At Arlington Town Day, as I was standing in line to buy my five-year-old General Gau's chicken, I spotted a stand for Zócalo Cocina Mexicana that displayed a very authentic-looking ristra. So I had my husband go back for open-face burritos. To my delight, the skinny squirt of red stuff turned out to be excellent chile sauce! Their online menu looks promising, too. They may make their tamales with mole and banana leaves instead of red chile and corn husks, but their pozole looks a lot like the posole I grew up with, and their chiles rellenos with "rojo sauce" has raised my hopes a good deal.
As soon as possible, I'm going to have to try these folks out.
Monday, September 28, 2009
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Ixtapa Mexican Restaurant and Cantina in Woburn, MA: Ketchup Would Have Been Better
I haven't posted to this blog in ages, and that's because I rarely go to Mexican restaurants in New England. They consistently disappoint me, and I can generally make far better New Mexican cuisine at home. However, when my favorite lunch place near work closed (Adios, Au Bon Pain! How I miss your salads!), I found myself at loose ends last Wednesday and finally wandered in to Ixtapa Mexican Restaurant and Cantina in Woburn, MA.
I knew better than to try the enchiladas. No one in New England gets enchiladas right, with the possible exception of Jose's in North Cambridge. Instead, I got a combo lunch with two things that are pretty hard to mess up: a chile relleno and a tamale. I ordered it to go and took it back to work with me. To my surprise, they gave me a small bag of tortilla chips and a small tub of salsa along with my lunch combo.
Unsurprisingly, every aspect of the lunch was a disappointment. The tortilla chips were overcooked and inconsistently salted, so that one would be almost salt free, and the next coated to inedibility. The salsa was so watery, it could not be scooped up by the chips, and it had no spice to it, tasting more like watered-down tomato juice. The tamale was the best part of the dish, with good firm masa stuffed with nice, tender stewed beef. However, though I could see bits of red chile in the meat, I couldn't taste it at all. The chile relleno was not bad, either. They used a smallish ancho pepper, stuffed it with a miniscule amount of cheese (in NM, it's usually stuffed with a good-sized chunk), and its batter was tasty and held up well. The refried beans had the characteristic mushy texture that indicated that they had come from a can, and the spanish rice was nothing more than white rice with a little tomato sauce added, virtually tasteless. Worst of all, everything was smothered in ranchero sauce.
What the heck is ranchero sauce? Who invented this travesty of Mexican cooking? I will never forget the first time I went to a Taco Bell in Boston and ordered a bean burrito with green chile. They looked at me like I was insane and then offered me - you guessed it - ranchero sauce. As far as I can tell, ranchero sauce consists of a thin tomato-based gravy with some chile or chipotle powder and spices tossed in. This online recipe (which can't even spell poblano) confirms it: it's a Texan invention, which makes ranchero sauce Tex-Mex, not true Mexican. Bleh.
One of the quintessential aspects of New Mexican cuisine is chile. And when New Mexicans talk about chile, they generally mean, very specifically, the Hatch variety of the Anaheim pepper named for Hatch, NM, where the very best of these peppers grow. And when ordering a dish with chile, you generally have two options: green or red.
Green chile is made from the unripe chile pepper. This is almost always roasted to remove the outer skin of the pepper and to enhance the flavor. From July through September, the streets of Albuquerque are redolent with the scent of roasting green chile. New Mexicans put green chile on almost everything: hamburgers, pizza, casseroles, stews. It is also finely chopped and cooked with onions, garlic, salt, and spices such as mexican oregano, and served as a sauce on enchiladas, burritos, chimichangas, tacos, flautas, stuffed sopapillas, etc.
Red chile is made from the ripe red pepper. This is almost always dried in ristras, as pictured hanging from the vigas of adobe houses. Sometimes, it is powdered and used as a spice, but in general, either the whole pods or the powder is reconstituted in water and then made into a sauce using cooking oil, garlic, a little flour, salt, and spices such as mexican oregano. New Mexicans use this sauce on - you guessed it again - everything. My family traditionally serves "red gravy" with our Thanksgiving turkey. We use it in all the New Mexican dishes listed above plus soups like posole, and we marinate pork in it and then slow roast it until it falls apart, a dish called "carne adobada."
Chile is as essential to New Mexican cuisine as tomato sauce is to Italian, and substituting ranchero sauce for it is like putting ketchup on a pizza. In fact, I think ketchup might have been better on the chile relleno than the ranchero sauce; at least then, I'd have had no illusions that this was Mexican food.
I don't understand why Mexican restaurants in New England don't get this basic truth. Other ethnic foods in the area have the same spiciness as they do in their places of origin: Indian, Thai, Ethiopian. And in Chicago, where there's a large population of Mexican immigrants, there are plenty of quite decent Mexican restaurants. My husband and I used to love the chorizo flambado at Lindo Mexico in Evanston. While it's true that red chile does not keep well in New England (I had to throw out my ristras, which became infested with mold and now keep powdered red chile double-bagged in my freezer), the throughput at a restaurant should use up the chile before it goes bad. And supply is no excuse either: I found Hatch green chiles at Whole Foods this summer!
My guess is that Mexican restaurants in the area take advantage of the ignorance of their customers to make the cheapest possible dishes. I'd wager that the ranchero sauce used on my lunch came in a big can marked "Old El Paso." And this is what galls me the most: I paid $9 for this lunch. NINE DOLLARS. Mexican food is really inexpensive to make: beans, rice, corn meal for the masa, inexpensive cuts of meat. The biggest expense is the cheese, which was quite scanty in my dish. So unless they're paying their staff way, way, way too much, that was the most overpriced Mexican food I've ever eaten.
Now, it wasn't the worst Mexican food I've ever eaten (that dubious honor I reserve for Garcia's Restaurant of Idaho Falls, ID), and there's some glimmer of hope that I might get something halfway decent there: the menu mentions a carnitas dish with pork that sounds surprisingly like carne adobada. If I can ever bring myself to eat there again, I'll try that. But I won't get my hopes up.
I knew better than to try the enchiladas. No one in New England gets enchiladas right, with the possible exception of Jose's in North Cambridge. Instead, I got a combo lunch with two things that are pretty hard to mess up: a chile relleno and a tamale. I ordered it to go and took it back to work with me. To my surprise, they gave me a small bag of tortilla chips and a small tub of salsa along with my lunch combo.
Unsurprisingly, every aspect of the lunch was a disappointment. The tortilla chips were overcooked and inconsistently salted, so that one would be almost salt free, and the next coated to inedibility. The salsa was so watery, it could not be scooped up by the chips, and it had no spice to it, tasting more like watered-down tomato juice. The tamale was the best part of the dish, with good firm masa stuffed with nice, tender stewed beef. However, though I could see bits of red chile in the meat, I couldn't taste it at all. The chile relleno was not bad, either. They used a smallish ancho pepper, stuffed it with a miniscule amount of cheese (in NM, it's usually stuffed with a good-sized chunk), and its batter was tasty and held up well. The refried beans had the characteristic mushy texture that indicated that they had come from a can, and the spanish rice was nothing more than white rice with a little tomato sauce added, virtually tasteless. Worst of all, everything was smothered in ranchero sauce.
What the heck is ranchero sauce? Who invented this travesty of Mexican cooking? I will never forget the first time I went to a Taco Bell in Boston and ordered a bean burrito with green chile. They looked at me like I was insane and then offered me - you guessed it - ranchero sauce. As far as I can tell, ranchero sauce consists of a thin tomato-based gravy with some chile or chipotle powder and spices tossed in. This online recipe (which can't even spell poblano) confirms it: it's a Texan invention, which makes ranchero sauce Tex-Mex, not true Mexican. Bleh.
One of the quintessential aspects of New Mexican cuisine is chile. And when New Mexicans talk about chile, they generally mean, very specifically, the Hatch variety of the Anaheim pepper named for Hatch, NM, where the very best of these peppers grow. And when ordering a dish with chile, you generally have two options: green or red.
Green chile is made from the unripe chile pepper. This is almost always roasted to remove the outer skin of the pepper and to enhance the flavor. From July through September, the streets of Albuquerque are redolent with the scent of roasting green chile. New Mexicans put green chile on almost everything: hamburgers, pizza, casseroles, stews. It is also finely chopped and cooked with onions, garlic, salt, and spices such as mexican oregano, and served as a sauce on enchiladas, burritos, chimichangas, tacos, flautas, stuffed sopapillas, etc.
Red chile is made from the ripe red pepper. This is almost always dried in ristras, as pictured hanging from the vigas of adobe houses. Sometimes, it is powdered and used as a spice, but in general, either the whole pods or the powder is reconstituted in water and then made into a sauce using cooking oil, garlic, a little flour, salt, and spices such as mexican oregano. New Mexicans use this sauce on - you guessed it again - everything. My family traditionally serves "red gravy" with our Thanksgiving turkey. We use it in all the New Mexican dishes listed above plus soups like posole, and we marinate pork in it and then slow roast it until it falls apart, a dish called "carne adobada."
Chile is as essential to New Mexican cuisine as tomato sauce is to Italian, and substituting ranchero sauce for it is like putting ketchup on a pizza. In fact, I think ketchup might have been better on the chile relleno than the ranchero sauce; at least then, I'd have had no illusions that this was Mexican food.
I don't understand why Mexican restaurants in New England don't get this basic truth. Other ethnic foods in the area have the same spiciness as they do in their places of origin: Indian, Thai, Ethiopian. And in Chicago, where there's a large population of Mexican immigrants, there are plenty of quite decent Mexican restaurants. My husband and I used to love the chorizo flambado at Lindo Mexico in Evanston. While it's true that red chile does not keep well in New England (I had to throw out my ristras, which became infested with mold and now keep powdered red chile double-bagged in my freezer), the throughput at a restaurant should use up the chile before it goes bad. And supply is no excuse either: I found Hatch green chiles at Whole Foods this summer!
My guess is that Mexican restaurants in the area take advantage of the ignorance of their customers to make the cheapest possible dishes. I'd wager that the ranchero sauce used on my lunch came in a big can marked "Old El Paso." And this is what galls me the most: I paid $9 for this lunch. NINE DOLLARS. Mexican food is really inexpensive to make: beans, rice, corn meal for the masa, inexpensive cuts of meat. The biggest expense is the cheese, which was quite scanty in my dish. So unless they're paying their staff way, way, way too much, that was the most overpriced Mexican food I've ever eaten.
Now, it wasn't the worst Mexican food I've ever eaten (that dubious honor I reserve for Garcia's Restaurant of Idaho Falls, ID), and there's some glimmer of hope that I might get something halfway decent there: the menu mentions a carnitas dish with pork that sounds surprisingly like carne adobada. If I can ever bring myself to eat there again, I'll try that. But I won't get my hopes up.
Friday, March 13, 2009
Masa Southwest Grill in Woburn
Today, I went with a coworker who also happens to be a native New Mexican to try out Masa Southwest Grill at 350 Cambridge Road, Woburn MA, where they've recently started serving lunch. When we walked in, I was initially dismayed by the posh decor: square plates, cloth napkins, wall sconces. But the prices on the menu were quite reasonable, so we took a seat.
The menu is nothing like the southwestern cuisine I'm used to. It's more like New Mexican food reinterpreted by a bistro chef. I ordered the tapas and soup ($7.95), and my coworker ordered the pulled pork sandwich ($8.95). We were both pleasantly surprised and quite happy with our dishes.
We started with a bread basket of mixed corn and peasant bread. We both thought the peasant bread was rather incongruous, though it was tasty, especially with the bean and chipotle spread. Also available was a cinnamon honey butter and a red pepper mayonnaise. The butter went well on the cornbread, but the bean and chipotle spread was far more interesting: nice even heat and good flavor.
Of the five tapas on my plate, two were bland and uninteresting, one was good, and two were outstanding. The Slow Cooked Lamb Springrolls with Guajillo Bourbon BBQ Sauce were the least appetizing of the tapas. The lamb had been rendered into an almost flavorless paste, the springroll lacked the crunch necessary to offset that pasty texture, and the barbeque sauce buried what little taste of lamb was left. Similarly, the Ancho Chicken Palitos (Skewers) with Chipotle Peanut Sauce were overcooked and dry, and the entirely bland peanut sauce was insufficient to moisten them.
The Grilled Chorizo with Cranberry Chutney Salsa was a solid chorizo with good flavor, and I was surprised by how well the tangy cranberries complimented it, although I'd hardly call it salsa. The Shredded Chicken Taquito with Chile Ancho Crèma was exceptionally good. The chicken had just the right texture, very familiar and well spiced, and the ancho flavor was wonderful. By far the best of the tapas, however, was the Queso Chihuahua Chorizo Empanada with Jalapeno and Melted Leeks. I'm not a great fan of jalapenos, but these lacked the annoying vinegary taste that marks a less-than-fresh pepper, and the consistency and flavor of the stuffing was perfect. My grandmother might have made the empanada, although she would have called it an empanadita for its small size, and she would have said the pastry was too flaky. Nevertheless, I was delighted to find something so thoroughly authentic.
The best surprise of my dish, however was the soup of the day: white bean with shrimp and chorizo, topped with red corn tortilla strips. One of my major problems with traditional tortilla soup is that it tends to be too watery, turning the tortilla chips to mush. Either you must eat the tortilla chips immediately, which rushes the dish, or you must put up with corn mush in your soup. The white bean soup was much thicker, and that fuller body supported the tortillas very well, so that they were still crunchy right to the bottom of the bowl. Packed with chunks of mild but tasty green chile, the soup was delicious, and I can't wait to have more.
My coworker's pulled pork sandwich was similarly excellent. The barbeque sauce was sweet, smoky, and spicy in good proportion. It was exactly the sort of sandwich that my grandfather would have absolutely loved. It was served with a very generous portion of chile-dusted fries and an interesting looking slaw that I did not taste. I was quite pleasantly stuffed with my own dish, thank you.
To finish, we ordered the Chocolate Truffle Stuffed Tamale ($5.95), wondering what on earth we were getting into. The dessert turned out to be something like a molten chocolate cake baked creatively in a rounded corn husk, topped with maple ice cream and fresh mint, on a plate drizzled with raspberry sauce. While it gets high marks for original presentation, the dessert itself was tasty but not outstanding. I would have loved to see something more thoroughly sourced in the southwest, like a chile-infused chocolate or pinon flavored ice cream. See what happens when you raise my expectations?
Masa's web site states that chef Sean Wesoky has a background in California- and Florida-style Mexican cuisine. Our waitress also told us that the chef had traveled in New Mexico and other parts of the southwest studying the cuisine. I believe her (her service was also quite good).
Masa is a little too rich to go to on a regular basis, but their prices are very reasonable, and their food is, on average, quite good. I plan to go back for their brunch and their dinner, as well as dragging more coworkers along to try the Tapas Platter (10 tapas, $10).
Still on the hunt for homestyle New Mexican cuisine, though, particularly sopapillas. But this certainly does take the edge off my culinary homesickness. Nice job, Masa.
The menu is nothing like the southwestern cuisine I'm used to. It's more like New Mexican food reinterpreted by a bistro chef. I ordered the tapas and soup ($7.95), and my coworker ordered the pulled pork sandwich ($8.95). We were both pleasantly surprised and quite happy with our dishes.
We started with a bread basket of mixed corn and peasant bread. We both thought the peasant bread was rather incongruous, though it was tasty, especially with the bean and chipotle spread. Also available was a cinnamon honey butter and a red pepper mayonnaise. The butter went well on the cornbread, but the bean and chipotle spread was far more interesting: nice even heat and good flavor.
Of the five tapas on my plate, two were bland and uninteresting, one was good, and two were outstanding. The Slow Cooked Lamb Springrolls with Guajillo Bourbon BBQ Sauce were the least appetizing of the tapas. The lamb had been rendered into an almost flavorless paste, the springroll lacked the crunch necessary to offset that pasty texture, and the barbeque sauce buried what little taste of lamb was left. Similarly, the Ancho Chicken Palitos (Skewers) with Chipotle Peanut Sauce were overcooked and dry, and the entirely bland peanut sauce was insufficient to moisten them.
The Grilled Chorizo with Cranberry Chutney Salsa was a solid chorizo with good flavor, and I was surprised by how well the tangy cranberries complimented it, although I'd hardly call it salsa. The Shredded Chicken Taquito with Chile Ancho Crèma was exceptionally good. The chicken had just the right texture, very familiar and well spiced, and the ancho flavor was wonderful. By far the best of the tapas, however, was the Queso Chihuahua Chorizo Empanada with Jalapeno and Melted Leeks. I'm not a great fan of jalapenos, but these lacked the annoying vinegary taste that marks a less-than-fresh pepper, and the consistency and flavor of the stuffing was perfect. My grandmother might have made the empanada, although she would have called it an empanadita for its small size, and she would have said the pastry was too flaky. Nevertheless, I was delighted to find something so thoroughly authentic.
The best surprise of my dish, however was the soup of the day: white bean with shrimp and chorizo, topped with red corn tortilla strips. One of my major problems with traditional tortilla soup is that it tends to be too watery, turning the tortilla chips to mush. Either you must eat the tortilla chips immediately, which rushes the dish, or you must put up with corn mush in your soup. The white bean soup was much thicker, and that fuller body supported the tortillas very well, so that they were still crunchy right to the bottom of the bowl. Packed with chunks of mild but tasty green chile, the soup was delicious, and I can't wait to have more.
My coworker's pulled pork sandwich was similarly excellent. The barbeque sauce was sweet, smoky, and spicy in good proportion. It was exactly the sort of sandwich that my grandfather would have absolutely loved. It was served with a very generous portion of chile-dusted fries and an interesting looking slaw that I did not taste. I was quite pleasantly stuffed with my own dish, thank you.
To finish, we ordered the Chocolate Truffle Stuffed Tamale ($5.95), wondering what on earth we were getting into. The dessert turned out to be something like a molten chocolate cake baked creatively in a rounded corn husk, topped with maple ice cream and fresh mint, on a plate drizzled with raspberry sauce. While it gets high marks for original presentation, the dessert itself was tasty but not outstanding. I would have loved to see something more thoroughly sourced in the southwest, like a chile-infused chocolate or pinon flavored ice cream. See what happens when you raise my expectations?
Masa's web site states that chef Sean Wesoky has a background in California- and Florida-style Mexican cuisine. Our waitress also told us that the chef had traveled in New Mexico and other parts of the southwest studying the cuisine. I believe her (her service was also quite good).
Masa is a little too rich to go to on a regular basis, but their prices are very reasonable, and their food is, on average, quite good. I plan to go back for their brunch and their dinner, as well as dragging more coworkers along to try the Tapas Platter (10 tapas, $10).
Still on the hunt for homestyle New Mexican cuisine, though, particularly sopapillas. But this certainly does take the edge off my culinary homesickness. Nice job, Masa.
A New Mexican in New England
There are a lot of things I love about living in New England: being near the ocean, mild summers, stunning falls, a strongly innovative technology community, a deep sense of tradition, and some fabulous food. But lacking among the diverse cuisines available in the Boston area are good Southwestern restaurants. In this blog, I'll post reviews of local restaurants where I've dined and let you know how authentically Southwestern their offerings are.
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