Thursday, February 4, 2010

Red Gnauga Booths and Spicy Salsa




***SNARK WARNING!!!***

I credit my parents with shaping me into the person I am today. It's been suggested by some that we should bottle our work ethic. The way I push myself sometimes, I'd probably go to jail for possession of a controlled substance! Watching my parents through the years, there's no doubt I got my sense of responsibility from them. You get many things from your parents. I think you certainly get your sense of taste and culinary adventurousness from your parents. For some a pinch of black pepper is too much heat! I've always enjoyed a bit more than a pinch of black pepper and I think my parents may have had something to do with that...

You see a lot of kids these days at Mexican restaurants. There's a reason Jose et al have been forced to add chicken nuggets and hamburgers to the menu at Zepe's much to their considerable consternation. It's a sign of the times when a taco or cheese enchilada is too much for Tommy's sensitive taste buds. You can't blame Zepe's, times are tough and you need every edge you can get. Sometimes I'd like to tell Tommy to have a margarita and a taco and chill out!

Back in the day, on those special occasions when we got to go out to eat (I'm dating myself there), I was a pretty adventurous kid -- for a 4 or 5 year old... I'd have probably welcomed that margarita being the uptight kid that I was. "Yes, can you make mine a 'suicide'?" Remember those? A bit of everything -- didn't taste good, but for some strange reason we all got them. At least I had the good sense to skip the Tab! Guess I had decent taste even back then! But I digress... again. I remember going to El Palacio. It had the obligatory murals, the red gnauga hide booths, and some beads covering the doorway. Obviously this place was not only a taste of Mexico, but also quite stylish and groovy. Johnny Bravo eat your heart out! Yeah Baby!

While I vaguely remember beef enchiladas with a nice red sauce, the obligatory rice with faded army green peas, and lard laden refried beans, it was the chips and salsa of all things that stuck in my mind. I've always looked up to my Dad and followed his lead on food (my Mom as well, but that's another story to follow). If Dad got a double or triple cheeseburger, I got a double or triple cheeseburger. Can you imagine a kid putting away a greasy cheeseburger the size of his head? Back in the day, hamburgers weren't these little dry hockey pucks that they are today. As you may have noticed I tend to digress quite often. Stream of consciousness, or unconsciousness as the case may be...

So the obligatory chips and salsa came out to the table and in we go. Dad told me it was going to be spicy, but what the heck. You only live once right? Besides I was tough. I could take it. That was the first time I ever sweat while eating. It was fun, Dad was sweating so it must be okay if I did, right? From the bright red tomatoes, to the jalapeno, the onion, and the cilantro, it was a cacophony, nay a symphony of flavors and colors. The chips were there, but nothing more than a vehicle to get the wonderful, spicy concoction to my waiting gullet. Yes, I could have slurped it straight from the bowl, or used a spoon, but I was a man of distinction. No pretender here. No, I conformed to the social norm of dipping the chips. Just wish I could have had my 'suicide' margarita with a beer backer! In fact bring a pitcher and one of those mugs the size of a small water tower. Ah, Zepe's... What have you done and where have you gone wrong... Burgers and chicken nuggets... BAH!!!

DINE ON!!!