Hedonia

I ate worms (and didn't die)

Disclosure: I was a guest of Casa Noble Tequila, who paid for my airfare, lodging and meals. I was not paid to write this post, and all opinions and observations are my own.

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I should have known from the look on Pepe's face.

We had just come in from enjoying some tamarind margaritas on the rooftop deck at La Tequila in Guadalajara. As we sat at our table, Pepe suggested ordering some appetizers for the table, asking whether he should order some more unusual things. Innocently, and ignoring for a moment that I was part of a group that included five other unwitting American writers and photographers, I said that I always have an appetite for the new. 

Pepe grinned like a calaca. A sinister glint flashed in his eye. I had given him the answer he was looking for.

Really, I had no reason to suspect his intentions. As CEO of Casa Noble Tequila, Pepe Hermosillo had flown the group of us in from around the U.S. to gain a better understanding of tequila in general, and Casa Noble in particular. The previous day he and his wife Gina served us a magnificent lunch at their airy, modern Guadalajara home (including a cilantro mousse that I am currently obsessed with). He shared some of his housemade infused tequilas that blew my mind. Just a few hours prior to this dinner, we had toured the La Cofradìa distillery, culminating with comprehensive tastings of Casa Noble's offerings. The previous 36 hours were a blur of delicious regional Jalisqueño food and very, very good tequila. So, my guard was down. 

Cantina Laredo, DFW

With an airport the size of Manhattan, can you expect big-city-quality eats deep in the heart of Texas? Tex-Mex chain resto Cantina Laredo is one of the few restaurants in DFW's Terminal D that rises above take-out-grade food. It also rises above the vacuous, mall-like terminal.

We tried a couple of margaritas:

Each with a different tequila from their decent list. At the end of the day, though, we couldn't really taste a big difference between the Patrón and the El Tesoro, so save yourself a few pesos and go for Tesoro. The Texas-sized guacamole:

Would have been a  worthy contender in our own Great Guac Hunt, with a good balance of cream and chunk, crunchy onions and fresh tomatoes and cilantro. Feather-light warm chips and a solidly good salsa rounded out the offering. The cheese enchiladas in my Puebla:

Had a certain Hormel-chili-and-Velveeta chic to them, but the accessory beef taco al carbon was a study in simplicity. Tasty marinated skirt steak, grilled and rolled in a fluffy flour taco, uncannily diminutive in the home of big hair and big food.

Cantina Laredo
DFW Terminal D and other locations around the Southwest (yet, curiously, not Laredo)

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One year ago today ... I agreed with Michael Bauer. No everyday occurrence, that.

Chiles rellenos

It's not pretty, but it is tasty.

I love chiles rellenos. Luuuuuuv. Ate them on a nearly daily basis when I lived in Santa Fe. But up here, not so much. The one positive chile relleno experience I have had in 16 years in San Francisco was the version cooked up at Platanos, where they wrap the roasted pepper in an egg crepe rather the dipped in batter, kind of deconstructed. I like. (Do they even still have this on the menu? I haven't been in years.)

The traditional chile relleno is, after all, problematic. All too often, you get a sadly abused poblano pepper, jammed full of mediocre cheese, dipped in batter, fried in not-hot-enough oil until flabby and drowned in wan red sauce. The result is both greasy and textureless. Ya basta.

Inspired by a certain New-World Epicure, and a certain snarkmistress up north, I have decided life is better without batter. The best -- and, conveniently, easiest -- way to do a perfectly satisfying chile relleno is simply to stuff the thing with a sautéed mélange of fresh vegetables, top with cheese and broil for golden-brown deliciousness. Of course you have to roast the pepper first, which this time I did under the broiler as opposed to on the stovetop; both methods work just fine. (OK, so I overroasted my poblanos just a smidge, and they lost their shape. Did not impact their edibility, I assure you.)

In this case, my veg filling was a combo of pan-fried corn, finely chopped itsy bitsy squashes, some red onion, scallion, a scoop of cellini beans that have been hanging out in the fridge and a dollop of the rockin' salsa from Papalote. The cheese was, I am mildly embarrassed to say, just store-bought mozz, but it worked just fine, thankyouverymuch. I served them on a pool of thin tomato sauce for a light yet satisfying dinner. But I'm thinking they'd be every bit as good for brunch, lunch or a first course. Heck, I'd eat one for breakfast.

¡Feliz Cinco de Mayo a todos!

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One year ago today ... I gave a dissertation on the art of the salad.

Papalote

For 11 years, DPaul and I lived on Dolores Park, a hop, skip and a jump from some of the best taquerias in the Mission. Over the years, we must have spent several thousand dollars at El Toro, the smaller, saner sister to big boy Taqueria Pancho Villa. But when we moved over the hill to Noe Valley, it sort of forced us to refocus our attention on the lower half of the Mission. This is not a bad thing. In fact, I think that some of the best -- and most underrated -- food in the area exists in this part of town.

But it's disconcerting to have to develop loyalty to a new place, and the sheer enormity of the number of taquerias in the Mission, not to mention the fervency with which each burrito buff extolls the virtue of their own favorite spot, can be overwhelming.

We first went to Papalote well before we had moved to Noe, and at first I admit I was not a fan. It was only after further experimentation that I came to realize Papalote's greatness. The secret? Meat.

You see, at El Toro, my regular order was the Veggie #D. (Interestingly, D is evidently a number in Mexico.) That was beans, rice, lettuce, tomato, avocado and salsa. It was like a salad in a wrap, with big, meaty slices of avocado.

My first vegetarian burrito at Papalote was lackluster. Uninspired. I didn't know that Papalote's whole schtick, their raison d'être, was freshly grilled meats made-to-order for each burrito. As they say, knowledge is power.

The Great Guac Hunt: Colibri

What better way to celebrate Dia de los Muertos than to revisit the Great Guac Hunt? I suppose a good mole would be a more fitting Oaxacan tribute, but this will have to do.

For this installation, my guest judge is none other than my better half, DPaul Brown. We've been to Colibri once before, with our good friend Anita, who knows from good Mexican food. I've been looking forward to returning for some time, especially for the purposes of this project, but also because I just plain like the place.

I'm not exactly sure what makes Colibri a bistro as opposed to a restaurant, but I'm not splitting hairs. One thing is for sure -- while we have no shortage of Mexican food in San Francisco, we have a terrible dearth of quality places above the taqueria level. Colibri stands out as possibly the leader of the pack in this category. 

One important note about Colibri's guac: If you're seated for a meal, they make it tableside in one of those rustic stone pestles (molcajetes). At the bar, it just shows up already made. They also spice to order. Though DPaul and I are major pepperheads, we ordered it medium spicy so as not to overwhelm the guac experience itself. Let's get on with the evaluation.

Tacos San Buena

Now that I'm back working up in the Levi's Plaza/Telegraph Hill/Nowhere area, I've been beleaguered by the same nagging lunch problems as before. There are about three places I frequent: RJ's Market; Il Fornaio's take-out counter and the take-out window of Piperade. Each has its merits. RJ's salad bar rocks, and their selection of convenience foods gives them an edge. The others are mainly sandwich portals; I like Il Fornaio's caprese sandwich, and Piperade's chicken avocado sandwich. As much as I like each of these things (and I really really like the chicken avo sandwich), you can only eat the same stuff for so long without wanting to throw yourself upon an unsheathed sword.

So imagine my thrill, envision the internal dance my alimentary tract did upon learning that one (at least semi-respectable) taco truck had pulled up stakes from SOMA and plonked itself down a few blocks from my office.

Now, many people I know are phobic about the idea of street food. (Still others, by contrast, are obsessed with it.) I'm in the latter camp. When I lived in Santa Fe, a place where excellent food, particularly its own strain of Mexican food, abounds at every turn, some of the best was at the taco trucks and drive-throughs. In particular, I loved the tacos (better yet, the tamales) at the truck that was permanently posted at the front of the Santa Fe flea market, which in itself was a completely wonderful way to waste a day.

And so I dragged my friend Matthew down to Pacific and Sansome to sample these mobile mouthfuls. Matthew, who is paradoxically both a finicky and adventurous eater, had never before partaken of taco truck fare, and so I popped his taco truck cherry. Myself, I had the burrito al pastor, spicy. Matthew got beef tacos with guac.

The verdict? I rather enjoyed my pastorrito, but that is at least in part because it was not a salad, which is what I eat three or four days a week up there. The meat was certainly done enough, really kind of leathery, and the sauce was rather greasy and pretty spicy. In other words, perfect. Plus, the burritos are about half the size of Mission-style burritos, which makes them more suitable for workday lunch fare. Matthew seemed to enjoy his tacos, though they are rather paltry in size. Next time he'll order four instead of two.

But hey, just to have some diversity from the standard yuppie chow that pervades this non-neighborhood is worth the price of admission. I predict I will work my way through their meager menu very quickly indeed.

Tacos San Buena
Pacific Street at Sansome Street