yet comfortable. It's an older building that seems to have been built out in the country and then been unexpectedly surrounded by the slag of suburbia. Gives it a certain survivor-in-good-stead appeal. The service was effective if a little hit-or-miss. We seemed to wait a good long time before our waiter made an appearance; so much so that, by the time he came 'round, we had imprinted on a helper of some sort and wondered why he seemed disinclined to wait on us. Our actual waiter had no hesitation in recommending the chicken teriyaki over the beef yakisoba, but the failure of both dishes to impress leaves us questioning his value as an advisor.

Finally, the prices seemed a little high. Normally, when we go out to dinner and don't get alcoholic drinks, our bill for a place like this will run about $40 for the two of us; the bill at Godai, including tip, was just over $50, and looking back on the evening, I see nothing to justify the added cost.

 

Another Dud

Jimmy's Egg
8055 West Avenue

(at Lockhill-Selma, in Castle Hills)

Imagine tweaking a Denny's menu and serving it up in an IHOP dining room. Now hit the "Pause" button, and you have the essence of this franchise restaurant in the leafy suburb of Castle Hills. Short of just being there, it has nothing in particular to recommend it; and that one asset is only of value if you, too, are there, and hungry.

I only found the place because my friend Rick had passed it, on the way to or from some appointment (of a medical variety, most likely; not that it matters) and noted the name. That, and a desperate desire to alleviate the boredom of life in general, seemed like sufficient justification for the four- or five-mile journey into the mostly settled area of generally prosperous sprawl that oozes across Loopland. What a waste of perfectly good gasoline that turned out to be.

In aspect, it is unremarkable but acceptable: clean, well-lit, decorated by a minimalist who shops at Hobby Lobby. The kitchen, full of bright, clean stainless steel, is visible beyond the dining room, just like at any Jim's. No innovation went into the design of this restaurant, because this standard sort of layout is perfectly serviceable: no innovation is needed. And there's no real profit in it. Lots of windows looking out on the tree-shaded parking lot, and even a patio off the side, for those who might find the traffic noise from Lockhill-Selma tolerable. Booths and tables are lined up in neat rows, giving a spacious feeling to the dining room. Noise levels were unremarkable, and we were not distracted by being forced to eavesdrop on conversations at nearby tables. (What's the world coming to, when that fact even presents itself for notice?)

We were guided to our table by the young man who turned out to be our waiter. He presented us with menus, took our drink orders, and returned momentarily with coffee and water, ready to take our order. We, of course, had not even begun to scan the somewhat long and involved menu, what with its array of breakfast and lunch classifications. Hot Off the Griddle! Let's Wrap! Jimmy's Favourites! Fresh Crisp Salads! Build Your Own Omelette! And so on. I had noticed something named as a special on the white-board by the entrance, and asked the waiter what it was. He didn't know, and couldn't read the board from where he stood, so he went off to ingest its content. Soon he was back to tell us what it said and what it meant. It didn't interest either of us, so we turned our attention back to the menu, and the waiter turned his attention to other things.

I chose Biscuit Debris: basically, biscuits and gravy with two kinds of meat, and cheese, and potatoes on the side. Rick went for one of the Combo breakfasts of eggs with sausage and ham, served up with home fries and "homemade" white toast.

While we waited for our food, we noticed the staffing of the place. There were three people in the kitchen, three waiters, a guy who appeared to be a manager, and another guy who appeared to ... well, we're not really sure. He seemed to do everything except bus tables. But all those employees seemed to have a great deal of trouble getting things right. We observed three separate occasions when the wrong orders were delivered to customers. In our own case, the wrong food seemed an improvement over no food.

What's that mean?
The City of Castle Hills doesn't appear
to post restaurant inspection reports.

The manager-type guy brought around a coffee pot and refilled our cups. We drank that and continued waiting. And waiting. And waiting. Manager-type passed by again with a coffee pot, but didn't even look in our direction. Our own waiter was firmly rooted at the wait-station in front of the kitchen, his back to the dining room. Finally we knee-tackled a waitress at another table and asked for more coffee, which was brought, and still our food didn't appear. Hey, we're talking breakfast food here, and nothing that takes longer than three minutes in a moderately well-organized kitchen.

We were at the point of weighing our options -- do we just leave, or should we make a scene of some kind? How much do we owe for just the coffee? -- when finally our waiter dislodged himself to delivered two plates to our table. We were only a little surprised to discover that what we got was actually what we ordered. The waiter promised to bring more coffee (he never did) and left us to it.

Loquacious though I usually am, I am reluctant to waste words describing most of the food on those plates. Everything, except the home fries and Rick's toast, was thoroughly ordinary and unremarkable: acceptable in quality, quantity and preparation, but otherwise undistinguished. Okay, I will give half a mention to the cream gravy, which successfully avoided all the things that so often make that rather simple accoutrement unacceptable. It had good consistency and flavour, and wasn't overdone. The home fries, on the other hand, were slightly undercooked and massively underseasoned. The first bite seemed gritty; I'm going to hope it was a bit of crusted potato peel. After that, they were just bland.

Judging from the menu, Jimmy's Egg takes great pride in serving "homemade" bread (white, and cinnamon raisin). This presumably means that the dough is mixed and shaped at some remote location and shipped to franchise operators around the country in some state resembling suspended animation, so they can throw it in the oven and, by providing that last step in the production process, call it homemade. Subway does the same thing; so do a host of other restaurants. It's nothing to get excited about, and when you get right down to it, that sort of shameless boosterism seems a little pathetic; like an admission that there's not anything genuine to promote. And in the event, the bread was unsurprisingly flavourless.

And as we were leaving, the guy who seemed to do a little of everything was apologising to a customer because his order had been screwed up.

It's A Mystery

Taco La Gardenia
1805 North Pine Street

(between Grayson and I-35)

Somewhere --- probably in the local throwaway weekly rag, though possibly in one of the glossier publications touting this city's goings-on --- I came across a listing in one of those "Best of" rosters. You know the kind of article I'm talking about, the ones where some publisher solicits opinions from its readers, then has a big cover story giving all the winners and branding them "Best of the City." Much of it is a lot of hooey, of course. A small place with excellent product that only five hundred people know about isn't going to generate the votes of a mediocre but heavily advertised place known to thousands upon thousands. And that's before you factor in the lackluster and cavalier opinions of so large a part of any unspeciated readership.

So when I saw that this place was listed as having the best breakfast tacos in town, I was stunned. Stunned, I say, for the Curmudgeon is something of an expert on breakfast tacos here in Paradise South, and I had never heard of "La Gardenia." Well. That certainly had to put it at the top of my list of places to try. (I say that, but it's not really true; it was about halfway down the list.)

So this morning, my trusty sidekick and I made the not-too-great trek over to the Far Side of Broadway, where this taquería is nestled into the neighbourhood just south of Fort Sam: a working-class neighbourhood, I suppose some might call it, or a barrio, but let's just say it's a neighbourhood not yet fully encountered by the gentrification of the nearby Pearl area; it's still the kind of place where you can see the clientele offloading crates of empty Big Gulp cups on the street out front. But give it time. Meanwhile, let's have a taco.

The place looks perfectly ordinary, in the way of a family operation. No great expenditure was made in furnishing the place, with table-and-bench units apparently bought second-hand from a fast-food place in refurbishment. Not uncomfortable, but a little worn; our table, for example, had a decided slope to one end, and the bench appeared to be the wrong size for the metal frame, like it was just stuck on when the original equipment gave out. Beyond that, there was no decoration to speak of, but who really cares? 

Of more concern was the questionable cleanliness of the place. The saggy end of our table seemed to have bits of refritos affixed to it. The floor under the next table had not been introduced to either broom or vacuum in some time. The window sill may not have felt a sponge since the last coat of paint was applied. 

We were very cheerfully greeted by an extremely vivacious and pleasant young waitress bringing menus. (The prices it showed were in line with what you'd expect to pay for food of this sort.) It quickly became clear that English was her second language, a hopeful sign in any ethnic restaurant (as long as the first language matches the restaurant's identity; who is buoyed by a German waiter at a Thai restaurant?).  Excellent coffee soon followed, and not long after that, food.

The food --- the sine qua non of restaurant dining --- was something of a hit-or-miss affair. The coffee, as I said, was excellent, as were the tortillas in which our taco fillings were wrapped. (We went for flour tortillas because, according to a strictly grammatical reading of the menu, they are made in-house while the corn tortillas are not.) The picadillo, too, was above-average. The red salsa on the table was muy picoso, almost too hot to stand. It kind of goes downhill from there.

Last city inspection: September 2013
10 demerits
What's them chili peppers all about?

My friend's beef fajita taco, which I didn't try, was reported to be "missing something." I don't know what that means, exactly, so take it as you wish. My machacado taco would have gotten a solid B- in any underfunded public school. The veggies were fresh and thoroughly cooked, the egg nicely scrambled, but it seemed like there wasn't a whole lot of carne in the mix. You don't get that essential chewiness without the eponymous shreds of beef, and there just wasn't enough of that to satisfy.

The chilaquiles at La Gardenia are done in a style I'm not accustomed to; I would probably have been happier with a migas taco. This had a sauce that gave them the dark red colour I usually associate with chili con carne. There was abundant chili powder in the mix, but not enough to overwhelm. A dusting of queso blanco added a familiar and much appreciated note, but the chiliaquiles themselves --- the fried corn tortilla pieces that give the dish its name --- tasted like nothing so much as Frito's brand corn chips. That is the unfortunate takeaway from this dining experience.

So how did a place like this come to be on anyone's "Best of the City" list? It wouldn't make my Top Ten. Even with the attached bakery.

Taco La Gardenia on Zomato

An Update: 20nine Restaurant & Wine Bar

20nine Restaurant & Wine Bar
255 East Basse Road, Suite 940

in the Quarry, on the side closest to 281

Went back to this very pleasant place in the Quarry last night. In my original review in October 2012, it garnered ratings well above average, and it's become a place my wife very much likes, even if we don't go there all that often. (The traffic, you know, around the Quarry....)

The menu has, in the intervening months, changed substantially. Gone are those luscious risotto cheese balls that I enjoyed so much. Pizza seems to take up more of the menu than it used to (I could be wrong about that, but I just don't think of 20nine when I think of pizza). But the "road trip" wine selections are still there, and still reasonably priced.

I started with an outstanding caprese salad. Lots of soft mozzarella cheese, and the tomatoes were marinated in an excellent balsamic vinegar. After that, I went with the stuffed chicken breast, which may have been from one of those giant Indian fighting chickens that are, apparently, the mascot of MacArthur High School. It was sliced down the middle, but whatever it was stuffed with had come out onto the plate: chunks of apples, mainly, and it was cooked to tender near-crispy perfection in apple cider. A couple of large asparagus stalks completed the presentation.

last city inspection: November 2013
13 demerits
What the ratings mean

My wife's choice was pasta pomodoro, one of those dishes that's hard to ruin but also hard to excel at: spaghetti, tomatoes, a little cheese, and some seasonings. Only the seasonings give the kitchen a chance to shine, and they did well.

Overall, I'm happy with my previous ratings, even if I didn't get my risotto-cheeseball fix.