Boots of PBR

Margarita and the Boot

Dave’s View:  There is something odd about Bakersfield Mass Ave located in downtown Indianapolis.  You walk into this place which reminds you of an old rustic bar, but it’s not authentic.  It’s kind of “plastic?”  Like I’m molding plastic to shape a form and this is what I have?   There’s no dirt, there’s no grim.  Everything is too perfect.   It’s trying to feel like an authentic Mexican bar, but it can’t come close.  It’s too clean.

Now, is that a bad thing?

Well, no it’s not.  Except when that concept is transferred to the food.  I have a problem with it.  I’m not talking about food that is not clean.  The food here is fresh.  It is prepared well, but it lacks any diversity.  I’m sure if I ordered the same food I ordered today, one month from now, it would taste the same.  There is where the problem persists.  This is what chain restaurant do and the reason why Andrea and I don’t review chain restaurants.  It’s too formulated  and what’s the point?  Somebody wants to franchise their restaurant and make money.  There’s no harm in that, but I don’t live that long on this planet and I want something that will blow my mind, not keep it occupied.

So let’s  go to the “authentic” Mexican food:

The tacos

The two tacos on the bottom of the picture are the ones I had.  On the left is the is the Huitlacoche Taco which has corn truffles, poblano, and some type of cheese, sprinkled with cilantro.  It’s a “mushy” type of taco with corn taste, but there’s way too much going on in this taco.  The restaurant needs to simplify the taco, so you can taste all of the ingredients.  The first bite is pleasant because you don’t know what to expect, but after that, it’s bland.  It’s like eating creamed corn in a taco.  Burnt creamed corn in a taco.

On the right is the Short Rib Taco.  It is dry.  Now, this might be my mistake.  I didn’t order it with crema.  I don’t like crema in any form.  Maybe if I had the crema, the taco probably wouldn’t be as dry, but would’ve it tasted better?  You can be the judge of that.  There is a  radish on top of it.  Please,  eat it with the short rib.  A nice combination that will surprise you when you eat it.  It’s the only aspect of this taco I liked.

The Pabst Blue Ribbon(AKA:  PBR or 1978 alcoholic preferred brew)  is $2 here and is served in a boot glass.  I was the only dork in the place drinking cheap PBR, but I didn’t care.  Visions of drinking Old Style at Wrigley Field in the bleachers kept me contented.  I was throwing my PBR positive energy towards every patron in the joint asking them to join me in the festivities of drinking PBR out of a boot. It didn’t happen.   I did my time and I was lonely.  Not even my wife would drink out of the boot.  So I call on all of you now,  to take the Glass Boot PBR Challenge.   Now it’s your time to pony up to the oak barrel tables and order a boot glass of PBR.  Feel strange, but you won’t care.  You are drinking out of a glass boot!

The service here is attentive and nice until we came to the end of our meal.  This statement was spoken:  “Will this be on two checks?”

Did I ask it to be on two checks?  If I wanted it to be on two checks, I would ask.  There must be many couples in the Indianapolis area that cheat on each other in order for the server to ask this question or maybe I’m just looking old.  I’m going to assume I look old.  That is the angle I’m going to take.  Andrea has taken water, illegally, from the Fountain of Youth and makes me look bad.  Like I’m the bad blind internet date gone wrong.  Thanks Andrea!  Chalk up number 6 out of 60 reviewed restaurants that have done this to me.

Am I insecure?  Damn right I am, and damn proud it!

Now, just leave me alone while I drink on my glass boot PBR in the corner where all the insecure people drink.

Ambiance:  7  Food:  7  Service 7   Total:  21 out of 30

$35-$45 with adult beverages

The sign

The view

The inside

Chips & Guacamole

The inside

Fish and Cochinita Pibil Tacos

The outside

Andrea’s View:  I am conflicted in whether or not Bakersfield Mass Ave.  is a restaurant that should be highlighted in this blog.  It’s ethnic food, sort of, much like crepes, lasagna, and gyros are considered ethnic foods.  But in those cases, the food is authentic.  This is not.  What kept popping into my head was an old commercial for a deodorant (I don’t remember what brand) that I did not understand as a kid, but can identify with as an adult.  The tag line goes like this, “Never confuse fad with fashion, and never let them see you sweat.”  Bakersfield committed the first of these sins, I, the second.

Bakersfield is not to blame for my sweating sin.  It was an 85 degree day and Bakersfield is delightfully open-air.  They do have ceiling fans to keep the air flow moving, and Dave and I were seated at a table (really a whiskey barrel with a concrete top) that was right next to the glass-less window.  I am not complaining, after last winter I am relishing every ounce of sun and every warm day.

I don’t want readers to think that I didn’t like the food at Bakersfield Mass Ave.  I love the concept of an old-fashioned taco joint that just serves tacos and chips and dip and serves their beer in glasses shaped like boots, and the margaritas come in mason jars.  My mason jar of margarita was the best I’ve had in the city.  The chips and guacamole were wonderfully fresh and chunky, and even had a spicy kick on the back-end.  The tacos were cheap and they were good.  Not the best, but they were good.  I had the pollo verde, the cochinita pibil, and the rajas tacos.   In order, these are a chicken, a pork, and a pepper taco.  They were all served on homemade corn tortillas and tops with ingredients like radishes, pickled onions, queso fresca, and cilantro.  The meats were braised in habanero salsa and tomatillo sauce.  They were all very trendy.  Not that there is anything wrong with trend or fad, it’s just fleeting It’s here today, gone tomorrow, with no real substance.  These tacos were all their fancy ingredients wer honestly quite bland.  I’m not saying that habanero is bland, it was all I could taste in that taco, all the other ingredients were there just for show.  Authentic tacos, tacos found in real Mexican restaurants, are simple, timeless, and even elegant in their construction.  They are made from slow-cooked meats, onions, cilantro and served with lime.   All the flavors compliment each other, and every ingredient shines through.  They are the little black dress of the food world.

Bakersfield Mass Ave. is a trendy restaurant on a trendy street.  For this alone, it will do well.  As for tacos, I prefer the west side taco joints, where English is a second language and margaritas are served in a glass instead of a jar.

My Sol Got Me In Trouble

Andrea’s View:

My Sol Got Me In Trouble

or

How I Spent My Cinco de Mayo

I am apologizing in advance to anyone I may offend and please note that I am expecting hate mail.

I don’t even know where to begin.  It isn’t even the  restaurant or the food that is giving me writer’s block.  The food was perfectly decent, the staff was friendly and efficient, and the dining room was clean and tidy.  I wasn’t even expecting authentic Mexican food in Noblesville, (confirmed by the red, green, and white chips we were served upon sitting down.)  Dave and I had already been downtown for the past two days for the Mini Marathon and we did not have the energy nor the time to go  the west side for truly authentic Mexican food.

I had found El Palenque on Urbanspoon and decided to try it.  It was one particular review on Urbanspoon that convinced me that this may be the most authentic Mexican joint nearby.  The review mentioned a  Spanish-speaking staff and that on Sundays this restaurant had a big after church crowd.  Another review mentioned outstanding tacos, and being a taco aficionado, I wasn’t going to be frightened away by an after church crowd on Cinco de Mayo.

Dave and I were welcomed by the already mentioned red, green, and white chips with salsa as soon as we sat down.  We were handed menus, and our  drink orders were taken.  I ordered a lime margarita on the rocks, and Dave chose the Sol.  It was approximately 12:03 and in my family, the saying goes, “Its noon somewhere!”  Besides, it was Cinco de Mayo, and in my estimation, it is our duty as Americans to celebrate with adult beverages. (wink and nod)

The menu itself is pretty typical “Mexican” fare with chimichangas, burritos, and whatnot, but there was one half page of the menu that looked a little more authentic.  I settled on three fish tacos served with onions and cilantro.  I felt confident enough in the authenticity of the tacos to not to mention to the server to not give me sour cream.  When I received my tacos, they were simply dressed with onions, cilantro, and lime wedges, just as advertised.  They were marvelous.  I noticed that the window in the front of the restaurant had a painted advertisement stating “Best Tacos in Town”, and indeed, they are probably the best tacos in Noblesville.

Now back to my margarita.  It was a great margarita served in a big as your head glass rimmed with salt.  Only problem, the aforementioned church crowd was the “no hair cutting, no make-up wearing, no bare skin showing, no-alcohol drinking variety.”  So as I am sucking down my “devil juice” in a big as my head glass rimmed with salt, I was being stared at like I had literally sprouted horns on my head.  Not just at first, the entire time I was there.  As the contents of glass decreased the horns grew bigger much like Pinocchio’s nose.  Dave and I kept nervously giggling, and mentally asking each other, “What dimension are we in?”  Dave and I have been in many restaurants where no one spoke any English, restaurants in areas where we were slightly afraid that our car might not be where we left it when we were finished, and restaurants where we had no idea what we might have been eating.  But I have never felt more uncomfortable than I did at that moment.  The other situations just lend  excitement to a food adventure.  This was just unfortunate.

Fish Tacos

My Sol

The chips

Wall art

Chile Verde Pork

The foyer

The ouside

Dave’s View:  I asked Andrea, “Do you know approximately where this place is located?”  Her response, “Yeah, it’s just off State Road 37 on Conner Street.”  There is no Conner Street off State Road 37.  It’s Main Street that turns into Conner Street going to Noblesville.  So if you go to this place, just remember, take the main road to Noblesville from State Road 37 and the constant bickering and arguing with your significant other will cease to exist before you enter your car.  Garmin Andrea does not work.

We came to El Palenque Mexican Restaurant to celebrate Cinco de Mayo.  We were greeted and escorted quickly to an open table.  The place was getting full and I noticed one other patron drinking a Margarita.  I decided, why not, let’s have a 32 ounce size of Sol beer to go with my meal.  It’s Cinco de Mayo!  Andrea and I ordered our drinks and a huge Margarita is placed in front of Andrea and a jug of Sol is placed in front of me.  Yes, a jug, one quart of Sol beer.  When a beer is bigger than your head, you know trouble is heading your way.  So we’re sitting there looking around at the restaurant with its decorative foyer and interesting paintings on the wall.  Then all of sudden, the church crowd enters.

Tables of full of couples with their children followed by aunts, uncles, and grandparents, plus their second cousins, followed by third and fourth cousins of the aunt and uncle, followed by step children from the first wife, plus the children of the second wife all having a great time until they see us drinking alcohol on a Sunday at 12:05, 16.1 seconds Eastern Standard Time. (Yes, I have a very accurate stopwatch in my head.)  Now, if people had a small billboard that would protrude from the tops of their heads that would state what they were thinking, all of these church patrons billboards would say, “You are going to Hell.”  The stare downs and the sideway glances on people’s face was priceless.  I asked Andrea on why she thought there was so many church people here.  Andrea replies, “Yeah, one review said there was a lot of church people here on Sunday.”  Why didn’t you tell me this Andrea?  Now, my Sol is getting me in trouble.

So Andrea and I are sitting at the devil’s table and I ordered the Chile Verde Pork.  Before the plate came out,  I was thinking that the pork would be chunk size.  Well, they were chunk size if you were a small kitten.  I looked down at this plate, thinking I was about to eat my cat’s 9 Lives tender slices of pork.  It literally looked like they went into my pantry at home, opened the can and plopped it down on the plate.  The dish has a spicy kick that was pleasant, but the so-called “chunks” of pork were too small and were overcooked.  The side dishes of rice and beans were typical and the tortillas were sticking to each other.  What I really wanted to do was to eat so fast that the green sauce would be dribbling out the side of my mouth and then slowly, I would spin my head around, spew, and rise above the table.  But it didn’t happen.  I think, though, the church goers were prepared if it did happen.

The service here is fantastic and they don’t care what walk of life you come from.  They treat everybody equal.  They will sit you down, get you a jug of beer, and have other people sprinkle Holy water on you as you eat.  Just wear dark sunglasses on Sundays.  Your insecurities will be protected.

Service:  9  Food:  6  Ambiance:  8  Total:  23 out of 30

$25-$35 will large adult beverages

Hungary For Industrial Park Food

Dave’s View:  So Andrea and I go to Taste of Europe on West 96th Street.  Inside my head, my brain is working overtime.  My left brain says, “Isn’t West 96th Street an industrial park area?”  My right brain, replies, “It certainly is!”  My left cortex and my right cortex were battling against each other when I was driving to the place.  Dodging and weaving in between semi trucks just to get to the place.  My right brain is going, “Where in Hell is this place?”  My left brain goes, “Don’t hit the semi truck in front of you, look for the typical restaurant set up.  It can’t be that hard!   It’s just a restaurant, just find it.  It should have a parking lot and a big sign.”  My right brain states, “Hey dumbass, you just passed it!”  So we turn around  and I see a concrete warehouse with an attached house???  Strange.  Where’s the parking?  Oh, there’s three parking spaces only.  I could park further back, but I think my car might get crushed by a forklift by a company that sells decks.  Yes, I said decks, as is what is located on the back of most houses in Indiana.  So now I’m looking for a parking space and all three parking spaces are occupied, so I decided to park off the side of the drive.

We walk up to the restaurant that looks like your neighbor’s front porch.  We opened the front door and I’m hit with the European version of  a candy shop.  Names of candy that have some familiarity, but you can’t figure out what American candy it looks like.  Weird-ass names you can’t pronounce, but you wish you could, so you can look intelligent.  When you walk to the right you see sausage inside freezers and other European commodities that you can not pronounce.  So, by now, you may be asking me, “Dave,  you’re describing a grocery store.”  Well,  yes, I am, but when you walk further towards the back of the restaurant/grocery store, you’ll enter the dining room.  It’s about ten feet.  Andrea and I sit down, and a patron looks at us and states, “You have to order at the counter.”

So remember, if you go here, order at the counter.  There’s no sign.  We stand at the counter and an old gentleman comes up and hands us plates with sausage and cheese.  He states, “It will be a second.”  We eat our cheese and sausage and I wander around the place looking at European names on products in the grocery section that I can not pronounce.  Seconds turn into minutes.  Minutes turn into more minutes and finally we get to order.  I ordered this:

Hungarian Medley

Hungarian Medley.  What is it?  I don’t know.  I’ve never had Hungarian food.  I have nothing to compare it to.  So, I’ll just describe it to you.  It has a slight spicy kick to it.  It has beef and smoky sausage in it followed by bits of zucchini, onion, carrots, and peppers.  All of this, is placed on a bed of pasta.  Quite tasty and since, I think, this is the only Hungarian restaurant in the area, everybody should try this dish.  A true food adventure!

While you are eating this dish, you get to sit in what I call, “The 1977 church basement dining room.”  That’s what this room reminds me off.  The only thing is, it’s not located in a basement.  In fact, you can exit the room and probably dine on the retention pond facing the concrete warehouse wall and have a good laugh.  All the while eating some fantastic food.

The service here is slow.  Why?  It’s ran by one person.  He’ll take your order.  Run into a dark room in the back and 15 minutes later your food will come out.  All the while, you’ll be thinking, “What is in the dark, dark, dark room he comes out of.  Looks mysterious and scary.”

It’s only excellent food.  Don’t be afraid…Though the pronunciation of the candy will scare you.

Service:  6.5  Food:  9  Ambiance:  8.5  Total:  24 out of 30

$25-$30 without adult beverages.  They do not serve adult beverages.

The outside

Blood Orange

1977 church basement

The dark room

The grocery part

Side of bread

Paprikash

Andrea’s View:  Taste of Europe is located on West 96th Street.  Okay, I know where that is, it should be right next to Thai Papaya.  Only it’s not.  It sits on the other side of Michigan Road completely hidden by industrial buildings and factories.  Dave and I drove past it once and almost a second time.  When we walked in, we were still lost.  I really did feel like I was back in Europe.  There is a small section at the front of the business that is set up like a grocery store, and a dining room in the back.  Dave and I walked back to the dining room and just sat down.  A very nice gentleman asked if we had ordered at the counter, and we replied, “No, are we supposed to?”  He said yes.  We followed him up to the counter and waited for him and his friend to pay for their lunches.  As we were waiting, the owner/cook/server/cashier gave Dave and I some cheese and sausage to snack on.  He knew that it would be awhile before he got to Dave and I.  He had to cash out the nice gentleman (this gentleman even told me what I should order for lunch), finish preparing dishes for other customers, serve the other customers, and then take our orders.  But we didn’t mind, because he gave us snacks.

When it was finally our turn, I took the nice gentleman’s advice and ordered the paprikash.  Dave ordered the hungarian medley and the owner/cook/server/cashier asked if it would be okay if both dishes were on the spicy side.  We gave him a thumbs up, and sat down in the dining room.  I had no idea what paprikash was, so I was pleasantly surprised when a big bowl of yellow stew and four mini loaves of bread appeared before me.  The yellow stew had chicken, cabbage, green beans, carrots, bell peppers, and celery.  It was delicious, but not as spicy as I had been promised.  I was expecting more of an Indian style heat.  In fact, there was no heat at all, its was just very flavorful.  The mini loaves of bread came in handy to soak up the extra broth.  I really enjoyed my yellow paprikash.  I never would have ordered it if not for the mysterious gentleman, I would have settled for a goulash.  Not that the goulash wouldn’t have been good too, I’m sure its fantastic.  I urge everyone to check out this odd little building on the northwest side of town.  You may get a little lost, and you may have to wait for service, but at least you can wait with cheese and sausage.